The Blackbirder Page 18

  Julie turned to Moriarity. “I don't know what I should have done when I found Jacques. I ran. Again. That's all I've done for three years. The Indians hid me that night. Later Blaike and Schein found me. I got away from them and went back to Popin's. Fran was there.”

  “You saw him then?” Blaike asked.

  “Yes. I thought he'd just escaped from prison. I didn't know he'd never been in prison. Not until yesterday. I heard him talking to Coral Bly.” She said wearily, “I couldn't take help from him— the way things were. I hid in her car. And then I bopped her. I borrowed her coat and her car and started for Mexico. When I reached here I realized I couldn't make it. I hadn't enough gas.” She looked at him. “I wasn't going to tell about Fran. Only about the passport. Being locked up didn't matter any more, not much anyway, not as much as getting to rest and being safe from the Gestapo.”

  “That's your story?” Blaike asked.

  “That's all.”

  “You're satisfied I'm bona-fide F.B.I.?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you aren't, we'll get Washington on the phone and have the big chief okay me. I don't want you to have any doubt when you go with me.”

  She said, “I haven't any doubt now. Only Schein— ”

  “He isn't. I played his game to keep him quiet while I worked on Popin to get at the Blackbirder. There are no records. There's nothing but word-of-mouth transactions and his bank account. I have to get Fran flying someone in or out, someone who can't travel any other route. I hoped he'd take me. But Schein has become suspicious of me. I don't know if I can work it. You can. No one is afraid of you. That's why we're going back.”

  “Going back to them?” She shook her head. “No. I can't do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don't you see?” He must see. “I know what it is to be hunted, not able to reach a place of refuge. I can't close up any channel of escape to refugees, even if it isn't legal.” She was weak but firm. “I simply can't do it.”

  “My dear Julie, do you still believe the Blackbirder helps honest-to-god refugees?” He was exasperated. “From the beginning he's flown for one purpose only, to bring into this country those men and women whom Paul Guille and his bosses want brought in— saboteurs, fifth columnists, Gestapo agents, spies. My God, you don't think any true refugee could afford to pay from one to ten thousand for a blackbirding seat, do you? Those are Fran's prices.”

  She begged, “Are you sure?”

  “She asks am I sure!” Blaike appealed to Moriarity. The latter grunted. “Listen, child, it's so sure a thing that I was smuggled out of a French concentration camp in a dead horse for one purpose alone, to catch the bird.”

  “You were imprisoned too?” She couldn't keep horror from her voice.

  His was steady. “I didn't get the bum knee— yeah, it's legitimate— following pretty girls to Santa Fe. Nor from a Channel crackup either. I was on duty in France for five years before the war. My front job was in a news service. Matter of fact, I actually was a reporter before I decided that snooping for Uncle Sam was more important. I didn't run out of Paris after the fall. No one was supposed to know about my extracurricular work but someone with a Boche haircut did. It takes a good many able-bodied men to effect a rescue from a concentration camp, Julie. Do you think any government would have risked that to release one small employee if it weren't important? It was important for one reason. I knew Fran Guille. He didn't know me but I knew him. I'd been keeping my eye on him for a long time. Our government found out it was Fran smuggling Nazis into the country. How? Well, we've spies in the inner circles too. But we didn't know where he was, what disguise he'd adopted, and the U.S. is a darn big country to scour. All of our information came from Paris. We didn't even know what name he was using, or where he operated.”

  She said, “The Gestapo runs the blackbirding.”

  “No. It's a funny thing but they don't. Fran runs it. It's a business. It's made him a rich man, by the way. I don't know how it started, may have been strictly accidental, say he ran into some old friend in Mexico who wanted a lift to the U.S. and was willing to pay a price. Fran wouldn't bother about politics if the money was handy. There's never been a Guille in history who turned down easy money. Fran couldn't help but see the opportunity for a juicy racket. He was piloting Kent Bly's plane, started doing that a bit over two years ago. Down to the Bly copper mines in Mexico and back again. Essential, transportation. Cleared by the War Department over the border and through all channels. I found this out since coming here, of course. Kent Bly doesn't know what's been going on. He gave Fran the job to help out a refugee.”

  “And because of Coral,” Julie said.

  Blaike ignored that. “Bly has been too busy on government contracts to make many trips himself. Naturally if he did go along, blackbirding was out. No, the Gestapo hasn't run things. They didn't dare muscle in. There'd be too much risk of closing the whole thing that way. They couldn't get to Bly; Fran was already there. It's Fran's own baby and he's played it smart. He knew the Nazis would spend big money on what they deemed important. Fran communicated with his father as soon as he'd made his first accidental blackbirding trip. Paul sent lists of men that the Axis wanted inside, and what their purpose was to be in this country. Fran's orders. The price was scaled to the worth of the traveler. We know. We've seen the lists which the Axis sent to Paul. Fran doesn't have a scrap of paper that incriminates him. A smart lad. But we have him now, or we will, with your help.”

  She was calm. “What help?”

  “I'll tell you all about it when we're under way. First thing is some clothes for you.” He eyed Margie's housedress. “You're going back looking like a million bucks. The way you used to look in Paris when a million was big money.”

  “Back to Fran?”

  “Yes, back to Fran.",

  She shook her head suddenly. “I can't. Lock me up. Do anything, but I can't.”

  “You'll be safe. I'll explain all that.”

  “It isn't that I'm afraid.” She repeated, “It isn't that.”

  Moriarity said, “If you're going to buy the girl some duds, Blaike, you better get going. It's after four. I know how long it takes my wife.”

  “I can't do it.”

  “You will do it.” The little professor spoke mildly from his chair. “It won't be easy. It isn't easy to be brave. Not for people like us. We don't know how. We don't ever have to be, not actually. We call it bravery if we go to a doctor or dentist to have him stop a pain. You believe you have been brave in these past years, Miss Juliet. But everything you've endured has been for your own eventual happiness. Now you're asked to do something in itself repellent, to betray someone you love. Not for the reason that totalitarian nations have taught their people to betray each other, not from fear nor for personal gain nor for frenzy over a false god. You're not even asked to do this thing to help yourself. It won't help you. It will scar you. But you will always know it had to be done. It had to be done in order that the hunted ones, the helpless ones who have managed to escape to a new land, may be safe in it. I haven't any right to say these things to you. To betray your instincts takes more courage than I would have.”

  She spoke at last into the silence. “I will go.”

  To betray someone you love.

  * * * *

  The plan was sharp as a bayonet in her brain. She metronomed it as they winged to Santa Fe. Blaike had outlined it at dinner. No one in the Alvarado dining-room would have dreamed that he was offering not devotion as he bent toward her, but a trap for Fran. She was to go direct to Popin's.

  “Fran will be there. The hangar is about a quarter of a mile in back of Popin's place. We've held him up this long with storm warnings below Albuquerque and the border. Now we've given him release to take off after nine o'clock this evening. I don't think it will be difficult to convince him that you should go along. He hasn't any fear of you trapping him. And he's been losing money every day of this storm. Don't worry, you aren't actually flying wit
h him. I'll be there before you leave. And he'll either agree to take both of us or neither. Once he's committed, I'll see that neither of us flies.”

  “You won't be alone?” There were too many against the Gray Man.

  “I'll have my men in Tesuque ready to come when I call. I can't take chances bringing them with me to Popin's. Don't be afraid. I've handled other cases alone, Julie.”

  “There's Schein.”

  “Schein in his F.B.I. role will be helping the state police find you tonight. I've given them enough dossiers to go over to keep them engaged as long as necessary.” He had smiled at her across the table. “And don't be disturbed about facing Coral's wrath. She and her father are to be held here in Albuquerque— naturally they don't know they're held, they are merely helping— until I release them. She hasn't seen Fran. She was picked up by a trucker, thought it was hit-and-run. He took her to the hospital in Santa Fe, then reported to the police. When she came to she was hysterical. I was there before her father. I made certain she didn't get in touch with Fran.”

  “And Popin?”

  “Popin is a wily little Bulgar, Julie. In his previous incarnation he was a minor artist who stooled for the reigning politicos as a sideline. There may have been compulsion that forced him into blackbirding, family in occupied territory or such. But neither Fran nor the Gestapo would have needed that wedge. Not with money to offer. Popin is an opportunist. When he sees which way the straws point he'll save his skin. Just don't worry about the details. All you have to do is honey up to Fran and buy that seat on the black plane.”

  All, that was all. And it wouldn't be hard. She looked now the way Fran would want her to look, the way he would have remembered her from Paris if he had remembered. The French-cut, pearl-gray wool, the scarlet spectator coat, the scarlet sandals, the flare of scarlet hat, warm scarlet lips. His eyes would flicker over her. So long as I was in your sight... Burning in flames beyond all measure... Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love! He would never, not as long as he lived, believe that her betrayal was for any reason but a woman scorned. Nor could there be for her the release of explanation. Otis Alberle had understood.

  The private plane landed them at the airport after seven. A cab waited. The man at the wheel was placed there by the F.B.I. Blaike slid from the car at a darkened corner of the village. The car went on toward Tesuque. Her fingertips in the gray doeskin gloves were cold. She didn't think about what lay ahead.

  She watched the rush of dark landscape. The driver slowed, dropped her in the road. She walked the few yards, turned toward the house. She laid the knocker staccato on the door.

  Reyes opened it. Julie pushed in. “Is Popin at home?” Her words were clear, bright. She went into the living-room, raising her voice. “Tell him it's Julie.”

  She didn't have to continue. Popin and Fran came through the archway, the artist faintly surprised, Fran striding toward her in amazement.

  “For God's sake, Julie, where have you been?”

  She stripped off her gloves in front of the fire. “But darling, getting ready to go to Mexico, of course. You didn't expect me to leave looking as I did? In those dreadful overalls?” She laughed. “I've been shopping. And then I had to get some money.” Her bag was an oblong of scarlet. She opened it, took out the fold of bills. “Will fifteen hundred be enough to get us started?”

  He was suspicious. “You still have the necklace?”

  “Certainly.” She flung her hat and gloves to the table, laid the purse on top of them, handed him her coat. “You don't think I'd sell the Guille necklace for fifteen hundred dollars, do you? It's worth— ”

  “Half a million.”

  He welcomed her return because she had neglected to hand over to him the necklace. Only that. She tossed her hand. “You were at dinner. I've had mine. Go finish.” She curled into a corner of the sofa.

  “I've finished.” He sat beside her. He didn't understand her. “I'll have coffee in here, Popin.”

  Popin bowed. The subservient one. “You will join us, Miss Julie?”

  “Yes, if you've plenty.”

  “It comes direct from Mexico.” he explained.

  Play the game. She mustn't delay. She took his hand. “Fran, I'm so happy. When do we go?”

  He was still puzzled. “But how could you go in boldly, attend to shopping? Blaike and Schein— ”

  She laughed. “As soon as I read in the paper that Jacques's death was an accident, I knew they couldn't hurt me. That's what I'd been afraid of, that the police would question me and find out about the passport. When there was no danger of that, I decided to go to town. I didn't want to bother you. You seemed busy.” Her eyebrows arched. “So I just went.”

  “How did you get there?”

  “Walked to the highway and hitch-hiked. That's an Americanism for begged a ride. I hitch-hiked out here tonight too. A doctor at the hotel was driving this way and he brought me along. When can we leave, Fran?”

  He began to play up at last. And her fingers were more cold against his warm ones. “Tonight.”

  “Really, Fran?”

  “Yes. We are clear after nine o'clock. You see, Julie, that girl you saw me with yesterday afternoon was here on business. She is the daughter of the man I have been working for.”

  “You've been working?”

  He remembered. “Since I was released, yes. He's a big mine owner. I've been piloting his plane for him. A five-passenger cruiser.”

  She mustn't appear suspicious. “This man has hidden you?”

  “Yes. Hidden me and given me something useful to do. I've had to be careful. I don't use my own name. You may have heard me called Spike. It's an American nickname. And I use Guild, not Guille. The Germans would return me to Paris if they could locate me.”

  She looked directly at him. “You know then about Paul?”

  “Yes, I know.” His face was sad. “I can't explain it. I knew he wasn't in sympathy with the government we had, but to sell out to the Boche— ” He shuddered, lighted a cigarette.

  If he would only speak the truth to her, she could forgive. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't love her. She began, “But Fran, you don't want to leave all this, your new work, just because I must get away. You don't want that.”

  His eyes were tender. His hands touched her expertly. He knew how to quiet a woman's fears. “Dear one, I don't want to be here without you. If you must go, I will go with you.” He smiled. “And perhaps I'm not as altruistic as I would believe. This Blaike and Schein— Popin and I feel you are correct in believing them to be Nazis. If so, they are here looking for me through you. It may be wise I go while there is time.”

  If it could be true, if they were actually leaving together, to remain together. No matter how you wanted to believe a dream, it wasn't reality. She held his hand against her cheek for a moment. “Darling— darling— ” It was her goodby to the dream. She turned away, opened her purse, took a cigarette. He held his lighter to it. A thin platinum toy, initialed in emeralds. A Danish countess had given it to him. Fran had not fled without his possessions.

  She asked, “What will you do about the plane?”

  “I'll get someone at the mine to bring it back to Kent. Several men have pilot licenses.”

  If he knew what she had heard, he couldn't lie so blandly. But she could appear trusting. He didn't know she too had learned to act a part. She accepted coffee from Popin. She said to Fran, “I was almost jealous when I saw you with that girl. She was so attractive.”

  “You needn't ever be jealous of me, Julie.” His hand on her dark hair, yesterday his hand on copper hair.

  “I am though. I've always been.” Whatever she said the hurt couldn't cut any more deeply. “It's the way women— all women— sort of perk if you so much as walk across the room.”

  If she could just think of him that way until Blaike arrived, a man, any casual man, whose physical presence made a room electric. Not think of a thin dark boy with gentle eyes who had sailed boats on the pond for a l
ittle girl, not really a cousin. Always the best boats. Everything always the best for Fran. He didn't have to ask; it was given him. When war conditions emptied the golden horn, could he be blamed that he chose his own way to refill it?

  Blaike was right. There was a core of his father in Fran. The elegance of life was too important to the Guilles to allow the means of its attainment to act as deterrent. She had been the means of Paul's riches, of his playing the leader in the Croix de Feu, of his epicurean dinners, his streamlined horses, his platinum wife, his rich man's son. He wouldn't have sent after her if she could have left behind her the fortune for which she, to him, alone existed. He wouldn't have cared if she had starved in a ditch if her departure hadn't meant also the departure of luxuriant living. She was valuable to Paul alive not dead, to that alone did she owe her escape from the Gestapo twice in France, again here at the hands of Schein. She had been willing to be Fran's means of elegance. But he didn't need her now. He had blackbirding. If that were taken from him he still had Coral Bly, daughter of a millionaire, waiting. He could flick Julie aside.

  Dread suddenly plunged into her heart. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't get rid of her by the permanent means, by death. He didn't have to do that. She'd give him up. He had never really belonged to her anyway. She saw that with electric clarity. Without having watched him with Coral Bly, she would know it. She wasn't wise enough in the way of men for Fran.

  If Blaike would only come, come quickly, end this farce. Blaike hadn't known that her life might be endangered here. She hadn't known it. Even the soft beard of Popin was sinister now. His sleepy eyes were waiting only for Fran's word to open wide. No. It wouldn't be here. Not with Reyes in the house and doubtless Quincy. Jacques had been killed. Who had killed Jacques? The Indians had been here when the deed was done. They saw nothing, heard nothing, spoke nothing. Jacques was an accident. There wouldn't be a repetition. Why risk discovery, investigation of Popin's house, when so soon she, unprotected, would go willingly into a land where she was a stranger? Where she could so easily disappear. No!