23.
Klaus pedaled along the back roads, following the course of the Rhône River towards the Mediterranean, sometimes approaching the banks of the river, other times climbing into the terraced vineyards of the Côtes du Rhône that dated back to pre-Roman times.
In Germany, it had still been winter, but here, especially after he passed Valence, about 100 km south of Lyon, it was definitely Spring. The vineyards were still dormant, but the almond trees were in bloom, their white blossoms glowing against the forested hillsides, their scent perfuming the air which Klaus sucked in as he cycled, trying to keep a good steady pace.
The South of France had mostly escaped the fighting in both the Great War and the current conflict, and if you looked around the peaceful countryside, you could be forgiven for imagining that the world was at peace. Despite that appearance, Klaus knew that there were Gestapo around, and French police who worked hand in glove with them, and they would likely have received any alerts sent out from Germany. A missing engineer who had secret knowledge of the ME 262 was something that would be taken seriously, he feared.
He was making good time, but the daylight was beginning to fade as he approached Montélimar. He would stop soon and find somewhere to sleep and hopefully get a decent meal to give him strength to pedal again tomorrow.
He wondered how Barta or Brenda, or whatever her real name was, was managing in Lyon. Was her professed love and promise to marry him real or just something an agent dangled in front of a target that had valuable information? He decided he must have been crazy to listen to her, but it was too late now.
He thought about going back to Augsburg and claiming he had been wounded in the bombing in Stuttgart while visiting his mother, but he didn’t think that would fool anybody. Torture and a bullet through the head were the likely outcome of that. Of course, those were the likely outcome of his current actions, but at least he was enjoying the warmth and beautiful scenery.
And, not to mention, he was enjoying the food. Barta had taken him to a wonderful restaurant-La Mère Brazier. They had had a salad with lardons and a wonderful fish from les Dombes, followed by a poulet de Bresse, the most flavorful chicken he had ever eaten, stuffed with foie gras.
Klaus had never imagined it was possible to eat so well in the middle of the war, but with the French love of good food and enough money, it seemed it was, at least in Lyon. But just as he was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the pastry tray, Barta had gotten spooked by a man sitting inside alone with a newspaper and insisted they leave immediately.
Klaus had plunked enough money down to cover the bill, along with a generous tip and they had hastened down the street. Klaus looked back to see if anyone was following them, but the street was empty.
“What made you think that man was watching us?” he asked her after they had turned down four or five different streets with no sign of anyone behind them.
“My intuition and training,” she answered cryptically. “But perhaps I was wrong,” she admitted. “Still, we can’t be too careful. You know the consequences if they catch us.”
Klaus nodded. “Yes, of course, I was there in Stuttgart,” he said. “Now, where do we go? We need to find somewhere to sleep, don’t we?”
“We can’t go to a hotel,” Barta said. “They report all guests to the Préfecture every night and our i.d.’s say we are wanted. We’ll check out some of the safe houses I used when I was here.”
The first two they went to were occupied. Barta knocked at the door of the first. A tired looking middle-aged woman in a housecoat and slippers answered. They had a brief conversation in French, which Klaus couldn’t follow, and the door closed. “She’s an ordinary citoyenne. She knows nothing.” They didn’t even bother knocking at the second because they heard the sounds of music being played on a phonograph coming through the door.
At the third, on the top floor of a 16th century building in Vieux Lyon, there were no sounds coming from inside. Barta knocked and got no response. She reached into her pocket for the Swiss Army knife she had purchased in Strasbourg and extracted the small screwdriver. In a few moments, she had the door open.
“Where did you learn that?” Klaus asked, a bit surprised.
“I’m a highly trained agent. We have lots of skills,” she said as she closed the door behind them. The place was bare, just a simple bed with a rather worn looking mattress and a rough wooden table with four un-upholstered chairs.
“What other skills do you have?” Klaus asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You made me miss dessert,” he said, “So I could say you owe me a demonstration.”
“Oh, do I?” she said, pulling Klaus’ mouth to hers and kissing him deeply as she unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, running her fingertips across his chest. Klaus felt himself growing hard and pressed himself into her body.
Barta let her hands trail slowly down Klaus’ chest until it was brushing against the bulge in his trousers. “One skill I could show you is how to hide that thing of yours so no one can see it.”
“Really?” Klaus asked. “How would you do that?”
“Let me show you,” Barta replied, unbuttoning his pants and lowering them over his hips, then pushing him down onto the mattress as she began shedding her clothes, twirling her blouse over her head then throwing it across the room, before repeating the strip tease act with her skirt, then her bra and finally her panties, before sitting astride his waist and lowering herself slowly unto his rock hard penis.
Klaus was entranced by this wild performance, way beyond his limited experience with women and beyond even his wildest dreams. Barta’s vaginal walls were gripping his penis as she slowly rose up and down, each motion sending a thrill up his spine.
He grabbed her ass, trying to hasten her movements, but she slapped his hands away. “Relax and leave the work to me,” she ordered. Klaus decided that made perfect sense. He lay back, floating on a sea of wonderful sensations. Barta was humming a tune that he couldn’t place, but he knew it was the sweetest song he had ever heard.
Her eyes were closed, a look of bliss on her face. She gasped and her body shook, then she was still. Klaus reached up to brush away a strand of her hair that had fallen in her eyes. He hoped she would start moving again. She smiled at him, but stayed motionless.
Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, she began moving up and down again, faster this time, taking him all the way inside her until he felt himself emptying himself into her, his heart pounding and his head swimming.
Afterwards, they lay on the mattress, Klaus’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal.
“Even if they weren’t surveilling us in the restaurant, they are going to be looking for us,” Barta said. “Our papers won’t survive scrutiny. The train is dangerous and we can’t count on getting lucky a second time. Unless we can be sure those two boys are going to be on the train to Perpignan where you get the Spanish train to Barcelona.”
Klaus laughed. “No, I don’t suppose we can count on that.”
“I’m not sure any of my old Resistance contacts are still alive. Barbie probably tortured them all to death. It’s all different since the Nazis took over from Vichy last November. I can sense the climate of fear. I can probably find some people to make contact with, but it will take time and will be dangerous.”
“So, how do we get to Spain?” Klaus asked. “By car?”
“Buying a car will attract suspicion and stealing one would be pressing our luck, I think.”
“Agreed,” Klaus said. Stealing a car in his hometown was one thing, but he certainly didn’t relish doing it again in a strange city in a foreign country. “So that leaves?”
“I think the bicycle is the best bet,” Barta said. “Sticking to the backroads and ducking into the forests to avoid patrols. And we have money and there are plenty of bicycle shops here in Lyon, so we don’t have to steal one”
“It’s 500 km to the border,” Klaus pointed out.
“I know, and that’s why I think we need to split up. You’re a much stronger rider than I am and I would only slow you down. Plus they will be looking for the two of us to be travelling together and a couple riding together this time of year in the middle of a war will look very suspicious. I’ll stay here and try to make contact with the Resistance.”
“Barta, that’s much too dangerous!” Klaus protested. “The thought of you falling into the hands of those Gestapo beasts is too horrible to imagine! I can’t let you do it. Besides, think of all the fun we can have.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that when we get safely to Spain and then to England and on to the States. I’m a trained agent and know what I’m doing.”
Klaus looked a bit doubtful. “I don’t like this, Barta.”
“This isn’t open for debate, Klaus. This is my operation. Tomorrow morning, you go to a bike store and get the best bike they have and plenty of good warm clothes and a good knapsack. Get some maps, too, and hit the road.”
“When you get near the border, the coast road and the main highway through the Col du Perthus frpm Perpignan to Figueres will definitely be watched. So you head west to Céret, ditch the bike and hike across the Pyrenees. There’s a route south from Céret through las Lilas and across the border to la Bajol. Refugees from the Spanish Civil War used it to get into France and we’ve used it to get people out. You said you used to hike a lot, so this is your big chance to prove it.”
Klaus listened as Barta went on. “When you get to the la Bajol, find a ride to Figueres and get on a train for Barcelona. Go to the British Consulate there and ask for Richard Allenby. He’ll make sure you get safely to Gibraltar and onto a ship headed for England. I’ll make it there somehow and we can have a wonderful reunion. Plenty of fucking, I promise you.”
Klaus shook his head. “You’re crazy, Barta.”
“Crazy about you,” she said. “Now how about one for the road?” she asked, pulling his naked body towards hers.
Barb can choose the color, and then 50 KM ride across some bumpy roads.
