“How the hell did you put all that together?”
“I’ve been hiding out a lot longer than you. Survival is a question of staying sharp and always observing. You’ll understand soon enough. We stay on the road until dawn. German convoys are easiest to spot by night. During the day, by the time you see them it’s already too late. At daybreak, we’ll have to switch to that bike of yours. How fast can you go?”
“Forty-five, fifty kilometers an hour, at best.”
Hanna grabbed Robert’s wrist and checked the time.
“That gives us enough time to cover at least a hundred and fifty kilometers, which should put us pretty close to the border. I can’t believe they left you your watch.”
“Who?”
“Who? The bastards who took you captive, that’s who. Someday you’ll have to tell me how you managed to get out of there alive.”
“Oh, I see,” Robert said, darkening. “Next, you’ll be telling me to run along. What the hell are you insinuating?”
“Not a thing, not a single thing. I was asking sincerely. I’m just interested in hearing what happened to you.”
“We got snagged by militiamen who drove us out to a house. Titon and I were separated. They beat us like dogs, trying to get us to talk. Obviously, I didn’t say a word, or else I wouldn’t have gotten all these pretty little souvenirs.” Robert slid up his sleeve to show a series of cigarette burns on his forearm.
“When they figured out I was American, they thought I’d make a nice little gift for the Germans. They threw me in the back of a car. I passed out, so they didn’t even bother with a guard, just the driver. When I woke up, we were driving on a country road. I was close enough to grab the guy by the throat. I told him if he didn’t stop the car, I’d snap his fucking neck. And that’s just what he did.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I snapped his fucking neck.”
“Well . . . good riddance. One less bastard in the world. You’re making me regret letting off that farmer so easily. Not to mention he’ll go running straight to that checkpoint and tell them everything. All right, let’s focus on the task at hand. Enough talk,” Hanna ordered.
As they drove through the night in silence, one part of Robert’s story was gnawing at Hanna. How in the world did he manage to recover the tandem? But, of course, it wasn’t the only tandem in the world. And in any event, Hanna needed his help and wasn’t going to risk offending the one man who could take her to America and save her life.
They got lost several times along the way, and even drove straight by Aurignac without realizing. As Hanna searched around for a map, she stumbled upon a pass issued by the militia, thus confirming her suspicions about Germain. She eventually found an old map among the truck’s papers and used it to guide their way, flicking on the small light in the truck from time to time as they drove. She wasn’t familiar with any of the names of the tiny villages they passed, but knew they would be fine as long as they kept heading south and didn’t run into anyone along the way.
The truck reached Saint-Girons around three in the morning. As they entered the village, they caught sight of a German sidecar parked by the side of the road. Luckily, the men on guard were so groggy and slow moving that by the time they made it outside, all they saw were brake lights fading in the distance. And besides, the soldiers would have most likely assumed that only an authorized convoy would be prowling around so late at night.
Robert turned the truck onto a steep, winding road that hugged the side of a mountain as it ascended. The vehicle’s clutch struggled with each hairpin bend, until the engine finally gave out not far from the village of Seix. Robert grabbed his satchel and left the tandem behind once and for all, judging that the path ahead would be easier by foot. They shoved Germain’s Berliet off the edge of the cliff, watching as the truck plunged into the rocky Ribaute gorges.
After a long and arduous climb, the two weary travelers made it to Seix at the break of dawn. Hanna caught sight of a guesthouse and asked Robert if he had any money.
“Not a cent,” he replied, watching as Hanna rolled up a leg of her pants to reveal a thick strip of gauze wrapped around her calf. “Is that a wound? Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No. My father had a talent for predicting the future.” Hanna dug under the bandage and pulled out two hundred francs, which she handed to Robert. “Go in and see if they have a room.”
“Don’t you think that might be risky? With my accent?”