Chapter 16: Reunion : Brazzaville, February 1942

Much to Clegg's irritation, the train he was travelling on with Elly was making painfully slow progress. It was taking forever to make its way up the Congo Valley, inland from Pointe Noire. It seemed to gasp at every bend and incline as it tried to cope with the uneven track and the tropical heat.

The journey gave Clegg some time to think about the girls that were now back, he assumed, in Station X. He had some concerns. At least with his usual clients he knew how the girls would be treated. He was much less confident that the yahoo's from the English public school system that filled British Intelligence had the slightest idea of what to do with a woman. Still, he thought, philosphically, it was hardly his problem.

Eventually the locomotive coughed its way around the last curve of its 300 mile journey, and sighed with apparent relief as it slid to a halt in the ramshackle station in Brazzaville.

It was the letter, card and photograph in Ilsa's handbag that had brought them here.

The photograph of Rick and Ilsa beside the Eiffel Tower had confirmed Freddie's suspicion that Ilsa was the woman that Rick had met in Paris. The card from Rick's Cafe Americain, Casablanca had provided their destination if Freddie was going to find Rick and tell her of Ilsa's fate. The letter? Well, it had looked like a lot of personal stuff. Freddie didn't really read it, just taking in that it was in Rick's handwriting. The dateon it had been from when they were both still in Paris.

Clegg and Elly had made their way from Lisbon to Casablanca. They'd been lucky there. That was where Clegg had met the fat man. Ferrari had bought the Cafe Americain when Rick left. Sam was still there too, of course, but he wasn't saying anything about his old boss. Ferrari had told Freddie as much as was known about the events of the past few weeks.

He'd told them to try the Free French garrison in Brazzaville.

Clegg peered out of the carriage window. At the end of a platform a dapper looking French police officer was waiting patiently. As Clegg hefted their suitcases from the train and Elly followed him out on to the platform, the Frenchman approached. "Monsieur Clegg?" he asked. "Monsieur Freddie Clegg?"

Clegg, wary as ever at being approached by the police, held out his hand and nodded slowly. The Frenchman shook it warmly took one step back and saluted. "Captain Renault," he announced. "Louis Renault. At your service."

Clegg understood at once. He'd heard about Renault from Ferrari in Casablanca.

According to Ferrari, Lazlo and Ilsa had turned up in Casablanca. There had been some fuss about letters of transit to allow them to leave. Strasser had been there too, looking for the same letters. Strasser had been shot at the airport. The police were still looking for the culprit. They'd been interviewing the usual suspects but without result. Renault and Rick had left shortly afterwards. Ferrari had his own idea as to who was responsible. The rumour was that Renault and Rick had gone to Brazzaville. It looked like the rumours were right.

"A pleasure to meet you, Louis," Freddie said. "Señor Ferrari sends his regards. He hopes you will stay away a little longer — the roulette wheel is doing better in your absence." Renault gave a half embarrassed smile. "This is my associate, Elspeth Grant." Clegg noticed Renault's appraising look. Renault was evidently as incorrigible as his reputation had suggested. Still, Clegg thought, Elly was well able to look after herself. "I was hoping to meet up with Rick," Freddie said. "Don't tell me he's off in the jungle."

"No, no, not at all. A small difficulty. We had heard you were coming. Rick asked if I could meet you." Freddie and Elly followed Renault out to his car for the drive into town. Renault pulled up outside the battered, colonial style, Hotel Du Monde. The three of them went inside. Rick was sitting at a table in the bar staring at an empty glass. The half full bottle of Scotch beside it suggested that it wouldn't be empty for long.

Freddie looked around. If this was the best Brazzaville had to offer it wasn't much. On the other hand, he was glad to be there. He was pretty sure that if he'd stayed in London Strangways would have had him on a boat to Singapore by now. He wasn't planning to go back for quite a while. That's why he was pleased that Elly had turned up when she did. She would have guessed he wouldn't be stopping in England long.

Anyway, Freddie thought, even if he hadn't fancied the trip to Brazzaville, he had owed it to his friend to let him know about Ilsa.

Freddie decided that he had best get it over with. "Rick," he said. Blaine looked up barely recognising his friend through his liquor induced haze. "I brought you some news. About Ilsa." Rick blinked. Freddie could see that he'd heard what he said. "She's in England."