The Street Had No Name

Chapter 42

BASQUE LANDS, 1942

The man turned to both the Monk and Usoa and bowed his head slightly in greeting. He was dressed in a well-worn business suit and wore a dark Fedora slightly crooked to one side looking like an equally well-worn parody of Rick Blaine in Casablanca. He stood about six feet and was thin to the point of emaciation. That said his face was handsome in a very manly way except for a scar that ran from the left side of his nose down to the corner of his mouth tending to produce an inherent ferocity to his otherwise gentle features.

The Rabbi turned to the others and smiled; something that he hadn’t been doing of late.

“My name is Michael” the stranger offered “I am here to help you.” The Monk looked the man up and done and re-joined “How can we be sure of that?”

With this Michael smiled softening his stern countenance a little “I am not really sure of how to answer that except to say that I am here, I knew you were coming and I’m sure the priest will vouchsafe.” He emphasised “priest” in such a way that Alfredo understood that this man knew the truth.

Bidderman did just that explaining to Alfredo that the man’s credentials were contained in the handshake exchanged moments earlier and that if Michael was not who he said he was then there would be no need for any subterfuge as to know how to “forge the association” would require knowing everything there was to know and thus render any need for subterfuge irrelevant.

The Monk took a moment to translate for Usoa as the discussion had been held in English and, whilst she was able to communicate a little in this language, she was far from fluent. Bidderman was able to discern enough of the discussion, given his equally nebulous understanding of Basque, to know that the Monk was presenting a version of what was said that still maintained “the story”.

The Monk turned back to the stranger and extended his hand which the other took.

“Welcome Michael” he said as they broke the greeting “what now?”

The tall man turned and began to walk away saying over his shoulder “now we go away from here” using the word go in such a way the Monk realised that English was not his first language. The three followed after the fellow and disappeared off the track proper into the tall timber to the high side of the track and away from the stream that was forging itself into rapids further down the gorge and thereafter a river in the far distance.

They walked this way for about three quarters of an hour with little being said except for whispers exchanged between the Rabbi and the Monk. Usoa walked between the stranger and the other two with her shotgun cradled loosely in the crook of her arm. This was not lost on Bidderman, he knew that she could have the weapon raised and firing within a second from that position, he had seen her do it before and equally it was not lost on him that the barrels pointed directed at Michael’s back. The Rabbi considered himself very lucky to have both these young people on his side.

Ahead a light mist was turning into a fog proper and Michael halted with the group joining around him. He raised his thumb and first finger to his mouth and produced a shrill whistle that surprised the entourage with its loudness. A few moments later from higher up the ridge an answer rang out and their guide nodded his head slightly and headed off to the right of their current heading, the group fell in behind and the continued upwards.

There was moss growing everywhere now and the ground underfoot became rock rather than the soft forest mulch they had been trekking through and Michael spoke over his shoulder again suggesting that they watch their footing. Bidderman grunted his acquiescence and held his bundle closer to his chest.

Very quickly the fog established itself and had the effect of deadening their movement through the trees. Michael moved with a surefootedness that would seem to suggest a reasonably well established sense of the terrain or, as Bidderman suspected, a different sense of things that would probably work anywhere he was. For another four or five minutes they trudged up the slope which had grown steeper quite dramatically until they came to a granite outcrop that wound its way across their path and, had the fog have not been hiding it completely, out over the side of the mountain and the vertical drop down the other side; a drop that was probably two hundred metres.