Free Night Rounds by Patrick Modiano Page A

"You're going to infiltrate them. Try to get the names and addresses. Looks like a fine haul." For the first time in my life, I had what you call a twinge of conscience. A momentary one, anyway. They advanced me a hundred thousand francs on the information I was to obtain.
    Place des Pyramides. You'd like to forget the past, but your steps inevitably take you back to painful encounters. The Lieutenant was pacing up and down in front of the statue of Joan of Arc. He introduced me to a tall fellow with short-cropped blond hair and periwinkle eyes: Saint-Georges, a Saint-Cyr man. We entered the Tuileries gardens and sat down at the refreshment stand near the carousel. I was back in the familiar setting of my childhood. We ordered three bottles of fruit juice. The waiter brought them and told us these were the last of their pre-war supply. Soon there'd be no more fruit juice. "We'll manage without it," said Saint-Georges with a wry smile. He seemed very determined. "You're an escaped prisoner?" he questioned me. "Which regiment?" "Fifth Infantry," I replied in an empty voice, "but I'd rather not think about it." Making a great effort, I added: "I have only one wish: to continue the struggle to the end." My profession of faith seemed to convince him. He rewarded me with a handshake. "I've rounded up a few members of the network to introduce to you," the Lieutenant told me. They're waiting for us at the Rue Boisrobert." Corvisart, Obligado, Pernety, and Jasmin are there. The Lieutenant speaks warmly of me: my distress over our defeat. My will to take up the struggle anew. The honor and the consolation of becoming their comrade in the R.K.S. "All right, Lamballe, we have a mission for you." He goes on to explain that a number of corrupt individuals were riding with the tide of events and indulging their worst instincts. Just what you'd expect in these times of uneasiness and confusion. These gangsters are assured of complete impunity: they've been given police cards and gun permits. Their loathsome purpose is to strike at the patriots and the honest folk; they commit all sorts of crimes. They took over a private house at 3 bis Cimarosa Square, 16 th arrondissement . Their office is publicly listed as the "Paris-Berlin-Monte Carlo Intercommercial Company." These are all the facts I have. Our duty: to neutralize them as quickly as possible. "I'm counting on you, Lamballe. You're going to penetrate that group. Keep us informed about their activities. It's up to you, Lamballe." Pernety hands me a cognac. Jasmin, Obligado, Saint-Georges, and Corvisart smile at me. Later on, we're returning along the Boulevard Pasteur. The Lieutenant had wanted to go with me as far as the Sèvres-Lecourbe métro station. As we say goodbye, he looks me straight in the eye: "Ticklish mission, Lamballe. A kind of double-cross. Keep in touch with me. Good luck, Lamballe." What if I told him the truth? Too late. I thought of Mama. She, at least, was safe. I had bought the villa in Lausanne for her with the commissions I was making at Avenue Niel. I could have gone to Switzerland with her, but I stayed here out of apathy or indifference. I've already said that I didn't trouble myself much over humanity's fate. Nor did my own future excite me particularly. Just float with the current. A straw in the wind. That evening I report to the Khedive my contact with Corvisart, Obligado, Jasmin, Pernety, and Saint-Georges. I don't know their addresses yet, but it shouldn't take long to get them. I promise to deliver the information on these men as fast as possible. And on others to whom the Lieutenant will surely introduce me. The way things are going, we'll pull off "a fine haul." He repeats this, rubbing his hands. "I was sure you'd win their confidence straight off with your little choirboy's face." Suddenly my head begins to reel. I tell him that the ringleader is not, as I had thought, the Lieutenant. "Who is it, then?" I'm on the edge of a precipice; a few steps are