into the harbor
.
Malevergne was left with a handful of blank sheets of paper and told to write out his confession. The pages remained blank when the inspector returned, and as a consequence, Malevergne was subjected to four more hours of questioning.
He was asked about the secret embarkation point at Sidi Bouknadel beach, the one he and Pao had concocted to fool Rocca. “Such an operation would be idiotic,” Malevergne told his interrogators truthfully. “It would be inconceivable at that time [of day] because it could not go unnoticed in that part of the coast.”
He was told that Germaine had burned some English pounds in the fireplace after Malevergne had been arrested, trying to hide incriminating evidence. Where had he come by English pounds?
“If she burned the money, our savings are gone,” he told them.
They came from the Bank of England in Casablanca. I purchased them several years ago
.
It was one o’clock the next morning when he began to wilt, admitting that he might have talked with his companions about contriving a plot to aid the Belgian pilots out of Morocco, like “probably ten million Frenchmen at this moment who speculate about such a crime, if it is a crime.” Forced to sign a statement to that effect, Malevergne was taken back to his cell with the promise that he would be able to see his wife and children the next day and allowed to accompany the authorities as they searched his home.
In the morning, he was driven to his home in Mehdia, but unfortunately Germaine and the boys were not there. They’d left for Rabat to stay with friends. Malevergne watched with a sickened and violated feeling as an officer went through his papers, as well as family photos and letters. He was then taken to his workplace in Port Lyautey, where once again the authorities searched his papers. As he left, his colleagues bade him tearful good-byes. It felt like it would be a very long time before he saw them again.
On the day before Christmas Eve, 1940, Malevergne was transferred, along with his accused coconspirators, Allegre, Brunin, Brabancon, and Paolantonacci, and eight of the Belgian pilots, to the military prison in Casablanca. Circumstances here were more lenient than they’d been in Rabat. Along with the others with whom he was allowed to visit, Malevergne began to craft a strategy against the charges and to coordinate stories. His defense consisted primarily of convincing the authorities that his chief accuser, Rocca, the man he’d hired and suspected of duplicity almost from the beginning, was an unreliable witness: a well-known drunk and liar.
Malevergne’s stay in Casablanca was brief. Just after the New Year, he was taken with a dozen other inmates to a prison in Meknes, a city in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in northern Morocco, to await trialin front of a military tribunal. His surroundings were once again harsh: a small cell with a cement slab to sleep upon; twenty-minute walks in the morning and afternoon “in a sort of cage, a little larger than the cell”; no communication with other prisoners; chickpeas or bean soup for dinner. He was, however, given paper and writing implements, and here, toward the end of January, Malevergne began to keep a diary.
In his second week in Meknes, Malevergne met with an attorney and learned that a hearing of his case had been set for the following week. On the appointed day, he was taken with his attorney to the judge’s chambers, where to his surprise he found the traitor Rocca. He let his rage speak through his glance until the judge was out of the room. “Do you think that the Légion d’Honneur which you wear is well placed?” Malevergne hissed at him.
Rocca squirmed. “I was arrested before you were,” he told Malevergne sheepishly. “At the interrogation, I was not able to take it.”
A worm
, Malevergne thought. Before the judge reentered the chambers, he asked Rocca to tell the court that he’d been drinking the day he’d made
.
Malevergne was left with a handful of blank sheets of paper and told to write out his confession. The pages remained blank when the inspector returned, and as a consequence, Malevergne was subjected to four more hours of questioning.
He was asked about the secret embarkation point at Sidi Bouknadel beach, the one he and Pao had concocted to fool Rocca. “Such an operation would be idiotic,” Malevergne told his interrogators truthfully. “It would be inconceivable at that time [of day] because it could not go unnoticed in that part of the coast.”
He was told that Germaine had burned some English pounds in the fireplace after Malevergne had been arrested, trying to hide incriminating evidence. Where had he come by English pounds?
“If she burned the money, our savings are gone,” he told them.
They came from the Bank of England in Casablanca. I purchased them several years ago
.
It was one o’clock the next morning when he began to wilt, admitting that he might have talked with his companions about contriving a plot to aid the Belgian pilots out of Morocco, like “probably ten million Frenchmen at this moment who speculate about such a crime, if it is a crime.” Forced to sign a statement to that effect, Malevergne was taken back to his cell with the promise that he would be able to see his wife and children the next day and allowed to accompany the authorities as they searched his home.
In the morning, he was driven to his home in Mehdia, but unfortunately Germaine and the boys were not there. They’d left for Rabat to stay with friends. Malevergne watched with a sickened and violated feeling as an officer went through his papers, as well as family photos and letters. He was then taken to his workplace in Port Lyautey, where once again the authorities searched his papers. As he left, his colleagues bade him tearful good-byes. It felt like it would be a very long time before he saw them again.
On the day before Christmas Eve, 1940, Malevergne was transferred, along with his accused coconspirators, Allegre, Brunin, Brabancon, and Paolantonacci, and eight of the Belgian pilots, to the military prison in Casablanca. Circumstances here were more lenient than they’d been in Rabat. Along with the others with whom he was allowed to visit, Malevergne began to craft a strategy against the charges and to coordinate stories. His defense consisted primarily of convincing the authorities that his chief accuser, Rocca, the man he’d hired and suspected of duplicity almost from the beginning, was an unreliable witness: a well-known drunk and liar.
Malevergne’s stay in Casablanca was brief. Just after the New Year, he was taken with a dozen other inmates to a prison in Meknes, a city in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains in northern Morocco, to await trialin front of a military tribunal. His surroundings were once again harsh: a small cell with a cement slab to sleep upon; twenty-minute walks in the morning and afternoon “in a sort of cage, a little larger than the cell”; no communication with other prisoners; chickpeas or bean soup for dinner. He was, however, given paper and writing implements, and here, toward the end of January, Malevergne began to keep a diary.
In his second week in Meknes, Malevergne met with an attorney and learned that a hearing of his case had been set for the following week. On the appointed day, he was taken with his attorney to the judge’s chambers, where to his surprise he found the traitor Rocca. He let his rage speak through his glance until the judge was out of the room. “Do you think that the Légion d’Honneur which you wear is well placed?” Malevergne hissed at him.
Rocca squirmed. “I was arrested before you were,” he told Malevergne sheepishly. “At the interrogation, I was not able to take it.”
A worm
, Malevergne thought. Before the judge reentered the chambers, he asked Rocca to tell the court that he’d been drinking the day he’d made
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