An Officer and a Spy

Republic.’
    A single paragraph, that is all. Last night created a sensation . . . It is like catching the faint shock wave of some immense but distant explosion. As the taxi clip-clops along the avenue de France I stare out at the facades of the official buildings and the apartment blocks gleaming white and ochre in the afternoon sun, and I am amazed that they look so normal . I cannot absorb what has happened. I feel a great sense of dislocation from my surroundings, as if I am in a dream.
    At army headquarters, Leclerc’s aide-de-camp comes to fetch me. I follow him down a wide corridor past an office where a sergeant sits bent over a typewriter, picking out the letters with excruciating slowness. Leclerc himself appears equally oblivious to the enormity of what has occurred in Paris. Evidently he doesn’t read La Dépêche – or if he does, he hasn’t associated the story with me. But then why should he?
    He greets me cheerfully. I hand him my report on the murder of Morès. He glances through it quickly, eyebrows raised. ‘Well don’t worry, Picquart,’ he says, handing it back to me, ‘I’ll make sure you have a perfectly decent funeral. You can choose the hymns before you go.’
    ‘Thank you, General. I appreciate that.’
    He goes over to the map of the French protectorate hanging on his office wall. ‘It’s a hell of a trek, I must say. Don’t they keep any charts these days in Paris?’ He traces the route from Tunis in the north due south, past Sousse, Sfax and Gabès, all the way down into the vast desert area towards Tripoli where the map is blank of roads or settlements. ‘That must be eight hundred kilometres. And at the end of it: a whole region swarming with hostile Bedouin.’
    ‘It is somewhat daunting. May I ask where the order came from?’
    ‘Yes, I dare say you can – it was from General Billot himself.’ Leclerc sees my grim expression; it only increases his amusement. ‘I think perhaps you must have slept with his wife after all!’ And then when I still don’t smile, he becomes serious. ‘Look, don’t worry about it, my dear fellow. Obviously it’s a mistake. I’ve already sent him a telegram reminding him that this was the very spot where Morès was ambushed barely a year ago.’
    ‘And has he responded?’
    ‘Not yet, no.’
    ‘General, I don’t think this is a mistake.’ He looks at me and cocks his head, puzzled. I continue, ‘When I was in Paris, I had command of the secret intelligence section of the General Staff. In that capacity I made certain discoveries that revealed there was a traitor in the army, and that it was he who had committed the crimes for which Captain Dreyfus was condemned.’
    ‘Did you, by God?’
    ‘I brought this to the attention of my superiors, including General Billot, with a recommendation that we should arrest the real spy. They refused.’
    ‘Even though you had proof?’
    ‘It would have meant admitting that Dreyfus was innocent. And that would have exposed – well, let us say certain irregularities in the way his case was handled.’
    Leclerc holds up his finger to stop me. ‘Hold on. I’m a slow fellow – too many years in the sun. Let me be clear about this. Are you suggesting that the minister wants to send you on this hazardous mission because he hopes to get rid of you?’
    In reply I hand him La Dépêche tunisienne . Leclerc stares at the paper for a long time. Eventually he says, ‘You are the person who supplied Monsieur Scheurer-Kestner with his information, I take it?’
    I reply with the formula agreed with Louis. ‘I have not given him any facts myself, General.’
    ‘And presumably this was why you were so keen to go to Paris in the summer?’
    Again I seek refuge in evasion. ‘I am profoundly sorry if I’ve caused you embarrassment. I was being threatened with disciplinary action if I dared to protest at my treatment. I felt I had to go back to Paris to talk to my lawyer.’
    ‘This is completely unacceptable behaviour, Colonel.’
    ‘I understand, General, and I apologise. I didn’t know what else I could do.’
    ‘No, not your behaviour – Billot ’s behaviour is unacceptable. And these people have the nerve to feel superior to the Africans!’ He gives me back my newspaper. ‘Unfortunately I can’t countermand a direct order from the head of the army, but I can obstruct it. Go back to Sousse and pretend to get yourself ready to go south. In the meantime I’ll see what I can do. In