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gut. His round, podgy face was even redder than usual. He sniffed loudly and wiped the back of one hand across his nose.
    Then the scowl he wore turned to a smile as he realized Josette and Didier were watching him. “Argument over rugby got a little out of hand,” he said, the smile fixed to his face. “But that Alain Noury; always boasting, spoiling for a fight.” He took a deep breath and wiped his hand across his face a second time. “Now what can I get you? More coffee?”
    Josette stood up. “No, thanks, we’re leaving.”
    She dropped a few coins onto the table and she and Didier made their way from the terrace, conscious of the bar owner’s eyes on them.
    “Rugby!” Josette hissed between clenched teeth.

FIVE
    W hen the sun shone and the sky was clear, the Plateau de Sault looked a benign and beautiful place.
    Wide, flat grasslands and wetlands, dotted here and there with exotic wild orchids, formed a seemingly safe and secure haven for grazing cattle. At almost a thousand metres above sea level, the air was crisp and clean, and the snow-topped mountains ringing the plateau completed a picture postcard-like scene.
    But the Plateau de Sault was deceptive, keeping close its treacherous secrets. Snow and ice had spent centuries eroding the limestone surface, remorselessly carving out hundreds of underground caves and deep, open surface wells.
    In winter, the plateau was frequently cut off from the surrounding communities. Wind-whipped snow would pile up in massive drifts, covering the frozen waters. Then no one would venture onto the snow and risk plunging through hidden ice to certain death.
    Even when at its best, like today, the plateau offered hints of its darker side: the stunted trees, bent into grotesque shapes by howling winter winds that came shrieking through the wide valley; the wide cracks in the sun-baked surface crust, fragile and crumbling, areas that grazing animals sensed were best to avoid. The plateau was always ready to lure the unwary away from solid ground towards sudden danger.
    Gilbert Noury and his twin, Eddie, knew the plateau as well as most, but even they were constantly alert there, because the plateau was ever-changing, its shifting waters creating new hazards and traps.
    Gilbert had elected to return to the plateau with two of the Brandenburgers, leaving his younger-by-ten-minutes brother, Eddie, at the wood yard.
    The three men were looking for possible landing sites for the returning Junkers Ju-52. But after a couple of hours, the two Germans seemed finally to have come to the conclusion that Victor Forêt’s boast that he had chosen the best place was correct.
    The ground on which they stood was one of the flattest parts of the entire plateau. Just as importantly, it was relatively free of water, was solid underfoot and had no hidden pools lurking in crucial parts of what was to become a temporary landing strip.
    The two Brandenburgers had spoken mainly to each other, and in German. They had said little to Gilbert unless they had a question for him, and then they spoke in French. They had listened carefully to his answers, but offered no further conversation.
    Gilbert watched them walk the proposed landing strip twice in each direction, looking for any hidden rocks or ruts that might damage the aircraft’s undercarriage. They took their time, eyes peeled, knowing that anything missed could mean disaster for the aircraft and its crew.
    Then they walked the strip again, this time looking for signs of hidden pools or sink holes. There were a few, but on the edges, far enough from the centre to make landing relatively straightforward for a skilled pilot. And Ju-52 pilots were all extremely experienced in operating in hostile conditions.
    After the second close inspection, Gilbert decided to ask the two Germans their names. The soldier who seemed to be in charge smiled for the first time. “We’re the Brothers Grimm,” he said, laughing.
    “Who?” Gilbert said, his face