B004U2USMY EBOK

by Wallace, Michael

  “Deported.”

  “Right. I’ll work with what I’ve got. Wear a hat, keep your head low.”

  A moment of hesitation. “Yes, okay, I can manage.”

  “Good, now here’s what you’ll do.”

  Chapter Twenty-four:

  Gabriela spoke no German and the older man driving the car spoke no French. They fumbled through mutually unintelligible greetings, then never spoke again. The man sat up front and Helmut in back with Gabriela. She didn’t want him there.

  “Please,” Helmut murmured as they pulled away from the hotel, “act as if we’re on friendly terms.”

  She kept her tone sweet. “Why, am I disturbing your aura?”

  “It’s important that Gemeiner think we’re lovers.”

  “In that case, mon cherie, come closer so that we may nuzzle each other’s necks and act like foolish children in love.”

  He slid closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “There, that’s much better.”

  She leaned over and kissed his ear, then whispered, “Go to hell.”

  He laughed as if she’d said something funny, then spoke in German to Gemeiner for a few minutes. She couldn’t read the older man, except that he was deadly serious about whatever they were about.

  There was a checkpoint at the edge of Strasbourg, but the soldiers simply waved them through.

  “That’s a good sign,” Helmut said. She didn’t respond.

  The headlights sliced a narrow beam of light through the Alsatian countryside. Here and there they saw a light in a farmhouse, but mostly the villages, towns, and countryside remained dark except for the occasional car traveling in the opposite direction. Once, Gemeiner pulled over to let a convoy of military trucks pass. It went on for several minutes before it was done. And then it was the dark road again.

  Gabriela had plenty of time to consider Helmut’s betrayal. No, not betrayal. His loyalty to his German cause. No doubt he thought his cause very noble and important. No doubt it was just as important to Helmut as her own goal of helping her father was to her.

  That didn’t soothe the bitterness that consumed her now. The humiliation, the anger, the despair. She’d been vulnerable, needy, even desperate for affection. That night after she'd met Alfonse at Le Coq Rouge she’d responded to him sexually; what hope did she have when touched by actual feelings of tenderness and love? None, really.

  Of course it was all fake. Helmut lied his way into her trust.

  They reached the second checkpoint. Gemeiner and Helmut went out to argue with the soldiers. She sensed some difficulty explaining their presence on the road at this time of the night. For her part, when a soldier flashed his electric torch into the back seat, she smiled coquettishly. The soldier returned a cheerful grin.

  “That was the hardest part,” Helmut said when he returned to the car.

  “I think the hardest part is when I shoot Colonel Hoekman.”

  “Well, yes, there is that.”

  “And when I see if you care enough to save me.”

  “Gaby.”

  Again, silence. They crossed into France. The car grew warm and she dozed off, then woke at the next checkpoint. They passed without difficulty, then Helmut and Gemeiner returned to arguing in German for the next ten or twenty minutes.

  When they finished, Helmut removed his gun from where he’d concealed it beneath the seat and handed it to Gabriela.

  It was heavy and solid and had a smell of metal and oil. She’d never held a gun before. There was a thrill, a feeling of sudden power, holding the thing. He held out his hand and she returned the gun with some reluctance.

  He loaded bullets into the box magazine in front of the trigger. “Watch what I’m doing. I want you to repeat this a few times.”

  “Will I need to reload?”

  “No, but I want you comfortable with the gun. There’s no chance to practice shooting. We can’t even risk stopping and letting you fire a few rounds. Loading and unloading the gun will give you some comfort with the weapon. Go ahead, do it.”

  It was surprisingly tricky to slip the bullets in and out of the magazine. The near dark inside the car didn’t help. She loaded and unloaded six or seven times until he said that was enough. Helmut emptied the bullets and peered into the chamber, then returned the unloaded gun. “Point it at my chest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s unloaded. Go ahead, I want you to know what it feels like.”

  She did it.

  “Good, now pull the trigger. I know that might be hard, but I want you to get the feel so that—”

  Click.

  “Or maybe not so hard,” Helmut said. He took the gun, reloaded, then returned it. She held the loaded weapon in her hand. “Okay, point the gun at my chest again, but don’t pull the trigger. Uhm, obviously.”

  “And you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  Yet even in the darkness she could see a twitch at the corner of his mouth as she pointed the gun at his head.

  “I said aim at my chest.”

  She lowered the gun until it pointed at his chest. Gemeiner’s eyes watched through the rear view mirror before shifting back to the road. The trigger felt light under her finger, almost as if it wanted to be squeezed. Her hand didn’t tremble. At last she lowered it. Helmut let out a sigh.

  “Worried?”

  “No, I wasn’t worried. Well, maybe a little bit.”

  “Then why did you give me a loaded gun and tell me to point it at your chest?”

  “Because this is not a game. I needed to see how you’d react. And I want you to know I trust you. Maybe it would help you trust me back.”

  “I’ll do what I need to do, but you’ll never see my trust again.”

  “I’m sorry, Gaby, I really am. Can you at least trust me enough to do what I say when you get to the Egyptienne?”

  She studied his face. It looked sincere enough, but she’d learned better. Still, what choice was there? “Yes, I can do that.”

  “You’ll want to point the gun at his head, that’s the natural tendency. Don’t. Too great a chance you’ll miss. Aim at his chest. Squeeze the trigger and keep squeezing until there are no bullets left in the magazine. Keep shooting even when he goes down. Aim every shot at his chest. Even if you miss some of the shots—and you won’t after the first shot or two—these bullets are 7.63 millimeter. He’ll go down and won’t get up. You just need to make sure you finish the job.”

  “I’ve been thinking about those pleasure rooms,” Gabriela said. “Christine was telling me about the One-Two-Two and I’ll bet the Egyptienne is the same. They’re padded for privacy. And there will be music out front, and people talking in loud voices. It could be nobody hears the gunfire.”

  “Even then, the Mauser is awfully loud. They make suppressors you can attach to the end of the barrel. It doesn’t eliminate the sound, but it muffles it. Too bad we don’t have time to look for one. No, I think we have to assume people will hear the gunfire.”

  “So what then?” Gabriela asked.

  “We can account for that. After you take care of Colonel Hoekman, drop the gun and come screaming out of the room, yelling something about an assassin in the back room. The man driving our car—whose name I don’t want to say out loud, because I don’t want him to know we’re talking about him—will whisk you away. Nobody will be quite sure if you’re being arrested or hustled off to safety. I’m counting on the fact you’re a beautiful young woman to confuse matters, but you’ll need to do some acting, too. Like that night at Le Coq Rouge, when you pretended to be Roger Leblanc’s girlfriend. That should be good enough.”

  “I can do that. But what happens then?”

  “This is where you’re supposed to believe that the man currently sitting in the driver’s seat in front of us is going to take you to safety. Unfortunately, he has other plans, so I’ve arranged a contingency.”

  “He has other plans? What kind of plans?”

  “Let’s just say this. If
anything goes wrong, they’ll find your body floating face-down in the Seine.”

  #

  They’d been on the road so many hours it was almost a surprise when they approached Paris. They pulled onto a dark farmhouse lane several kilometers outside of the city. Gemeiner climbed into the trunk and Helmut and Gabriela moved to the front seats. Helmut ground the gears of the Opel the first time he shifted, then it was smooth driving.

  “Too bad your friend didn’t spend the whole trip in the trunk,” she said. “It suits him. And now I can stop pretending we’re in love.”

  “That was pretending? Our troops in Russia are getting a warmer reception.”

  “I was pretending to be a girl whose lover is sending her to get killed by the Gestapo. A girl in that situation is not likely to be sitting on his lap, nibbling his ear.”

  “Well here’s the checkpoint,” he said stiffly. They approached the barricades and the floodlights, a soldier in the road holding out a hand for them to stop. “You’d better act now.”

  She snuggled up to his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. Soldiers walked around the car, but when the officer at the window saw Helmut’s papers, he waved them off and sent the car through. As soon as the checkpoint retreated to their rear, Gabriela pulled away and looked out the window.

  They slipped through one of the banlieus to avoid another checkpoint, came into Paris from the south along Avenue de Choisy. As soon as the streets became lit, she took out a brush, her lipstick, and a mirror from her bag and went to work salvaging her appearance. Her new dress had suffered during the long drive.

  “Next stop, the Egyptienne,” Helmut said. “Get the gun, put it in your bag.”

  A car pulled behind them as they turned onto the Boulevard de Clichy and repeatedly honked its horn. “Open your bag, set it there.” He slipped his hand inside her bag where she’d put the gun. He stopped the car.

  The car drew beside theirs on the driver’s side. It was Alfonse’s Horch Cabriolet. The window rolled down; Christine sat in the passenger side and Alfonse leaned over her lap. Christine waved and smiled.

  Alfonse flashed a grin. “Aha, I just knew some filthy boche had stolen my girlfriend.”

  “That didn’t slow you down, I see,” Helmut said, with a nod toward Christine.

  “What was I supposed to do? Spend the evening in a bar, crying over my drink?”

  “They should post a general service announcement whenever you go out. ’Horch spotted, all virtuous Parisiennes please run for the nearest shelter.’”

  “Virtuous Parisiennes? Do such things exist? And if they did, what would I need them for? When I see a girl with virtue, I make a point to divest her of it as soon as possible.” He winked at Gabriela. A car pulled behind the Horch and honked, but Alfonse paid it no attention. “So, when did you get back from Belgium?”

  “Just now,” Helmut said. “It’s been a long day, we thought we’d go out for a drink.”

  “Hey, us too. We’re on our way to the Egyptienne. Care to join us?”

  There wasn’t a moment of hesitation in Helmut’s voice. “Sure. I’ve got to stop at the flat with these papers, but I’ll drop Gaby off first. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll catch up.”

  “Great, see you then.” He roared away.

  “This is an unneeded complication,” Helmut said.

  “Let me out behind the Egyptienne and I’ll tell Alfonse you couldn’t make it.”

  “And when Hoekman shows up? What’ll you tell Alfonse?”

  “If it’s a problem, your friend in the trunk can distract him. You’re not losing your nerve, are you?”

  “No, not at all,” he said. “I just, well, as soon as I drop you at the Egyptienne, I’m going to pick up a shipment at the warehouse and then I’m leaving Paris at dawn. We might not see each other again and I don’t want to end it like this.”

  “How do you want to end it, Helmut?”

  “I don’t know. I just wish that for once it wouldn’t end with regret.”

  Chapter Twenty-five:

  Colonel Hoekman sat by himself at a table in one corner of the lounge. Virtually alone among the men in the lounge, he wore his uniform. His hat rested on the table in front of him. A girl came and put a hand playfully on his arm, but he waved her off. He glanced up and met Gabriela’s gaze.

  She turned away. Her stomach lurched.

  The Egyptienne was set up tonight like a 1920s Chicago speakeasy. The girls wore pearls and flapper dresses. Garish lamps, bartenders in gangster suits and hats. A jazz quartet played in one corner, but they were white men with painted black faces and painted pink lips.

  Gemeiner had come in a few minutes before she did. He also sat by himself. Unlike Hoekman, however, he’d allowed himself to be surrounded by pretty girls and signaled the bartender for drinks for his new companions. He slid her a glance, then looked back to the girls at his side.

  “Gaby! Over here!” It was Alfonse, standing by the pool table with cue stick in hand. Christine stood behind his shoulder.

  “Watch this shot,” he said after she’d made her way over.

  He lined up, gave a confident hit to the cue ball, then watched with a smug expression as it struck the three ball, which in turn ricocheted at an angle and knocked the nine into the corner pocket. The other German player snorted as Alfonse lined up for another shot. Two more shots and he dropped the eight ball. The two racked up for a return game.

  “I’ve been thinking about Roger Leblanc,” Christine said to Gabriela.

  Gabriela gave a sideways glance to Colonel Hoekman, still staring in her direction. She had to go over there, and soon, but first, how could she get Christine away from danger? Alfonse, too. She owed him that much.

  “Ouai?”

  “How did he convince the zazous that he was one of them?”

  “What do you mean?” Gabriela asked.

  “He infiltrated their group,” Christine said. “They just trusted him, why?”

  “Because he was a zazou, of course.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” she said, her tone defensive. “You saw what happened. They let Roger go. He was with the fascists, he had to be. He must have been all along. He was nothing but a JPF and he grew his hair out so the zazous would think he was one of them. You saw how they accepted us when we dressed up. It can be done. That’s what Roger was doing.”

  “And took on an effeminate air so people would think he was homosexual? Learned how to draw? Cultivated an attitude of not giving a damn for months so people would believe it?”

  Christine nodded. “He was good, wasn’t he?”

  “He wasn’t good, Christine. He was a zazou all along. He turned on them.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. He was a collaborator.”

  She tossed her hair. “We’re all collaborators, Gaby. Doesn’t mean we denounce our friends. No, I don’t believe it. It can’t be true.”

  Gabriela looked at Alfonse. He was in the middle of another series of excellent shots and laughing and joking in German. She glanced over to Colonel Hoekman. When she turned back, Christine was watching her.

  “You’re not going to that Gestapo bastard again, are you?” Christine asked.

  “Yes, I am. ”

  “I don’t understand you, Gaby. I try, but I can’t. Do you need help, are you in trouble? If it’s money—”

  “There is something you can do. How quickly can you seduce a man?”

  The concern vanished, replaced with a sly smile. “Faster than you.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “You’ve got the face and the tits, but I’ve got the cunning and the experience.” Her expression changed again. “Wait, you’re not talking about Hoekman, that’s not what you want me to do, is it?”

  “No, of course not. What I’m asking is how quickly you can get Alfonse out of here and back home with his pants off.”

  “He’s into his pool game now. I figured another hour and then—”

/>   “There’s no hour, Christine. You’ve got about two minutes to seduce him.”

  “Two minutes? What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

  “I’m serious, Christine, listen to me. If you can’t do it, you’ve got to get yourself out at least. Say you’re going out for fresh air, whatever.” She turned to go.

  Christine grabbed her arm. “What? Why?”

  “Just do it. It’s a question of life and death.”

  Gabriela left Christine staring after her and made her way toward the colonel. She felt the extra weight in the handbag over her shoulder. Inside, Helmut’s Mauser. She imagined her hand closing around it, pointing it at Hoekman’s chest, pulling the trigger. It would be loud. She needed to be prepared. She couldn’t let it startle her.

  Colonel Hoekman stood as she approached. A wary look.

  She licked her lips, tried to look nervous. It wasn’t hard. “I-I’ve got that information. Can we go talk?”

  He came around the table and put his hand on her arm. “Let us go to my car.”

  “No, we need to stay here, inside.”

  “Come, be reasonable.”

  “I won’t go to your car. I’ll only tell you here, where I’m safe.”

  “Really, I must insist. This place is too public.” He tightened his grip.

  “I’m warning you. I’ll scream.”

  “Do you think that matters? I’m in charge here, not you. Don’t forget it.”

  Again, his French was greatly improved from the last time she had seen him. Both accent and grammar. It was a sharp mind against hers. Could he suspect her? She felt a trickle of fear.

  “I don’t trust you. If you take me in your car, you’ll force me. Maybe my friends will never see me again. So I’m going to scream. Maybe it won’t matter, but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll scream and there will be a big scene.”

  “You are making me angry.”

  She changed her tone. “Please, I beg you. Be reasonable. I’m going to tell you everything I know, there’s no need to force me. Now please, people are going to notice. That doesn’t help you, either. Alfonse is here, you don’t want to alarm him when he’s with all his army friends.”

  To her relief, Colonel Hoekman released her arm. “Where, then?”