B004U2USMY EBOK
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The other mistake was not realizing the old man was more important than the girl. What had he been thinking in those few seconds of chaos? That the old man was Gabriela’s lover, he supposed. She was a prostitute, after all, and prostitutes couldn’t be picky. Any man with money would do, and if he were old and ugly, he’d be that much easier to play. And of course old men like this one usually convinced themselves the girls loved them.
So he’d left the old man in care of the Franc-gardes. Only upon his return, when he was carting the man off for interrogation, did something about his demeanor make him reconsider. Hoekman called him Gemeiner and the old man hadn’t answered to the name, nor shown any surprise or confusion. The lack of response was telling.
And so Hoekman’s mistake with the old man proved fortuitous. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have been outside the lounge with Gemeiner when the Jew pulled up. He’d be left with the prostitute to interrogate. This was much better.
Hoekman didn’t turn away from the cages until all three mice were reduced to lumps inching down the length of the snakes. “A rodent is a warm creature, curious, passionate. A reptile is cold, analytical. You’ll never see it afraid or angry.”
Gemeiner sounded bored. “I’m not scared of snakes, if that’s what you’re trying to do. And I’m not afraid of torture. I’m not fond of it, but I can endure it just fine.”
“Is that where you got the scars on your back?” Hoekman asked. “They are old, you are old. Were you perhaps captured by the Russians in the last war? Did they burn you? Were they looking for information, or torturing you for their own amusement?”
“My, what a skilled investigator you are.” Gemeiner turned his head to where Hoekman stood by the cages. “Did you go to a special school to develop that penetrating insight? And such searching questions. They have rendered me quite helpless.”
“Your arrogance is tedious, but not particularly surprising. You are in the reptile phase right now. You still think you control the situation. You will eventually pass to the rodent phase. We will see what you say then.”
“Reptile phase? Rodent phase? Is that supposed to be profound?”
“Merely an observation of human nature,” Hoekman said. “My point is simply this. You will talk eventually. They all do.”
“Maybe, but it will be too late to help you. Two hours, three, it will be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Too late to stop our cavalry of magic unicorns from flying over Berlin and dumping ten thousand kilograms of gummi bears onto the city.”
He was tired of being mocked. Time to take control of the situation. “Do you know the difference between a hungry snake and a hungry rodent, Herr Gemeiner?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“A hungry snake will curl into a ball and wait. It can wait for months, with nothing but hunger to occupy its time. A snake can wait until it is almost dead and there’s nothing left but a lean, starving hunger. It never panics, it just waits. Sooner or later something will crawl into its den and then, just like that,” he said with a snap of the fingers, “the snake is fed.”
“Fascinating.”
“A rodent, however, is quite frantic with hunger after twenty-four hours. A mother mouse, unfed, will devour her blind, hairless young. Put two starving mice in a cage and one will attack and kill the other. Eat its brains first. It’s true, that’s where the most energy is and somehow the rodents know it.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Now, rats, they’re even nastier. You know in Stalingrad, when our troops were trapped in the Kessel, it was widely reported that hunger reduced our men to eating rats.”
“They taste okay if you clean them properly and use plenty of salt. Not much meat.”
“What is not widely known is that hunger also reduced the rats to eating our men.” Hoekman opened the cabinet, removed one cage, then another. Inside, the frantic sound of scratching, squealing. They were desperate to be fed.
“One sniper fell asleep at his post,” Hoekman continued. “When he woke, there were rats on his face, tearing at the soft tissue on his lips and ears, biting at his eyeballs. Hundreds of them. But rat teeth are small. Their bites, individually, are far from fatal. It took some time for the soldier to die while they ate him alive.”
“And how do they know this is what happened?” Gemeiner asked. Hoekman detected a note of uncertainty in his voice. “Was he writing it down while they ate him, or was there someone watching and taking notes?”
“You’re right. Perhaps he was killed by a Soviet sniper and then eaten. It does sound like conjecture. A story told to scare other soldiers. Keep them from falling asleep at their posts.”
He brought the two cages over and set them on the table next to Gemeiner. “Look at these cages. You can open them from the top, or you can slide open this panel on the bottom.”
“I’m not afraid of a few lab mice.”
“Not even hungry lab mice? After everything I’ve told you?”
“No, sorry, you’ll have to do better.”
Hoekman pulled up Gemeiner’s shirt. There were rope-like scars on his abdomen that matched the ones on his back. Too bad he couldn’t know what had caused those scars. It would be interesting to know what techniques the Russians used and whether or not they’d been effective. He checked the straps on Gemeiner’s hands and feet, then turned to the bin of tools next to the table. He fished out a razor blade, held it up to the light and check its edge. Sharp.
“This is my favorite part of the job,” Hoekman said.
“I’ll bet it is.”
It was warm in the office—both snakes and rodents preferred temperatures that could make a man loosen his collar—but that didn’t fully explain the sweat beading at the old man’s forehead.
“Don’t get me wrong, I do not enjoy torturing people. Causing them pain. I am. . .indifferent, I suppose you could say. I am not like some men for whom the pain is everything. What I enjoy is the learning. You learn a good deal about people doing this. Human nature, the capacity to resist, the need to please. Who talks, who stays silent. And why. I believe that every man has his breaking point.
“One man starts babbling at the first glimpse of a pair of forceps. Another man can handle pain, but if you keep him awake, standing on his feet, he’ll beg, cry for mercy after three or four days. Most cooperate fully if you threaten their wives and children, but not everyone.”
Hoekman bent to the man’s stomach. This would be more interesting if he didn’t get carried away at first. He drew the blade across the flesh. One, two, three, four, five times. Gemeiner drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t cry out. Blood welled to the surface and ran in rivulets down his side.
“Very good, Herr Gemeiner. Some pain, some fear, but your reptile side still holds sway.”
He lifted the two cages and put them side by side across the man’s stomach. It was slick with blood now and Hoekman had to hold the cages in place to keep them from simply sliding off. The animals inside scratched, squeaked.
“So what, you’re going to let some hungry mice bite me?”
“They’ll lick at the blood at first. Your bucking and thrashing will confuse them, but they are too hungry and there is nowhere for them to go in any event.”
Gemeiner was panting and his eyes watered. “Go ahead. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll see I can’t be broken.”
“That sounds like quite a challenge.”
“You’ll see. I’m not afraid of lab mice.”
This would be interesting.
“When did I say anything about lab mice? They’re not from a lab. They were brought to me from the Eastern Front. And they are not mice. The rats of Stalingrad are nothing more than a few bones at the bottom of a cook pot by now, but there are still plenty of rats in Kiev.”
Colonel Hoekman slid open the bottoms of the cages. The rats were starving and needed no encouragement to start their work.
#
Helmut wore a cap and a fake mustache that wouldn’t hold up to serious scrutiny, but was close enough to the real thing if Gabriela didn’t look too hard. The truck had “Farine du Quartier” painted on the side, together with a helpful picture of a sack of flour and three baguettes for those who might not speak French.
Problem was, if they were stopped, subjected to even a rudimentary inspection, it would all be over. Those weren’t bags of flour in the back.
Gabriela tried to shake off the fear. “A million people living in Paris, and half the city is awake already. They can’t stop everyone.”
“Until we try to leave,” Helmut said. “The city is strangled with checkpoints. They’ll double- and triple-check every transit document and open every car trunk and every truck.”
Christine leaned forward to look over Helmut’s shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for.” She sat behind the seats, near the boxes of gold coins. “Take the second left. Yes, here.” A moment later she said, “The edge of the 15th is like a sieve. You want to get out of the city, I can find at least four routes into the southern banlieus.”
Make that three. The first road they tried had two policemen, questioning a man with a cart filled with cabbages. The man was shouting, pointing at his cart, then giving exaggerated, disgusted shrugs. The police were so focused on the arguing man that Helmut had time to turn around without getting stopped.
“Try here instead,” Christine said a moment later. “Left, then bear right.”
It seemed they were doubling back on their tracks, but then they hit a cobbled street and they were slicing due south. Minutes later, the city fragmented into villages and then unbroken farmland.
“I told you she knew the city,” Gabriela said.
“Nicely done,” Helmut said.
“Stay on this road until you cross a green iron bridge,” Christine said, “then take the immediate right. Follow it. . .oh, about half an hour. Then you’ll see what looks almost like a cow trail on the right. That’ll carry us all the way to the Lyon highway.”
“How long?”
“Another hour, hour and a half maybe.”
Gabriela looked down at her clothes, glanced back at Christine and her coat and dress. “We can’t go all the way to Marseille like this. Sooner or later we’ll hit a checkpoint and it’s going to be sticky explaining why a flour truck is carrying two girls who look like they stepped out of a city lounge and spent the night in a warehouse.”
“I don’t have to be there until tomorrow morning,” Helmut said. “We have all day and night to get to Marseille.”
“Perfect,” Christine said. “We can bypass those old Vichy check-points at night. Meanwhile, I’m dead tired back here. Can you find the bridge and the dirt road on your own?”
“Sure, get some rest. My jacket is tucked behind my seat. You can use it as a pillow. Feel free to pull off those tarps and do something with them, if you can.”
“Can I open the boxes?” Christine asked in a teasing voice. “70,000 gold coins might not make the most comfortable bed, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
“They’re booby trapped, so maybe not.”
“Booby trapped? Are they really?”
“Maybe, maybe not. If they’re not, the guy who packed the box should really be deported.”
“Gaby, hand me Roger’s drawing,” she said. “You know, the rooster on the building, you still have it?”
“Yes, it’s here.”
“I want one more look. There's something that's bugging me.”
#
After Christine had fallen asleep in the back, Gabriela looked out the window. A gray, rain-splattered dawn greeted them. The truck heater thawed her feet, but it wasn’t enough to warm the front, so she was cold in spite of her coat.
“So here we are,” Helmut said. “Together again.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for coming back to warn me,” he said.
“I need your help getting my father out of that pit. You can’t help if Hoekman arrests you.”
“Is that all it is?”
“No, it’s not,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have left you behind anyway, I hope you know that.”
“I wouldn’t have left you, either.”
“I know.” Gabriela thought about what Alfonse had said about Helmut. He was wrong. It wasn’t an act; Helmut was a good man who cared about people. Flawed, like anyone else.
“It wasn’t my idea,” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you. I don’t know if you’ll believe that, but it’s true.”
“You were playing the good soldier, I understand.”
“No, not really. If I’d played my part, I would have seduced you, sent you to kill Hoekman, and then never thought about it again.”
“It’s a strange time and place for a German to grow a conscience.”
“I always had one. I never managed to lose it, that’s the problem.”
“I’m sitting here, thinking and thinking, and I can’t figure out who you’re going to bribe with those 70,000 French roosters. And how it can help the Germans.”
“It’s safer if you don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, what could go wrong? David Mayer left for Switzerland. Hopefully, he’s on the train by now. Hoekman has Gemeiner. I don’t even want to think about that. You’ve got employees, but by now Nazis are dragging them out of bed.”
Helmut’s grip tightened on the wheel. “My men have contingencies. I hope to God they followed them. If they did, they’ll be long gone by the time the Gestapo arrives.”
“And your wife?” she asked, gently. “What about her?”
“I called, or tried to, at Strasbourg. David is going to try again from Switzerland. She knows what to do. She’s smart and resourceful.”
“But not so smart and resourceful that she can help all the way from Germany. You’re down to two friends and they’re both in this car.”
“I don’t plan to put you in danger.”
“Too late for that, now.” She put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you tell me what you have planned. Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t suppose it could hurt,” Helmut said. “If you’re captured, I’m likely either dead or also in custody.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know there was almost a second war with the French army last fall?”
“What French army?”
“Vichy kept its army. Small, weak, pathetic, true, but it existed. It had to police Algeria, for one, protect the coast against Allied attack. When Algeria fell to the Americans, the Wehrmacht launched a second invasion to occupy the south.”
“I heard that. I couldn’t figure out why they had to invade.”
“Hitler couldn’t leave the south of France exposed, especially not the coasts. He didn’t trust what remained of the French in any event. But what wasn’t reported was that the French almost fought back.”
“You can destroy the French army, but you can’t do anything about French pride,” she said.
“Fifty thousand troops took defensive positions around Toulon. The Germans surrounded them and there was almost shooting. The French cause was hopeless and they disbanded at the last minute. The thing is, they still have their weapons.”
“What’s changed? I don’t know much, but I know fifty thousand troops is nothing. They couldn’t hope to defeat the boches.”
“Exactly. That’s why they disbanded and that’s why the Germans simply let them. But Gaby, they don’t have to defeat the Germans. All they have to do is seize the port of Marseille and hold off the Wehrmacht for five days. They’ll have the element of surprise. It will take the Germans time to mount a counterattack. Meanwhile, the Britis
h and the Americans control the western Mediterranean. If the port of Marseille stays open. . .”
“You’re saying you want the Americans to invade.”
“They’re going to invade anyway. They might come through southern France, maybe across the Channel, or via Belgium. Denmark, Italy, Greece, it doesn’t matter. The Americans are too strong, they are winning and the Western Front is too thinly protected. It’s just a question of timing. Because meanwhile the Russians have turned the tide in the east. If the Americans wait another year it will be too late. The Soviet Union, not the United States and Britain, will win the war. Tell me, would you rather be liberated by Stalin or Roosevelt?”
“I see. And the gold coins?”
“Bribing Vichy officials. Paying mobsters, saboteurs. Payment for French soldiers.”
“Why gold?”
“Because gold has no value unless they win. A man spends his gold and the Gestapo will be kicking down his door. If a man takes the gold, it is worthless unless the Americans win.”
“French roosters?” she asked.
“Robbed from French vaults when France fell. I merely bought it back to return to the French people.”
“But where did you get so much money?”
“I’m a good businessman. Or was. I’ve saved my profits, liquidated half my capital. All for this. Saved some currency to tie up loose ends.”
“Loose ends like David Mayer.”
“All my employees. And my wife, you, Christine. Hopefully, myself, if I survive the next few days. But yes, it’s over. I’m almost broke. Maybe in a few years I’ll rebuild.”
“I’m sure you will, you have a talent.”
“I’ve got it,” Christine said from the seat behind them.
“I thought you were asleep,” Gabriela said. “Got what?”
“I was asleep, and that’s why I’ve got it. I figured it out. The red rooster, I understand. It’s France. Roger Leblanc thinks he’s France. That’s why he made a rooster and put it on top of that building. It’s looking down, it has his face on it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “You’re still dreaming.”
“Listen! The German prison. The rooster is a Coq Gallois, like on the gold coins. It’s just sitting up there, doing nothing, while the boches run their horrid little factory.”