by Robert Wise
‘I said I’m fine.’
The door across the lot swung open and Klaus stepped inside.
‘Finished?’
Stefan nodded and moved to one side, revealing the sparkling framework.
‘Okay,’ Stefan huffed, ‘now are you going to tell us where our friends and family are?
‘Soon,’ Klaus replied as he admired the assembly of glimmering brass.
‘No,’ Stefan yelled, ‘we had a deal.’
Klaus felt the glare of a pistol aimed at his back.
‘Stefan stop, this isn’t the way.’
‘How do we know,’ Stefan spat, ‘how do we know this isn’t all some game, some plot to capture us all.’
Klaus turned to face the gun.
‘If that were true you would already be dead. Now if we are all done playing, we have to proceed with the final chapter.’
‘And what of our friends?’
Klaus walked past him.
‘They’ll be joining us.’
The elevator pinged and Private Schulze marched out into the lobby. A dozen or so people lingered in the foyer. Seven of those were dressed in black and carrying machine guns. The Major’s visit wasn’t so inconspicuous. He arrived at the reception desk and set down a large packet.
‘Excuse me, I found this in my room, it’s addressed to another room here, could I leave it with you?’
‘Of course, Sir,’ a woman said politely, ‘leave it with me, my apologies for the inconvenience.’
She took the envelope and tucked it into the wall of pigeon holes. The Private thanked her and strode back towards the elevator where two more soldiers now stood. It was time to find Niklaus Linder.
Tobias peered over the newspaper. He counted nine SS officers, two guarding the entrance, five stalling around the seating area across the way and two more standing against the elevator. He folded the newspaper into a neat square and adjusted the tie around his neck before sliding away from the armchair and strolling heedlessly over to a bank of phones. The receiver lifted under his thumb and he raised it to his mouth, twirling at the rattle of numbers.
‘Operator.’
Tobias covered his mouth and muttered a few short words before the crackling voice on the other end thanked him and began to transfer. The tone dropped and another voice appeared.
‘Yes?’
Again Tobias held a hand over his lips.
‘Nine in plain sight, rig the main elevator in the foyer.’
The call ended and Tobias latched the receiver against the bank before returning to his seat.
Showtime.
Michel parked up and turned down the lights. A cook scuttled into the alleyway and thrust a bucket of garbage into a skip before heading back inside. Stefan glanced at Hugo and he nodded in return, confirming that this was the only plausible way into the hotel. They lowered the tailgate and heaved the chair down onto the rain swept pathway.
‘Be careful, Stefan.’ He smiled at the ghostly faces of his friends as they hid within the back cabin and he blew them a kiss. The rain rushed him and he grabbed at the framework that encased the chair and wheeled it towards the kitchen doors. The plan was hot in his mind, so much so that it made him terribly restless. The doors opened behind him and Patrice stood in the doorway, a nervous grin etched across his face. It was the first time Stefan had ever seen him in a suit and a fine suit at that, fitted chest shirt with a black blazer, satin red tie and pocket square to match. Stefan nodded at him and he bumped at the next set of swing doors. Sweat seeped through his palms. Spouts of boiling steam greeted him as he pushed the trolley between the narrow worktops and the wheels began to bump against the groves of the tiled floor. He found his way to a corridor and the smell of warm food lingered until he reached the lobby. The wheels span away from him and he straightened up as he crossed the marble floor. With his head bowed low Stefan advanced toward the elevator shaft, watching the two guards with the tip of his stare. A hand stopped him going any further.
‘You are an employee of the hotel?’
‘Qui...’
The talker stared into Stefan’s eyes.
‘I can vouch for him, gentlemen,’ said Patrice who had been loitering around the reception desk, ‘cleaning supplies for the tenth floor.’
The guard looked down at the navy cover that sheeted the chair and nodded, punching at the button with angered force. The wait for the elevator to arrive was verging on unbearable when it finally came and Stefan rushed inside, his heart pulsating with impossible tightness. The doors juddered and Patrice’s hopeful smile was gone. Once again, he was alone.
The doorman welcomed him with a bow and Klaus stepped through the silver framed doors. The lobby stretched out in front of him, the sparkling shine of the floor almost blinding. His boots clattered against the marble grey and he noticed the stallers from the corner of his eye. As they conversed with two officers Klaus slipped onto a winding stairwell to his left and trotted up each carpeted step. He knew that even at jogging pace he wouldn’t reach the eighteenth floor for at least ten minutes so he turned off the stairwell and began to stride hastily through the second floor, heading for another elevator shaft that he knew sat on the opposite side of the hotel. It took a while to settle but the lift finally stopped at his feet and Klaus leapt in, waiting for the doors to conjoin before snatching a Luger from his gun belt. The lift began to gather speed and it rattled through the narrow duct until eventually tooting to a sharp stop at the eighteenth floor.
Stefan peeled away the cover and studied the three small boxes of compact explosives that sat atop the chair. He lowered two to the ground and took the other up to the roof of the lift, balancing on the chair as he slid a slab of C4 over the shade. Stefan wiped away a breeze of cold sweat and placed the other two pieces within the two front corners of the elevator and set the timers. He took a deep breath and thrust the cover back over the chair. The doors opened and he pushed the cart onto the eighteenth floor. A guard noticed his arrival and shouted first before beginning to march down the hallway, machine gun at the ready. Stefan turned and hustled in the opposite direction, pushing and shoving the trolley as it scraped against the purple rug. He passed room 1693 then 1694 and 5...
The guard rushed, picked up a tempo that began to gain on Stefan fast. Room 1696 swept by. 1697 next, followed by a quick blur of 1699, then Stefan stopped, just after 1700. He let go of the trolley and turned towards the nearing officer. He waited and waited until...
NOW!
The door of room 1700 swung open and the guard crashed to the ground. Klaus relaxed his elbow and stood over the dumbfounded officer before delivering two clenched fists. He dragged the man inside and took his weapon, concealing it under his arm as he joined Stefan in the middle of the hallway. Room 1709 came into view and Stefan rolled the trolley up beside the door. Klaus gave a fleeting look down the corridor, each way and knocked against the door with the tip of the machine gun. He met Stefan’s stare. Footsteps sounded from behind the door.
EIGHTEEN FLOORS DOWN...
The row of numbered lights above the elevator shaft chimed to the very end and the guards looked up in disarray. The foyer became filled with an incensed fury and agitated natter. Tobias leered past the pages of his newspaper, scanning the cluster of guards that had now all moved towards the closed up shaft. He watched as the circled numbers began to descend, lower and lower. Resting down the newspaper Tobias checked his watch. It shouldn’t be too long now.
Come on, he thought, come on.
The entrance doors screeched open and a woman barged past a defying doorman, her voice hurried and bothered. Tobias sat up, his eyes alert. She cradled something tightly against her chest and stood at the elevator behind the line of restless storm troopers, waiting for the doors to open. Tobias got to his feet and glanced around. He noticed Patrice standing about the reception and shot him a glare of complete confusion and guilt. Patrice looked across the lobby and then back at Tobias and shook his head. In a few moments the lift would r
eturn to the ground floor, Major Anaheim’s guards would clamber in and the elevator would explode, killing everyone who stood anywhere near. The woman was adamant, shrieking that she needed something from her room. According to the strip of numbers above the golden frame, the lift had just passed the seventh floor. Tobias flipped back the fold of his jacket and curled his fingers around his pistol. Fourth floor. From the corner of his eye he perceived Patrice and his waving dismay. The mother had now edged into the middle of the officers and had started to punch at the button herself. Second floor. The gun came away from its holster and Tobias fired a warning shot at the wall right beside the elevator. At least three of the soldiers ducked and began firing across the foyer. Tobias leapt behind a pillar and dipped down as the marble began to crumble and fall away from the rapid onslaught of frenzied gunfire. Three guards began to sprint toward the staircase and Tobias fired a barrel of warning shots with his back still wedged up against the column. Two men reached the stairs and the other fell against the third and fourth step, nursing a shot to the arm. The babies cries echoed throughout the hall and the mother raced toward the entrance. A chime rang and Tobias shut his eyes, holding his breath as the reception became engulfed within a cloud of black smog.
THE 18th FLOOR
Major Anaheim twisted the handle and opened the door.
‘Good evening, Private.’
Schulze nodded and entered the room swiftly, a folder tucked beneath his arms.
‘What is it?’
‘The list Sir, I figured that since we would be away from your office for a few days I should keep it near, should anything happen of course.’
‘Are you expecting a coup on the headquarters, private?’
Private Schulze smiled politely.
‘Give me a minute or so, I just need to straighten up.’
The Major disappeared into the bathroom and the young Private sauntered over to the balcony.
‘You know, Private, it shouldn’t take too long for us to locate Mr Linder, have you had any ideas on where to start?’
The Major dabbed a swathe of shaving foam over his cheek and swiped at it with a blunt razor. The hot water pouring from the taps cased the teal green room in a film of rising silver mist.
‘Well, private?’
Grabbing a towel away from the wall, the Major touched at his chin lightly and soaked up the pools of left over water and foam. He splashed at his face and let the water infuse his pores. With the pointed edge of his towel he scrubbed at the steam drenched mirror. A click sounded from behind him and Private Schulze’s reflection appeared, brandishing a gun.
What-
The pistol crashed down hard against his head and the Major fell about the carpet. Private Schulze leaned down and inspected him. There was a knock at the door.
Klaus peered down the hallway, the tension was getting to him and the machine gun had started to slip through his sticky clasp. Stefan appeared equally frightened and drummed at the brass knuckles of the frame, desperately trying to forget the intense surges of worry. The door opened.
‘Everything alright?’ Klaus asked.
‘Yes,’ Private Schulze replied, ‘we’re all set in here.’
The trolley rolled onto the carpet and Stefan thrust away the sheet when Klaus and Schulze began to carefully carry the unconscious Major across the room. There was suddenly a sporadic boom and the floor shook beneath their feet. Stefan stamped at the rug and clung to the brass chamber.
‘I guess that’s the elevator shaft.’
After the grumble ceased Klaus and Schulze lugged the Major into the custom chair and began to latch the cover to four of the frame’s higher pegs until Gestapo Major Heinrich Anaheim was completely hidden beneath a fluster of navy cloth.
Klaus headed for the doorway and equipped himself with the machine gun.
‘Make sure he’s gagged and tied up. And get him over there and out of sight, they’ll be here soon.’
Small rocks and crumbs of debris landed around him. The noise had been deafening and Tobias found that he could barely hear the racing thoughts within his own head. It was a struggle to push away from the column and he did so with gritted teeth. His Walther had scattered across the ground when the explosion sounded and now sat at the foot of an identical pillar a few feet to his left. With his arms heavy and legs even weaker Tobias used the smouldering mist as a cloak and slowly began to crawl toward the glinting black handle. A screeching shot landed by his hand and he recoiled instantly, his heart thumping as if it were attempting an escape. Voices began to sound through the hum of agonising deafness and Tobias steadied his choky seeps of ash filled air. Another shot dug into the column, spraying a small aftermath over his shoulder. A grand chandelier had fallen amidst the heat of the blast and Tobias could hear the distinctive print of heavy boots upon crackling glass beginning to cross the room. They bellowed commands through the smoke, orders to give himself up. Judging by the raised voices and unhidden footsteps, Tobias counted three. For fear of being outnumbered when the black fog finally cleared Tobias paddled against the marble floor until his fingers met the Walther. He turned and fired two shots before slipping behind the next pillar, which was in considerably better condition than his last hideout. A clatter of gunfire had followed him but it wasn’t until that the guards took the time to reload that he would fire into the darkness again. There was no sound, no indication that someone had been hit. He knew that little remained within the slender chamber of the pistol and he knew that they would also figure that out too. From across the room a zap of quick fire sparkled within the murky centre of the mist, sending a storm trooper sprawling against the floor. Tobias veered his head around the column and saw a band of jagged silhouettes coming his way. Patrice led the charge, Michel and Jacques close behind. Tobias staggered to his feet and hugged the column. There was a crash and a lounge table overturned. The Nazi’s took shelter and began to shoot at the advancing trio.
‘Get to the stairs,’ Tobias yelled, ‘cut the others off.’
Michel was the first to break away and headed around a circus of fallen obstacles, tables, chairs, burning coat racks, the flames nipped at his trouser legs. The stairwell was shaken and smothered in tiny shards of wall. Michel grabbed the railings and glanced up at the towering staircase. Voices echoed above. He would have to be quick.
The first guard crashed through the door and the second followed. They filled the hallway, sprinting towards the Major’s room. A door snatched open and they both swung their rifles at a man with a face full of shaving foam, a robe covering his damp body. He recoiled slowly with his hands raised and one of the soldiers reached forwards to close the door. They continued, slower this time, rifles raised. Room 1709 came into sight and one of them covered the corridor while the other knocked against the door.
‘Is everything alright in there, Sir?’
There was no reply, just a muffle that could be heard from under the doorway. The soldiers exchanged a silent understanding and the door came away under the heel of a boot. There was a cool breeze. The drapes by the balcony flustered. They crossed the lounge and rushed to the cold Paris view. They peered out into the night sky.
‘Gentlemen.’ Both of them turned to find Private Schulze standing in the centre of the room, their eyes instantly attracted to the glint of his Luger.
‘Private, where is...’
‘Put down your guns and get on the ground.’
The guards looked at one another confusingly at first and then found it hard not to grin.
‘And why would we do that?’
‘Because you will die if you don’t.’
‘But you only have one gun and we, have two.’
Private Schulze nodded,
‘That does seem so.’
Klaus emerged from the bathroom, gun in hand and pointed it at the soldiers.
‘Or it did,’ smirked Schulze, ‘now lower your weapons.’
‘Where is the Major?’
‘Lower your weapons.’
‘Stop.’
‘What was that noise?’
‘The wind.’
‘Not that, there was a noise, a sound.’
Michel burst into the room, panting with exhaustion. One of the soldiers squinted at the newcomer and huffed a shallow, sceptical laugh.
‘You are working with them, the saboteurs?’
He spat at the ground and left a corner of spittle at the side of his lips.
‘Last time, guns down or we fire.’
The rifles clattered to the ground and Michel strode into the room and patted the brass framework of the cart, grinning as he did so.
‘You want your bastard Major..?’
‘Enough,’ Klaus said gently, ‘we will keep this simple. How many are left, downstairs.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘How many of your men are still alive?’
The guards began to chortle.
‘Something funny, brothers?’
‘Yes,’ one of them sniggered, ‘if you think this is all of us... you have no idea.’
Klaus glared at Schulze.
‘He’s lying.’
The soldier chuckled once more,
‘Hold on tight my friends. You won’t be leaving this hotel tonight.’
Bullets clipped into the column and Tobias wrenched away. Segments of stone lashed at his face and he bowed, checking the ammo inside the pistol. He considered moving towards Patrice and Jacques but the constant shrill rattle of machine gun bullets persuaded him not to. Patrice had taken shelter behind the fallen pigeon hole shelf and covered Jacques as he scuttled at the floor until he reached a pillar closer to Tobias. The three of them now had the two Nazi’s outflanked and took turns in firing short blasts in their direction.