“I’m already married, if you’ll remember.”
“Come on, Helmut,” Gemeiner said. “Have a little imagination. First of all, nobody in France cares about your family in Germany. Second, you take a girl like Gabriela, she doesn’t want to be a prostitute, she wants to escape her situation. She practically begs to be seduced. I’d seduce her myself if I were about thirty years younger and twenty kilos lighter.”
“And spoke either French or Spanish.”
“And that,” Gemeiner said with a shrug. He set down his cigarette in the ashtray, where it smoldered, then leaned forward across the table. “Point is, you can seduce her and then she’ll spy on Hoekman for us. She’s trying to get information from him anyway. She can help us at the same time.”
“So I get the information and then what?”
“And then what?” the older man asked. “Then we know if Hoekman is investigating us or if he’s solely focused on Major Ostermann.”
“But what do I do with the girl once I’ve seduced her? Say she gives us everything we want, then what?”
“End the affair, of course,” Gemeiner said. “I’d say you could keep her for awhile, but she’ll be toxic at that point, so yes, figure out a way to get rid of her.”
“As in letting the Gestapo discover her and haul her off to some camp, too?”
“You’re a good man for the cause, Helmut, but you’re too sentimental.”
“Human, you mean.”
“It’s a cold, hard world. Our whole country is getting fucked over by these bastards. It’s an ugly thing to use someone and throw them away, but for god’s sake, she’s a refugee turning tricks. The world has already used her up and thrown her out.”
“And my wife?”
“I know about your marriage,” Gemeiner said. “Is it really going to matter to Loise?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, even though he knew exactly what it meant. It was silly to get prickly about something that was only the evident truth of the matter. But it was the building anger with this entire manipulating sequence, from the time he was arrested in France to the horrible scene on the train, to the casual dismissal of his marriage.
“Calm down, calm down. Look, sleep with the girl or don’t, it’s up to you. In fact, it’s a useful seduction technique to stop just short of intercourse, at least at first.” His voice turned harder and he leaned forward. “But this is not a request. Gabriela Reyes is pretty, smart and resourceful and she’s a prostitute. She’s both imminently useful and easily manipulated. Do it.”
At last Helmut let out a drawn-out sigh. “Very well. And the next shipment?”
“We’ll have it in a Paris warehouse by next Monday. You’ll need to be creative in moving the goods. The operation is working at full tilt.”
Chapter Eleven:
Colonel Hoekman was more than receptive to Gabriela’s advances. Seducing him was so easy, in fact, that it should have raised suspicions from the moment she and Christine stepped into the restaurant and the Gestapo officer gave her a toothy smile. He gestured at Gabriela with his hand. “Mademoiselle, come, come.”
Christine headed for the kitchen, then gave her a significant look over Hoekman’s shoulder. Be careful!
Gabriela calmed her nerves and took a seat at the table where Hoekman dined alone. Better to have Helmut von Cratz here. Rude as he was, he didn’t scare her like this Gestapo man. She had two memories now of his casual violence, and Christine’s warning was still fresh in her mind. But he looked genuinely delighted to see her. The work of the other night hadn’t been wasted.
“You remember me,” she gushed. “I was afraid you’d have met some other pretty young girl and I so wanted to meet you again and get a chance to know you better. You’re such a handsome man, I’m sure every girl in Paris is thinking the same thing.”
“Please to speak slower. You talk too fast for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just so excited to see you.” She forced herself to slow down. It was the nerves. “Your French is fine, Colonel.”
Hoekman’s French was improved, but still halting.
“Please, Hans you will call me.”
She laughed. “Hans I will call you.” She put a hand on his knee.
“You are hungry, yes?”
“Oh, no, Hans, I already ate. I just came for the company.”
She looked around the table. The wine was barely touched and a plate of jambon aux haricots daintily picked at. He’d ignored the cheese, the bread, and the large plate of escargots. Monsieur Leblanc had more trouble getting butter and garlic than the actual snails, which seemed oblivious to rationing. She supposed that edible garden pests weren’t on the German requisition lists.
“You just started?” she asked with a gesture at the uneaten food.
“No, not true. I am here some time already, and I eat already, yes?”
“But you’ve barely eaten.”
“Too much rich food is. . .how do you say? Unhealthy for body.” He wagged his finger. “You French could learn a lesson.”
Ah, so that was it. The Germans had imposed austerity on the French for their own health.
“Well then, let’s just have a drink and we’ll get to know each other better. I’m sure you have many, many interesting things to say. You seem like such a fascinating man.”
“This is such boring place,” he continued in his bad French. “We go to my house and get to know each other. You will like. I have chocolates.”
“Oh, chocolates!”
“We go then, yes?”
She didn’t want to, now that it came down to it. She’d expected, planned a further seduction, with the hard-edged Gestapo man only gradually yielding to her charms. But then once she had him, he would need her, desperately. He would do anything, give her any information, if she would only sleep with him. And she would find Papá.
His acquiescence was so sudden and unexpected that she didn’t have a chance to mentally prepare herself for what it would actually mean to get into a car with this man who had brutalized her father. To let him touch her. To take her, it would be worse than being raped. And she would have to pretend to like it.
“Gabriela?”
“Call me Gaby. All my friends and lovers have called me that.”
“Gaby, then.”
She’d waited too long to back out now. Two and a half years now, and she owed it not just to Papá, but to everything her family stood for and everything they had lost.
A sudden decision. “Yes, of course, let’s go.”
He gave that same toothy, shudder-inspiring grin and they stood up. Gabriela gave a glance back toward the kitchen. Monsieur Leblanc stood there with a tray in hand and she thought he would be happy to see her leave with the colonel. His pleading note that she do something; this would be her way of helping him find Roger. Or so he must be thinking.
But Leblanc shook his head, gave an urgent little gesture with his hand that she not go. But why?
No chance to think about it as Hoekman had her arm and now led her from the restaurant. He gathered their coats at the door, but declined to turn over hers. “We are not outdoors for long, the car is waiting.”
Outside, the chill cut her bare skin. Hoekman’s grip tightened painfully on her arm.
“Ow, what—? Hans, what are you doing?” she asked, now growing alarmed.
“Come along. Make no noise.” He took her purse. “You do not need bag.”
There was such a dark menace in his voice that she almost screamed. But there were two more gray-uniformed men who fell in behind. Gabriela’s knees buckled as she almost fainted with terror.
A truck pulled into the alley and then they were pushing her into the back and shutting the doors. Hoekman came in with her as the other two shut the door behind them and the truck pulled away. There was a dim light in the interior and some sort of radio equipment to one side with what looked like a big bowl with wires coming out of it attached above. She didn’t know what it was, bu
t the machines and the electric apparatus terrified her.
“Ay, diós mio,” she said, the Spanish spilling from her mouth without thought.
“A Spanish girl.” Hoekman smiled. “Yes, I knew it.”
Gabriela recovered. “What is going on? I really didn’t mean to come with you if—”
“You think to play me. You cannot play me, I am the player. You understand, I know what you are doing.”
He dumped her purse on the floor. He picked up her knife. “And this?”
“Paris is dangerous at night for a girl.”
“A weapon.” He shook his head in what looked like mock disgust. “And reichsmarks. So many. Does your major friend give to you? This is illegal, surely you know.”
She forced anger into her voice. “Are you just here to rob me, or are you arresting me? If so, do it and let’s be done with it.”
“I do not arrest you,” Hoekman said. “I bring you to talk.”
“What? Then I’m not interested in talking. Please, stop the truck and let me out. I have work to do at the restaurant.”
He cut her off with a withering look. “You will now cooperate or your father will suffer.”
She let out a gasp. “My father?”
“You think I do not remember? I remember you. I remember everything. And he talks. He tells me your name and when I meet you I remember.”
“He talks? You mean he’s still alive?” She was breathing very quickly now. “But where is he, what did you do with him? Please, for god’s sake, I’m just a girl, I need to find my father and help him.”
“Yes, you may help him.” He paused, as if struggling to find the right words in French. “You may help him by helping me.”
The truck stopped. It had only been a few minutes; they must still be close to the restaurant.
“I told you,” she said. “I don’t know anything, I’m just a girl trying to stay alive, how could I possibly help you?”
“Very easy, mademoiselle. You return to your lover, the major, and you. . .how you say?”
“What?”
“You learn certain things and you tell me.”
“I spy on Alfonse you mean?”
“Yes, that is the word, you spy.”
The thought was repellent. She had no great affection for Alfonse. She was only with him to feed herself and stay close to the restaurant where she’d hoped to meet Colonel Hoekman again. And yes, she’d responded physically to the man, but so what? He was just another boche, ravaging La Belle France, Marianne in chains, who had no choice but to spread her legs and smile.
Yet knowing that Alfonse was this man’s prey made him more endearing than the money, food, warm bed and bath, the touches that her body had craved. Who cared what kind of man Alfonse was, Hoekman dragged people away and they were never seen again.
But Papá. He’s alive!
“It is your choice,” Hoekman said. “You help me and I help you. You do not help me and your father. . .suffers.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” The words tasted heavy and foul on her tongue. “I’ll spy on him. Tell me what and how.”
“Be careful, be very, very careful. I see when I am double-crossed.”
“Double-crossed,” she muttered. “Is that on the vocabulary list at the Gestapo language school?”
“What?”
“I won’t double-cross you, but I need proof my father is alive. I need to know he is still alive and well,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
“No, no. First you spy, then if no double-cross, I help with father.”
Liar. She’d help him and then he’d forget all about the bargain, but it wouldn’t matter because she’d be stuck. There had to be some way to stake out a small measure of autonomy. To keep from being swallowed whole and digested by this thing.
“No, first you prove he is alive, then I help. And after I help, you must promise to let my father go.”
“Let him go? We don’t let people go. I promise not to kill him, that is all.”
There was one thing. The one weapon that every attractive woman still wielded. She put her hand on his leg. “Please, be reasonable. If you are reasonable, I can be reasonable too.”
He looked down at her hand, then licked his lips with a disgusting motion that looked like a night crawler coming in and out of its hole. “Yes, yes. Reasonable. I like that.”
“See how easy that is?”
He put his hand on her breast and gave a clumsy squeeze. “Come to my flat, you show me reasonable.”
She slid her hand higher on his thigh. “No, first you prove to me my father is still alive, then I will be reasonable.”
Hoekman stared. Again, the tongue. He was breathing heavily now. Slowly, gently, Gabriela removed her hand from his leg, then pulled his hand off her breast.
“You can be reasonable, too, Hans. I know you can.”
He could force her. Gabriela had no illusions about that. Men could always force what they couldn’t earn. But most men—even someone like Colonel Hoekman—wanted to believe it was earned. She could see it going through his mind right now.
At last he nodded. “Yes, okay. We shall both be reasonable. I find you proof your father is still alive. You find me one piece of information in return. Yes?”
“What kind of information?” she asked, suspicious.
“There is man I look for. I don’t know his name, but they call him. . .how do you say? The lowest rank of enlisted man.”
“Simple soldat?”
“Yes, that. A common soldier.”
“You are looking for a private? Is he a deserter?”
“Of course he is not a true private,” Hoekman said with some irritation. “That is what they call him. I search for his true identity. You find if Major Ostermann knows this man, I help with your father. It is small thing. A reasonable thing.”
She nodded. “Yes, okay.”
Hoekman smiled. He leaned forward and rapped twice on the metal that divided them from the cab. The truck shifted into gear and pulled away.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To Ostermann’s flat. You must not go again to restaurant, not tonight because we leave together. I take you to his flat.”
Gabriela let out her breath. “Can I have my money back?”
“No, the money stays with me. The knife, too. These are illegal.”
Illegal and also leverage. It was a fair amount of money Alfonse had given her; she couldn’t ask for more anytime soon.
But Gabriela was alive and soon to be released, that was all that mattered.
#
Alfonse staggered in shortly after dawn. He was still drunk, but wore the bleary look of a man with a fading buzz and a budding headache. Gabriela lifted herself on one elbow to look at him.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, peeled off his shoes and chucked them in the general direction of the closet, then tossed his jacket at the chair. It missed. He sank back onto the bed with a groan.
“God, that was a night. And I’ve got to meet with General Shoenkopf at ten. That’s what, three hours from now? He’s going to scream at me about that ball-bearing shipment. Goddamn factory was bombed to hell by the Americans last week so of course the shipment is kaput. He’s going to take one look at me and wonder why I was out drinking all night instead of finding his precious ball bearings. The Luftwaffe will fall from the sky for lack of ball bearings and it’s all going to be my fault. What was I thinking? You should have stopped me. Or Christine. Or common sense. Someone or something.”
“There was no stopping you.”
He chuckled. “No, there wasn’t, was there?” And then, when she didn’t answer, he rolled over to look at her. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“Why would I be angry?” Truth was, she’d been caught up in memories of the ugly meeting with Colonel Hoekman and barely listening.
“Oh, you know. I left you at the lounge and when I came back you were gone. I knew you didn’t leave with someone else, you’d n
ever do that, so I figured you’d sulked home on your own. Is that what happened?”
“No, really I’m okay. Did you have a good time, what happened?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want to know?”
“Sure.”
“You say you want to know, but I don’t think you really do. You’ll get jealous and then there will be a scene and my head is starting to hurt already.”
“How about if I express just enough jealousy to let you know I care.”
“And how much is that?” he asked.
“I’ll aim for an appropriate spot somewhere between dozing off to sleep and chasing you out of the flat with a hail of broken plates.”
He laughed. “Okay, so there was this little Spanish girl, some friend of Christine’s, and she was doing this dance where she took slices of an apple and put them in her—wait, are you sure?”
“Oh come on, I’m not easily shocked. Go on.”
“So anyway she took these apple slices out of her. . .you know. . .and then she picked out the men and forced them to eat the pieces. If they resisted, she took her legs and—well, it was funny.”
“And how did the apples taste after they’d been moistened up a little?”
He actually blushed at this. “You know, it’s not usually my style, but I’d had a little too much to drink.”
“So is this the girl you took into the back room?”
“Oh, come on, I wouldn’t. . .well, sure. I didn’t mean to, but she was insistent. You know how these peasant girls are. Horny as hell, every one of them. I think a girl grows up in a small town in Spain there’s no cinema, no art, no culture of any kind. She gets really good at screwing.”
“What do you mean, no culture of any kind? You make it sound like Spain is the Belgian Congo or something.”
“It’s the Congo of Europe,” Alfonse said.
She found herself bristling. “No, it’s not. There’s all kinds of history, architecture, music. It’s a great country. They had a huge empire. Spaniards discovered the Americas.”
“No they didn’t. Columbus was Italian.”
“Funded by the Spanish queen.”
“Oh, what do you know about it?” he said. “Look, I’ve been to Spain, you haven’t. Donkeys and bicycles. Dogs pooping in the street. Really bad food.”
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