B004U2USMY EBOK

by Wallace, Michael

  “How about one of the pleasure rooms in back?”

  “Any one in particular, mademoiselle?” An edge of suspicion in his voice.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter, so long as it’s private and we can talk. You’ll be interested in what I’ve learned.”

  He was hesitating, she could see, weighing his options, his risks. She had to give him more.

  Gabriela leaned forward and whispered with her lips touching his ear. “I’ve found your simple soldat. He’s been right under your nose. In fact, he’ll be here tonight.”

  “What? I knew it. Who is it?”

  “It’s not Alfonse, he’s apparently completely innocent. But someone close to him.”

  “Yes! It’s Herr von Cratz, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t tell you here, not in the open.”

  She’d stopped just short of denouncing Helmut, but it didn’t matter. A few seconds alone and Hoekman would be dead. He’d never tell anyone.

  “When is he coming? What do you know?”

  “Not here. We have to go somewhere where we can talk freely. And you have to give me proof my father is alive. You promised.”

  He pulled back a pace, seemed to study her, then nodded. “Let’s go back.”

  Colonel Hoekman went first and it gave her a chance to glance around the room. She saw Gemeiner studiously not watching, but she also saw two other men who were. They played a game of darts to one side and both gave a quick glance as Gabriela and Hoekman passed. She pretended not to notice.

  Who where they?

  Gemeiner’s fellow conspirators? Undercover Gestapo agents?

  She followed Hoekman through a doorway that led to a hallway lined with doors. Men with dark suits and cigars, Chicago gangster style, stood in front of each room. Signs hung from some of the doors, reading “ne pas déranger” and “bitte nicht stören.”

  Hoekman made to step through one of the doors without a “do not disturb” sign and one of the faux-gangsters waggled a cigar. “What’s the password to the speakeasy?”

  “What do you mean, speakeasy?” Hoekman demanded.

  The man didn’t break from character. “The password, Mister.”

  Gabriela said, “You have to pay a small fee.”

  “Ah, I see.” He handed over a few bills and they stepped into the room.

  It looked like a small hotel room with a bed and pillows. Everything red. Prints of topless dancers and nude women reclining on couches lined the walls. There was a window at the back, drawn with a heavy red velvet curtain.

  Hoekman examined the décor. “Disgusting.”

  As soon as the door shut, Gabriela reached into the bag. Hoekman’s back was partially turned.

  Her fingers brushed the box magazine, found the handle. Her finger slipped into the trigger. His back was still turned. He wouldn’t know what was happening as the pain sliced through him. She would be deprived of the satisfaction of seeing the look on his face. But there would be a brief moment, after the pain started, when he would know everything. He’d know she’d discovered what he’d done to her father. He’d know he was going to die for it.

  Gabriela pulled out the Mauser.

  The gun made a little snicking sound as it brushed the metal clasp of her handbag. Instantly, Hoekman whirled around. She had the gun free. It rose toward his chest. A bright look of alarm on Hoekman’s face.

  He had her wrist, he was twisting to the side. She pulled the trigger. A sharp retort. The gun bucked. She could feel the power of it. Hoekman twisted the gun out of her grasp. He was too strong. She didn’t get off a second shot.

  Hoekman swung the Mauser and it connected with the side of her head. Pain exploded in her temple. She crumpled to the ground.

  Hoekman stood with a stunned look on his face. He clutched his side. Blood soaked through his uniform and oozed through his fingers. He looked down at his bloody hand. His face turned pale.

  “No.”

  “You bastard,” she said through clenched teeth from where she lay at his feet. “I saw what you did to him. And now you’re going to die.”

  He unbuttoned his coat with the shaking fingers of one hand and peeled back his jacket. Pulled out his shirt. And then gave her a look of triumph. “I don’t think so, not today.”

  It was true, oh, god, it was true. A nasty gash on his side, but no penetrating hole into his gut. He’d twisted the gun away just in time. He was only grazed. He’d been too strong, just too strong. She felt a crush of despair.

  Hoekman grabbed her by the hair. He dragged her to her feet.

  “I tried to be reasonable.”

  Where were they? Someone had to have heard the gun. It was so loud. There were men standing outside. Why didn’t they come see what was wrong?

  “Help! Somebody, help!”

  “It seems these rooms are quite private, as no doubt you considered when you brought me here to murder me. If anyone hears a faint whisper of screaming, it will no doubt be taken for amorous behavior. So go ahead, scream in passion. It is expected.”

  “Let me go!”

  He held her at arm’s length, so high that she had to stand on her toes to avoid being lifted entirely from the ground. She clawed at his arm, but couldn’t get through his gloves or shirt. He tossed the gun onto the bed.

  “I have exhausted reasonable possibilities,” he said. “All you leave me are the unreasonable options.” He used his free hand to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a pair of long-nosed metal pliers.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  “I am going to extract information, of course.”

  “Please, no.”

  “Yes, mademoiselle. Yes, we must.”

  Chapter Twenty-six:

  Hoekman threw Gabriela back to the floor. He fell on her, pinned her with his knees. He grabbed her jaw with his left hand, and lowered the pliers toward her mouth with the other.

  “No, please.” She felt weak with terror.

  “Who is it? Is it von Cratz?”

  “I don’t know, I barely know the man.”

  “Why is he going to Marseille? What is he doing there? Who does he keep meeting in Germany? Is he working for Major Ostermann, or the other way around?”

  “I don’t know anything, I was bluffing. Please.”

  “You will tell me now, or I will pull your teeth.”

  “I don’t know anything, I swear, I don’t.”

  “You will change your mind.”

  Hoekman squeezed her mouth, forced it open enough to jam the nose of the pliers in, and grabbed one of her teeth. She screamed.

  “Hör damit auf!” shouted a man at the doorway. More shouting in German.

  Hoekman dropped the pliers and climbed slowly to his feet, raised his hands. Gabriela scrambled away, reached the edge of the bed, pulled herself up. She was shaking, she could barely hold herself steady.

  It was Gemeiner. He stood at the doorway with a gun in his hands, which he pointed with steady hands at Hoekman. He’d shut the door behind him.

  Hoekman snarled something in return, but Gemeiner shouted back. Neither man moved. Gabriela spotted Helmut’s Mauser, lying on the floor where Hoekman had dropped it. She snatched it up.

  “Tell your friend to lower the gun,” Hoekman said. “He is making a big mistake.”

  “He doesn’t speak much French. Tell him yourself.”

  Gemeiner looked to Gabriela. “You have gun. You shoot now? Yes? We go.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Hoekman said. He directed another angry tirade at Gemeiner, but now there was an edge to his voice. Desperation, she thought.

  She pointed the gun. The gun had felt so solid in her hands before, but now she was shaking. She felt lightheaded. She had to get control before she fired.

  And then the door flew open again. Two men entered. The first one slammed into Gemeiner. The two men went to the ground. The attacker was younger and quickly disarmed the older man. The second seemed to size up the situation, then pointed a handgun at
Gabriela.

  “Put the gun down mademoiselle, or you die.”

  He was French. She recognized the men now. They were the two who had watched her go back with Colonel Hoekman. She dropped the gun.

  “You, by the bed,” the man said in French. “Put your hands on your head.”

  “I am a Gestapo agent,” Hoekman said. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Franc-garde. Nobody move.”

  “Listen to me,” Hoekman said. “These two intended to assassinate me. I am Gestapo. I have papers.”

  “It’s a lie,” Gabriela said. “He’s a saboteur. This older man is a German officer. He saw the saboteur and came to arrest him.”

  “Look at my uniform,” Hoekman said. “Gestapo, you see it. And I’m bleeding. This whore shot me. My papers are in my pocket. Come look at them, quickly. There may be others.”

  “He’s a liar!”

  But she could see the French secret service men coming to a decision even as they dragged Gemeiner to his feet. She was a girl, after all, and Gemeiner spoke no French; he couldn’t corroborate her story.

  “Are you badly injured, monsieur?” the lead man asked Hoekman. “Shall I call for a doctor?”

  “Not seriously. Give me the girl. I must take her away at once for questioning.” He jabbed his finger at Gemeiner. “Keep this one. I will send someone for him shortly. He is highly dangerous. Do you understand me?”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  Gemeiner broke free momentarily. He fumbled with something. It wasn’t a weapon, it was something he was trying to get to his mouth. He almost got it there but one of the Franc-gardes seized his wrist and twisted. A small capsule dropped to the floor. One of the men picked it up, handed it to Hoekman.

  The colonel let out a nasty laugh, said something in German. The older man looked stricken.

  “Make sure he has no more cyanide pills. Strip him naked, search him thoroughly. I want him alive and unharmed. Then you will empty and secure the building. I will be back shortly.”

  Hoekman grabbed Gabriela’s arm, shoved her toward the door, then spent a moment buttoning his jacket. He fished out his own sidearm, which he showed to her before pocketing it again.

  “Don’t let him take me, for god’s sake,” Gabriela said to the lead Franc-garde. “You know what they’ll do to me. Don’t let them, I beg you.”

  “I am sorry, there is nothing I can do.”

  “Do not scream,” Hoekman said as he pushed her from the room. “In the first place, the lounge is filled with German officers. I doubt your fellow whores will come to your aid. Second, if you scream, I will order Monsieur Leblanc killed, your friend Christine, the old man and woman who rented you an apartment. And your father.”

  “I saw what you did to him, you bastard.”

  “Yes, he is quiet now. Not so much trouble. It is a much-needed improvement in his personality. But he can still suffer and die. Is that what you wish?”

  She made a direct path toward the exit. The party continued its raucous ways. There was no sign of Christine or Alfonse, thank god. If only she’d told her to run, flee for Marseille.

  The doorman asked about Gabriela’s coat, but Hoekman shoved him out of the way. They pushed through the doors and into the cold night air. Hoekman spotted his man, shouted orders, and the young soldier left at a sprint, presumably for the car. Hoekman glanced from side to side, looked behind him and even up at the roof. He had one hand on Gabriela’s arm and the other in his pocket.

  A car squealed up to the curb. She thought at first that it was Hoekman’s, but it didn’t have swastika flags and the colonel yanked her back and pulled out his gun. A man jumped out and ducked behind the hood with only his head and a submachine gun visible, which he propped on the hood.

  “Hand over the girl,” the man said.

  She recognized him. It was the man from the rail yard, what had Helmut called him? David Mayer, that was it. He had a cap pulled over his head and a greatcoat. No insignia, but he had a vaguely official air about him. A serious set to his jaw.

  It occurred to her that things had played out almost as Helmut had thought they would. She had come out with a man who was going to drive her away. Helmut had arranged for Mayer to come and pretend to abduct her.

  “I am a Gestapo agent. Who are you?”

  “French police. Give her over at once or you die.”

  “No you are not, you are a Jew.” Hoekman turned to Gabriela. “Your friends sent a Jew?”

  The man with the gun let out a hiss. He might have fooled Gemeiner, but not a man like Hoekman, who no doubt saw Zionist conspiracies in his scrambled eggs every morning.

  “I’m going to count to three and you’d better let the girl go. I’ll kill you both, I don’t care, but you’re not taking her.”

  “And if I let her go, you’ll still kill me?”

  “I don’t care about you. I won’t shoot you. My orders are to take the girl.”

  “What for? Who are you?”

  “One. Two.”

  “Very well,” Hoekman said. “Don’t shoot, I’ll hand her over. Although what you all find so interesting about this whore, I can’t tell. She’s not even that pretty and she wears too much perfume, it’s sickening.” He snarled in her ear, “I’ll find you anyway, you know that. All of you. You, your major friend, von Cratz, the other girls at the restaurant, and now this Jew.” He shoved her toward the car and took a step back.

  “Shoot him,” she cried to Mayer. She ran toward the car.

  “Get in. Hurry.”

  “Take him down, do it. Kill him, for god’s sake!”

  “Those aren’t my orders.”

  “It’s not him, it’s not who you thought it was. You have to shoot him. Please, listen to me.”

  “Get in, now!”

  She had no choice, so she opened the door and scrambled into the car. Mayer sped away from the curb. She glanced back at Colonel Hoekman. He was not waiting for his car, but sprinting back into the Egyptienne. Where the Franc-garde held Gemeiner.

  Helmut’s friend was shortly to have a very rough time of it.

  #

  “You should have killed him,” Gabriela said. “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

  “The boss told me to get you in the car but leave the old man alone. I wasn’t, under any circumstances, to harm him.”

  “Old man? Are you blind?”

  “Yes, that was strange.” David Mayer pulled onto the Champs-Élysées. It was almost empty of traffic at this hour. She could see him fighting the urge to punch the accelerator.

  “So why didn’t you shoot him?”

  “I didn’t get where I am by disobeying von Cratz.”

  “Except that time at the rail depot, when he’d told you to stay inside and you were out among all those Germans, what about that?”

  “I had no choice, the shipment was sitting there, it needed to be loaded. The Brits were about to bomb us to hell. But this was a direct order. I thought it best to err on the side of caution.”

  “Yeah, well caution left that monster alive. You know how many people Hoekman’s killed? I bet half of them were Jews.”

  He turned briefly with a flat expression. “And how long would I last if I got worked up about every Jew-killer I saw?”

  “You’re not listening to me. Colonel Hoekman is alive. He’s not coming after some random Jew, he’s coming after you.”

  “Monsieur von Cratz has arranged for that contingency.”

  Mayer turned off the avenue onto a smaller side street. He cut through a residential neighborhood, then back onto one of the boulevards. She lost her bearings.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Gare de Lyon. I’ve got fake transit documents and two train tickets for Geneva.”

  “Geneva? Whatever for?”

  “The war is over, for both of us. Von Cratz has taken care of everything. We’ve got papers, we have money, and we have foreign contacts. We can wait out the war in Switzerland, or, if they get dragged into th
e war, fly to South America.” He shrugged. “So you see why we can’t worry about one Gestapo agent. That son of a bitch will get his punishment in the end, you can be sure of it. Either the Americans, the Russians, or God himself.”

  “You’re taking me out of the country?”

  “Tonight.”

  It was a tempting offer and she might have taken it if not for her father. But there was also Helmut to consider. He had to be warned.

  “We can’t run away.”

  “Yes, we can. And we will. I have my orders.”

  “Listen to me for a second. Remember the old man who was supposed to bring me out of the Egyptienne? Hoekman took him prisoner. They’re torturing him right now. We have to warn Helmut.”

  “Von Cratz said—”

  “The old man tried to kill himself with a cyanide capsule. And now he’s going to get tortured and tell them everything and you know what happens next? He tells them about Helmut. Listen to me, this is no different than the rail depot. We’ve got to think for ourselves.”

  David Mayer pulled to the side of the road. “He didn’t tell me what he was doing or where he was going, just told me how to get you and how to safely get out of the country. He wasn’t planning to see me again, so he didn’t even tell me how to get him a message.”

  “I don’t know either.” Her mind was racing. She could figure this out. “He had to pick up a shipment, but he’s not leaving the city until dawn. He’s probably gone there and is waiting for daybreak. Where would he get a shipment?”

  “What kind of shipment? Arriving by rail?”

  “I don’t know. Couldn’t be too big, because he was going to drive it out of the city himself. Something that could fit in a small truck or the trunk of a car. And I think it was already in Paris.”

  “That doesn’t help. Could be anywhere.”

  “A warehouse? An office?”

  “There’s one warehouse I know about that’s not attached to a rail depot, but there have to be fifty, sixty men working there at all times. It’s not the place to pick up secret shipments.” He was quiet for a moment. “Problem is, I don’t come very often to Paris. I work mostly between Le Mans and Orléans. Too many Gestapo in the city. Too many milice, too many Franc-gardes.”