B004U2USMY EBOK (21 page)

“Life is random sometimes,” he said.

They returned to the car, but Helmut walked
around and shut the doors instead of getting in. He shrugged out
of his greatcoat, loosened his tie. The weather continued
unseasonably warm and there was a hint of spring in the air. Too
early, she knew. It was just a late January thaw.

It had been a quiet morning driving through
the French countryside. She’d been nervous at first, not knowing
what he wanted. He stopped in one town to arrange some sort of
grain purchase, then, at noon, pulled into a sleepy, medieval
village for lunch.

She couldn’t remember the name of the town.
Saint Something-or-Other. Helmut used his ration cards, his
reichsmarks, and a bit of charm to acquire wine, cheese, and a
fresh baguette and they made a picnic in the meadow-like park just
outside the crumbling village walls.

Like every town in France, it had a monument
to the last big war, an obelisk at the edge of the park with the
names of the young men and boys
morts pour la France.
Couldn’t have been more than two thousand people in the village
but the names of the dead scrawled down the entire front of the
obelisk. She counted eleven boys with the surname of Traineur.
Brothers and cousins? An entire generation of Traineur men pruned
from the family tree?

Helmut studied the monument for several
minutes before he said, “You see enough of these and you
understand why the French were so quick to capitulate.”

He’d kept his thoughts to himself after that
and Gabriela found herself studying him as they continued on the
road, wondering just what he was thinking, how much she could
trust him. Now, with the shock of the near miss by the RAF fighter
still exposed on his face, he looked young and vulnerable.

Helmut leaned against the car. He pressed his
hands to his temples. “I’m so tired of this war. Why didn’t we
learn our lesson last time around? It’s not like there aren’t a
few of those monuments in Germany.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that
before you invaded Poland.”

“Me?’

“Yes, you.”

“And you’re responsible for the Spanish
Inquisition, I suppose.”

“Okay, fine. Why are you tired of the war?
You’re doing quite well, personally. All this killing must be
profitable.”

“I was making money before the war and I’ll
be making money after the war. My father gave me his business and
his talent and I can make it work under any circumstances.”

She snorted. “At least when Alfonse brags,
it’s about his car or his way with women. He doesn’t try to sound
better than other people.”

“I don’t mean it as a boast, it was just
something that happened. Some people are born smart, others are
born beautiful. Like you, for example.”

“Is that a compliment to my looks, or an
insult to my intelligence?”

“It’s just a statement of fact. I have a way
of getting things organized, that’s what I was born with. Alfonse,
he’s rich by circumstance, but I’d be rich anywhere.”

“So if it doesn’t matter, then why do you
care if there’s a war? Just the inconvenience of diving for the
ditch when the enemy flies over your car?”

“Because in war, you’ve got to do ugly
things. The government orders me to supply ten thousand tons of
coal, where does it come from?”

“Presumably you dig it out of the ground.”

“Right, and who does the digging? Are they
there by choice? How much are they paid?”

“So Helmut von Cratz has a conscience, is
that what you’re trying to tell me? I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Why do you hate me so much? You don’t hate
Alfonse and he’s nothing but a womanizer and an opportunist.”

“Maybe he doesn’t aspire to more, that’s why.
Maybe you do, but it’s obvious how you fall short.”

“Am I such a bad person? I helped your
friends. The old man is getting better.”

“He is,” she admitted. She’d returned two
days ago to discover that Helmut had sent them flour, oil,
turnips, carrots, and leeks. Even more amazing, he’d somehow found
a doctor to visit Monsieur Demerais in their flat. “A German
doctor,” Madame Demerais had whispered. “The neighbors didn’t like
it, but I don’t care. He knew what he was doing.”

“And I told you your father was alive.”

“The Gestapo already told me that.” She was
struggling to maintain her anger.

“The Gestapo could be lying,” he said.

“So could you. You haven’t brought any proof,
agreed to take him a message, found even where he’s at. Anything.”

“I will when I can.”

“Here’s the thing,” Gabriela said. “You want
something. Every man wants something from me, so you’re not so
different. Monsieur Leblanc wants a girl to seduce the marks from
German pockets. Alfonse wants a steamy romance in Paris, someone
he can impress.”

“And Colonel Hoekman?” he asked.

She fixed him with a stare, wondering what he
knew. His face gave away nothing. “Hoekman wants spies. He needs a
steady stream of victims so he can take the credit for exposing
people. This will help him rise in power. That’s my guess.”

“It’s a good one.”

“But these men are open about what they want.
You, I don’t know. You’re not driving me to rail yards and country
villages to impress me. You haven’t tried to seduce me yet. You
haven’t asked me to spy on anyone. But I know you want something
and that makes me suspicious.”

“Maybe we have a mutual enemy.”

“You mean Hoekman.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.” He smiled. “There,
you see, you’re not just pretty. You’re intelligent, too.”

She fixed him with a hard look. “Helmut, I
don’t trust you. I don’t think I ever will.”

They both looked up as an army truck
approached. Helmut bent and made as if checking the tire pressure.
He gave a wave to the soldiers in the back, then dropped the
pretense as soon as it disappeared around the bend.

He said, “If that truck had been passing ten
minutes ago, it would have been an ugly scene. That Hurricane
would have gobbled it up.”

“Lucky for the Germans. Maybe now you’ll win
the war.”

He didn’t take the bait. “I went looking for
Roger Leblanc.”

This caught her attention. “Did you find
him?”

“No, apparently he was sent to a reeducation
camp in Germany. Problem is, once they shipped him off, it became
almost impossible to do anything about it.”

“Hoekman said they were trying to cure him.
Is that possible?”

“Sure, if you stretch the meaning of the word
cure. They’ll force him to admit he’s a homosexual—which he’ll do,
whether or not he really is—then the fun starts. They’ll hook him
up with wires, show him photos of nude males, then administer
electric shocks to the genitals.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“If he convinces them he’s cured, they’ll
send him to a labor camp. Short rations, sixteen-hour days making
munitions.”

“And if he’s not cured?”

“I don’t know, but there are terrible rumors.
Come on, let’s go. We’re supposed to meet Alfonse in twenty
minutes.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” she persisted as
they pulled back onto the road. “What if they just took Roger in
for questioning and decided he wasn’t a threat? Let him go?”

“It’s not about containing threats, Gaby.
It’s about control and suppression of deviant elements of
society.”

“But say, just for argument, that they let
him go. Is there any possible way he’s been freed? That he could
be back in Paris?”

“Gaby, if I went to the restaurant tonight
and saw Roger Leblanc carrying on as if nothing had happened, I’d
suspect treachery.”

Chapter Seventeen:

Gabriela and Helmut arrived at the rail depot
to find Alfonse in uniform, snapping instructions at soldiers,
who, together with a small army of civilian workers, scrambled
everywhere with crates, boxes, and laden wheel barrows.

Two trains sat huffing on the tracks, facing
opposite directions. Half the cargo movements were between the
west-bound and the east-bound trains and the rest came from a huge
barbed-wire enclosure on the north side. Boxes and barrels stacked
almost to the height of the enclosure.

Helmut jumped out of the car and pushed into
the fray. He seemed to have forgotten about Gabriela. She
followed.

“What is the train still doing here?” Helmut
demanded. “It was supposed to leave the yard two hours ago. You
know we got buzzed by a Hurricane.”

“Dammit, I know that,” Alfonse said. “It flew
over, strafed us a couple of times, and flew off.”

“Then what are you playing at? Why aren’t
these trains gone?”

“If you’ll shut up, I’ll tell you.” Alfonse
stopped as a junior officer came over with a question. Alfonse
snapped his answer and the other man saluted and raced off in the
opposite direction. “The goddamned
maquis
sabotaged the
bridge and we had to reroute one of the trains. It only just got
here.”

“But the other train isn’t even unloaded yet.
Why?”
“Ask your man,” Alfonse jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

He was gesturing at a young man in civilian
dress with a notebook who argued with two other civilian workers.
Helmut strode up to the young man and spun him around. “Jesus
Christ, Mayer. How many times do I need to tell you?” He dragged
him away from the others and snatched the notebook. He looked
ready to explode with anger. “What in god’s name are you
thinking?”

“Sorry, boss,” the young man said, “but
Raymond is sick and these other morons screwed up the paperwork.
We were going to be here all day getting it sorted out. I had to
come out, should have done it sooner, in fact.”

“Well I’m here now, so get the hell away from
these soldiers. Next time I see you, you’d better be so goddamned
pale from lack of sunlight that I mistake you for a corpse.”

“Yes, sir
.
” He turned and ran for the
depot offices.

“Not all Jews look so obviously Jewish,”
Helmut explained when the young man had run off. “Unfortunately,
David’s face looks like something from a Gestapo how-to manual.
You know, ’recognize a Jew with these three easy-to-identify
facial features.’”

“Unlucky for him,” Alfonse said without so
much as a glance up from his papers.

“Right, and I can’t have him running around
all these soldiers looking like a fucking rabbi.”

“You can’t protect him?” Gabriela asked.

“Yeah, I can protect him. I can protect him
by keeping him inside.” He turned to Alfonse. “Didn’t I tell you?
Wasn’t I clear enough?”

“I’ve got my own problems without keeping an
eye on your Jews.”

A soldier came running up to Alfonse. “Thirty
minutes!”

“
Scheiss.”

“Thirty minutes till what?” Helmut demanded.

“That Hurricane was part of an advance
fighter screen,” Alfonse said. “I got a radio an hour ago saying a
huge wave of bombers penetrated France near Calais. They’ve
apparently veered in this direction.”

“Probably targeting the truck factory,”
Helmut said.

“Probably, but they won’t pass the depot
without bombing the hell out of us. And if the trains are still in
the station. . .”

“What should we do?” Gabriela asked, alarmed.

Helmut turned, blinked, as if just
remembering she was there. “What you should do is get into the
bomb shelter. Now.”

“No,” Gabriela said. “I can help. Alfonse,
what can I do?”

“Tell her to get inside,” Helmut said.

“He’s right,” Alfonse said. “I’ve got no use
for girls. Get inside.”

The two men broke into German without waiting
to see if she’d obey. Moments later, they split up. There was a
good deal of shouting in French and German. The soldiers and
workers picked up speed. Men were cursing, sweating, knocking into
each other. Not one of them paid her any attention.

It was obvious the mountain of goods wasn’t
going to get loaded in thirty minutes. There was too much and the
pile was dropping too slowly. And that wasn’t even counting
unloading the incoming train.

She grabbed for a box from the dump in the
enclosure, found it was too heavy, picked a smaller crate instead,
just managed. She joined the group of jostling, swearing workers
and soldiers. There were men on the train, taking boxes. One of
them took her box easily, eyed her dress and hat with a scoffing
look.

“Don’t just stand there, girl, keep working.”

She went back for another box. The work
exhausted her within minutes. An air raid siren started its
miserable whine. Low, then a high shriek, then low again. And
still the men worked.

Alfonse screamed at the men in German and
French. “Goddammit, get those boxes in there. Move! Move!” One
soldier stumbled and Alfonse cuffed him on the ear, grabbed the
box and carried it away.

The men heaved like blowing horses, groaning.
Sweat stained their armpits and backs.

Helmut ordered the trains to leave before the
work was done. They whistled in turn, competing over the wailing
air raid sirens. They crept out of the stations in opposite
directions. Even as they picked up speed, men ran to and from the
trains, heaving crates in and out. One fell, broke open, and
spilled nails across the ground. They joined a mess of bolts,
tools, gears, mashed-up food, and broken boards and equipment.

And then men were jumping out of the moving
trains, some of the soldiers swung themselves up, and everyone
else raced for one of the warehouses on the edge of the depot.

“I hear them!” someone shouted and then there
were shouts in German and French and what sounded like Dutch.
Within seconds, the movement had become a panicky stampede.

Alfonse spotted her, grabbed her and dragged
her into the building. They stumbled, staggered down the stairs.
Men poured down the stairwell into a dimly lit basement room well
below ground. Soon, they were packed in, crushed one against the
other and still more men forced themselves into the shelter.
Gabriela grabbed Alfonse’s arm to keep from getting separated.