Thirst No. 5 (14 page)

“Let’s go.” Taking him by the arm I pull him toward the door. Before opening it, I listen for passing boots. It’s always boots with the Nazis, never shoes. There’s a rare lull outside and I hurry Anton into the hallway, and from there into the stairway.

Anton can stand, he can walk, but he can’t climb. Three steps from the bottom and he collapses in my arms. He’s still awake but his legs aren’t working. I don’t have time for a pep talk. Throwing him over my shoulder, I begin the long climb to ground level.

The pressure is intense. Rika’s dead body in the restroom . . . the unconscious Gestapo in room 6H . . . the combination of the two has set a clock ticking inside my head. Anton is right—it’s foolish of me to try to rescue him.

Before the advent of modern weapons it wouldn’t have mattered. I could storm any fortress without fear. Swords, spears, arrows—none of them could harm me. But bullets fired into my head or heart, grenade shrapnel sprayed in my face, bazooka shells exploding in my back—all these new toys can
end my life. And the reality is, I’m not used to having to worry about dying. I’m not used to fear. It’s a novel sensation but that does not make it a pleasant one.

“You make an excellent mule,” Anton says as we wind up the stairs.

“You calling me a jackass?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you.”

“That’s sweet. Now, we’re almost to ground level. Tell me you can stand.”

“I can stand,” he says.

Once again I smell the fresh air, even hear the birds chirping outside. I have been inside longer than I planned—it must be near dawn. Propping Anton against a wall, I peer out the first-floor door and search for the main entrance. I see it only fifty feet away, but between us and freedom are eight armed guards. Unfortunately, they are spread out, and I estimate I can only take out five or six before the remaining two or three will start shooting.

I quietly close the door and explain the situation to Anton.

“We’re screwed,” he says.

“Shh! You just told me how great your German is.”

“I lied.”

“Stay upright, please, act normal,” I say, straightening his collar and coat. “I outrank anyone in our path. If they stop and question us, no matter what I say, just keep walking toward the door. All we have to do is get to the street and we’ll be safe.”

“What if someone sounds the alarm?”

“No one is going to sound the alarm,” I say.

Synchronicity sure can be a bitch.

The alarm suddenly goes off.

On the other side of the door, I hear the guards leap to attention and cock their rifles. The front door slams shut and a thick steel bolt is thrown. Throughout the building the alarm brays like a wounded animal. Below us I hear a stampede of boots—more guards preparing to shoot. What the hell, the guards are only half our problem. Every Gestapo officer in the building has a sidearm.

Anton looks at me and shrugs. “I’m not going to tell you I told you so,” he says.

“Shut up.”

“Do you have a backup plan?”

“Quiet! I’m thinking!” Obviously Anton’s interrogator or Rika has been found. Yet the Nazis do not appear to know where we are. People are running left and right but they lack direction. Also, the Gestapo have not sent anyone to reinforce the main entrance. That seems to be a blunder on their part until I remember the three soldiers, and their machine gun, on the roof of the building. Clearly the Germans have faith no one is going to get past them.

However, I see the boys on top as a possible boon.

I grab Anton and throw him back over my shoulder.

“Hey!” he cries as we continue up the stairs. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“We have friends upstairs. Maybe,” I say, taking five steps at a time.

“Why maybe? Are they on our side or not?”

“They’re not Gestapo,” I say.

Anton is quick. “Interesting.”

We run into a single guard on our way to the roof. I knock him out with a stiff blow to the face and take his sidearm and rifle. We pass through an attic loaded with small arms and ammunition. Before we exit into the fresh air, I set Anton down. He insists I give him the rifle.

“I don’t have your hands and feet,” he says.

“Don’t shoot them.”

“What if they shoot at us?”

“Shh.” I crouch beside the door, open it a crack, peer outside. The three young men have prepped their machine guns and are peering down at the wired yard and brick wall that surround the school. Yet they don’t appear to give a damn about the alarm that shakes the rest of the building. They continue to talk about their girls back home.

Anton gives me a look and shrugs. It’s up to me, he’s saying.

I push the door open and in a single leap I’m standing behind the nearest soldier with my gun pressed to the back of his skull. Bent over the machine gun, the other two have to turn and look up to see me. Their eyes swell in fear and one reaches for his sidearm.

“Easy, boys,” I say in German. “No one has to get hurt here. My friend and I—this is my lover, Anton—just want to get out of here alive. But we need your help.”

They take time to digest my words. The guy with my gun to his head trembles, and I pat him on the back and tell him to relax. But I do not take the gun away. His buddies stare at me as if I’m some kind of supernatural creature, which is actually pretty perceptive on their part. The one with his finger on the machine gun, which is pointed toward the gate, finally speaks.

“Are you the reason the alarm has sounded?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Are you German?” he asks.

“I’m neither French nor German. But to be honest, I am working with the Allies.”

He shakes his head. “Then we can’t let you go.”

“Why not?” I smile. “I’ve been listening to you boys talk for some time. I know all you care about is getting home alive to your girls. I know you despise Hitler and all he stands for. Why not let us escape?”

“We’ll be punished. Executed,” he says.

“Not if you play it right. Off to your left is the facility entrance. It’s manned with guards. Off to your right is the gate. It’s locked, bolted with a thick board. You have a clear shot at both sites. You can choose your fate.”

“I don’t understand,” the guy says. Although, previously, he was the one who talked the least of the three, it’s clear he’s
their leader. He’s a cool customer, he talks as if we’re having lunch at a café.

“You can see my friend has been tortured. He’s not in good shape. But I’m in incredible shape. I’m probably the greatest athlete you’ve ever met. In the next two minutes, I’m going to creep down the slope of this roof and leap into the yard. My friend will be on my back. What I need you to do is—when we land—open fire on the entrance. You don’t have to kill anyone, just spray the porch with a hundred rounds or so. That will drive back the guards. Then turn your machine gun on the gate. Cut the board to pieces. That way we can run out into the street and escape.”

“You have someone waiting for you?” the soldier asks.

“Yes,” I lie.

He shakes his head. “It’s three floors to the yard. The jump could kill you.”

“I’ve done it before carrying a lot more weight. Please, it’s a simple plan and I promise you won’t get in trouble. You can always tell your superiors that you saw us rushing toward the entrance before we turned and ran toward the gate. No one will contradict your story because no one will see what really happens. Once you open fire on the entrance, they will all hit the floor and huddle in the corners.” I pause. “Do what I say and both of us will win.”

“What if we refuse?”

I smile casually and cock my pistol. “I will shoot the three
of you in the head. Now. And make no mistake, you will be dead before you can get off a shot. Remember how easily I snuck up on you. I’m faster than I look.”

Their leader considers before he looks to his partners, who nod enthusiastically. Still, he is troubled. “I can give you my word we will do what you ask,” he says. “But once you leap into the yard, you’re at our mercy. We can mow you down in seconds.”

“You won’t do that,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a man of your word. And I have news for you. The Allies will invade very soon, and Paris will fall in a matter of weeks. The entire Nazi army will be overrun, from the east and west. My friend here, Anton, is a man of great influence. He can help you once the war is over. He may even be able to keep you from being executed.”

“That is hard to believe,” the German soldier says.

“I won’t forget you,” Anton says. “Give me your names.”

“Think of it as insurance,” I say.

After a moment of hesitation, the young men tell us their names and ranks. They are being truthful, and I am hopeful they will keep their end of the bargain. Of course, I can hypnotize all three so they have no choice in the matter, but I prefer their cooperation be genuine. As a sign of good faith, I holster my pistol.

“There,” I say. “You can shoot me now if you want. You’ll
be a hero to the Gestapo, they might even recommend you for a promotion.”

The leader snickers. “Those filthy bastards. Their praise is the last thing we want.” The alarm continues to bray. The man peers into the yard. “You had better go. If they don’t find you inside, they’ll search the streets.”

“Thank you.” I pat the other two on the back and lean over and kiss their leader on the cheek. “Don’t let this war kill you. Stay alive,” I tell him.

“You too,” he says with feeling.

Anton climbs onto my back. He’s reluctant to leave behind his rifle but I insist. Really, what good will it do us? I need both his arms free so he can maintain his grip. Quietly, we begin to move down the steep slope of the roof. The stone tiles, with their swabs of old cement, provide plenty of footholds. Behind us, I hear the boys talking to one another in excited whispers, obviously impressed with my strength and balance. When I reach the edge of the roof, I turn back and give them a sign.

Their leader opens fire on the main entrance. The high-caliber bullets explode on the bricks, around the wooden door, like a circle of fireworks. Through the windows, I can see the interior guards diving for cover. The jump is nothing to me. I leap off the building and land like a cat from a tree.

Anton groans in pain but is full of praise. “How come you never show me such tricks when we make love?” he asks sweetly.

“You would not survive,” I say, watching as our partners swivel the turret toward the gate and again open fire. The leader has sharp aim. The board that holds the gate closed splinters under the hail of bullets. Five seconds and it cracks and falls to the ground. Of course I could have broken it myself, but this way, with the constant hail of fire, the interior guards keep their heads down. Also, the open gate is one less obstacle to slow us down.

The machine gun falls silent. The deal is done.

I run into the street and around the corner of the wall. Again, Anton groans in pain but I don’t slow down until we’re a mile from the compound, which takes me less than a minute to cover. There I let Anton rest in a dark alleyway. I feel his ribs, find several broken, and listen for any sounds of internal bleeding. His spleen and liver are both swollen but I don’t hear any squirting veins. I’m confident he’ll survive and share the good news with him.

“I may live but I won’t be happy,” he complains.

I chuckle. “Why not?”

He shakes his head. “Do you know what a woman like you does to a man’s ego? I should be the one rescuing you. Instead, you shame me. I’ll never be able to get it up around you ever again.”

“No problem. General Straffer can keep me satisfied.”

Anton scowls. “Tell me the truth, seriously, Sita, are you sleeping with that pig?”

“No, Anton, I swear it,” I lie, draping him in my arms and lips. “He uses me as an ornament, nothing else. All he wants is young boys.”

“To each his own,” Anton replies, believing me because it’s easier to do so. I feel no guilt about my lies or being unfaithful. My love for Anton is not affected by who else I spread my legs for, and besides, the Resistance needs the information only the general can provide.

I let Anton recover for another ten minutes before I hoist him on my back and take off at a faster clip. This time I move so quickly I’m not visible to anyone patrolling the streets. They feel a brush of air, perhaps sense the heat of my breath, nothing more. My goal is a small apartment not far from Pont Royal and the Seine River, the home of Harrah and Ralph Levine.

Later, I stand holding Anton upright and knock softly on their door. By this time light has begun to glow in the east, and the birds are singing as the stars fade. Wars come and go, but Mother Nature couldn’t care less about mankind’s foolishness.

Harrah is quick to answer, her lovable face bursting into relief at the sight of both of us. She is still dressed in her day clothes. She has been up all night, bless her heart, waiting.

“Sita!” she cries. “You did it!”

“Why does she get all the credit?” Anton complains.

“Come, come, inside.” Harrah gestures as I help Anton over the meager threshold. We are fortunate Harrah is, like her husband, a doctor and has a secret store of medicine and surgical
equipment in the spare bedroom, where I often stay. Ralph, a highly trained surgeon, comes out of the bathroom in a robe, his eyes sleepy. But he brightens when he sees Anton and helps me stretch him out on my bed. Ralph’s eyes are a warm gray, the same color as his hair, which sticks off the sides of his head like the wings of a bird. Before the war, he often wore a
kippa
just to cover his bald spot. Now, when he goes out, along with his wife, he’s forced to wear the Star of David on his arm.