"The house is owned and occupied by one person, a Mademoiselle Jeanne Lemas."

"But there may be other people staying there."

"I also drove past, just to have a look, and the place seemed quiet."

"Be ready to leave, with my car, in an hour."

"Very good."

"And, Hans-well done for using your initiative."

"Thank you, sir."

Dieter hung up. He wondered what Mademoiselle Lemas was like. Gaston said no one in the Bollinger circuit had ever met her, and Dieter believed him: the house was a security cut-out. Incoming agents knew nothing more than where to contact the woman: if caught, they could not reveal any information about the Resistance. At least, that was the theory. There was no such thing as perfect security.

Presumably Mademoiselle Lemas was unmarried. She could be a young woman who had inherited the house from her parents, a middle-aged spinster looking for a husband, or an old maid. It might help to take a woman with him, he decided.

He returned to the bedroom. Stephanie had brushed her abundant red hair and was sitting up in bed, with her breasts showing over the top of the sheet. She really knew how to look tempting. But he resisted the impulse to get back into bed. "Would you do something for me?" he said.

"I would do anything for you."

"Anything?" He sat on the bed and touched her bare shoulder. "Would you watch me with another woman?"

"Of course," she said. "I would lick her nipples while you made love to her."

"You would, I know." He laughed with pleasure. He had had mistresses before, but none like her. "It's not that, though. I want you to come with me while I arrest a woman in the Resistance."

Her face showed no emotion. "Very well," she said calmly.

He was tempted to press her for a reaction, to ask her how she felt about this, and was she sure she was happy about it, but he decided to take her consent at face value. "Thank you," he said, and he returned to the living room.

Mademoiselle Lemas might be alone but, on the other hand, the house could be crawling with Allied agents, all armed to the teeth. He needed some backup. He consulted his notebook and gave the hotel operator Rommel's number in La Roche-Guyon.

When the Germans had first occupied the country, the French telephone system had been swamped. Since then, the Germans had improved the equipment, adding thousands of kilometers of cable and installing automatic exchanges. The system was still overloaded, but it was better than it had been.

He asked for Rommel's aide Major Goedel. A moment later he heard the familiar cold, precise voice:

"Goedel."

"This is Dieter Franck," he said. "How are you, Walter?"

"Busy," Goedel said crisply. "What is it?"

"I'm making rapid progress here. I don't want to give details, because I'm speaking on a hotel phone, but I'm about to arrest at least one spy, perhaps several. I thought the Field Marshal might like to know that."

"I shall tell him."

"But I could use some assistance. I'm doing all this with one lieutenant. I'm so desperate, I'm using my French girlfriend to help me."

"That seems unwise."

"Oh, she's trustworthy. But she won't be much use against trained terrorists. Can you get me half a dozen good men?"

"Use the Gestapo-that's what they're for."

"They're unreliable. You know they're cooperating with us only reluctantly. I need people I can rely on."

"It's out of the question," Goedel said.

"Look, Walter, you know how important Rommel feels this is-he's given me the job of making sure the Resistance can't hamper our mobility."

"Yes. But the Field Marshal expects you to do it without depriving him of combat troops."

"I'm not sure I can."

"For God's sake, man!" Goedel raised his voice. "We're trying to defend the entire Atlantic coastline with a handful of soldiers, and you're surrounded by able-bodied men who have nothing better to do than track down scared old Jews hiding in barns. Get on with the job and don't pester me!" There was a click as the phone was hung up.

Dieter was startled. It was uncharacteristic for Goedel to blow his top. No doubt they were all tense about the threat of invasion. But the upshot was clear. Dieter had to do this on his own.

With a sigh, he jiggled the rest and placed a call to the chteau at Sainte-Ccile.

He reached Willi Weber. "I'm going to raid a Resistance house," he said. "I may need some of your heavyweights. Will you send four men and a car to the Hotel Frankfort? Or do I need to speak to Rommel again?"

The threat was unnecessary. Weber was keen to have his men along on the operation. That way, the Gestapo could claim the credit for any success. He promised a car in half an hour.

Dieter was worried about working with the Gestapo. He could not control them. But he had no choice.

While shaving, he turned on the radio, which was tuned to a German station. He learned that the first-ever tank battle in the Pacific theater had developed yesterday on the island of Biak. The occupying Japanese had driven the invading American 162d Infantry back to their beachhead. Push them into the sea, Dieter thought.

He dressed in a dark gray worsted suit, a fine cotton shirt with pale gray stripes, and a black tie with small white dots. The dots were woven into the fabric rather than printed on it, a detail that gave him pleasure. He thought for a moment, then removed the jacket and strapped on a shoulder holster. He took his Walther P38 automatic pistol from the bureau and slid it into the holster, then put his jacket back on.

He sat down with a cup of coffee and watched Stephanie dressing. The French made the most beautiful underwear in the world, he thought as she stepped into silk cami-knickers the color of clotted cream. He loved to see her pull on her stockings, smoothing the silk over her thighs. "Why did the old masters not paint this moment?" he said.

"Because Renaissance women didn't have sheer silk stockings," said Stephanie.

When she was ready, they left.

Hans Hesse was waiting outside with Dieter's Hispano-Suiza. The young man gazed at Stephanie with awestruck admiration. To him, she was infinitely desirable and at the same time untouchable. He made Dieter think of a poor woman staring into Cartier's shop window.

Behind Dieter's car was a black Citron Traction Avant containing four Gestapo men in plain clothes. Major Weber had decided to come himself, Dieter saw: he sat in the front passenger seat of the Citron, wearing a green tweed suit that made him look like a farmer on his way to church. "Follow me," Dieter told him. "When we get there, please stay in your car until I call you."

Weber said, "Where the hell did you get a car like that?"

"It was a bribe from a Jew," Dieter said. "I helped him escape to America."

Weber grunted in disbelief, but in fact the story was true.

Bravado was the best attitude to take with men such as Weber. If Dieter had tried to keep Stephanie hidden away, Weber would immediately have suspected that she was Jewish and might have started an investigation. But because Dieter flaunted her, the thought never crossed Weber's mind.