THE NINTH DAY

Monday, June 5, 1944

CHAPTER 46

DIETER'S MIGRAINE BEGAN shortly after midnight, as he stood in his room at the Hotel Frankfort, looking at the bed he would never again share with Stephanie. He felt that if he could weep, the pain would fade, but no tears came, and he injected himself with morphine and collapsed on the counterpane.

The phone woke him before daylight. It was Walter Goedel, Rommel's aide. Groggily, Dieter said, "Has the invasion begun?"

"Not today," Goedel replied. "The weather is bad in the English Channel."

Dieter sat upright and shook his head to clear it. "What, then?"

"The Resistance were clearly expecting something. Overnight, there has been an eruption of sabotage throughout northern France." Goedel's voice, already cool, descended to an arctic chill. "It was supposed to be your job to prevent that. What are you doing in bed?"

Caught off guard, Dieter struggled to regain his usual poise. "I'm right on the tail of the most important of all Resistance leaders," he said, trying hard not to sound as if he was making excuses for failure. "I almost caught her last night. I'll arrest her today. Don't worry-by tomorrow morning we'll be rounding up terrorists by the hundreds. I promise you." He immediately regretted the pleading tone of the last three words.

Goedel was unmoved. "After tomorrow, it will probably be too late."

"I know-" Dieter stopped. The line was dead. Goedel had hung up.

Dieter cradled the phone and looked at his wristwatch. It was four o'clock. He got up.

His migraine had gone, but he felt queasy, either from the morphine or the unpleasant phone call. He drank a glass of water and swallowed three aspirins, then began to shave. As he lathered his face, he nervously ran over the events of the previous evening, asking himself if he had done everything possible.

Leaving Lieutenant Hesse outside Chez Regis, he had followed Michel Clairet to the premises of Philippe Moulier, a supplier of fresh meat to restaurants and military kitchens. It was a storefront property with living quarters above and a yard at the side. Dieter bad watched the place for an hour, but no one had come out.

Deciding that Michel intended to spend the night there, Dieter had found a bar and phoned Hans Hesse. Hans had got on a motorcycle and joined him outside the Moulier place at ten. The lieutenant told Dieter the story of the inexplicably empty room above Chez Regis. "There's some early-warning system," Dieter speculated. "The barman downstairs is ready to sound the alarm if anyone comes looking."

"You think the Resistance were using the place?"

"Probably. I'd guess the Communist Party used to hold meetings there, and the Resistance took over the system."

"But how did they get away last night?"

"A trapdoor under the carpet, something like that- the communists would have been prepared for trouble. Did you arrest the barman?"

"I arrested everyone in the place. They're at the chteau now."

Dieter had left Hans watching the Moulier property and had driven to Sainte-Ccile. There he questioned the terrified proprietor, Alexandre Regis, and learned within minutes that his speculation had been off target. The place was neither a Resistance hideout nor a communist meeting place, but an illegal gambling club. Nevertheless, Alexandre confirmed that Michel Clairet had gone there last night. And, he said, Michel had met his wife there.

It was another maddeningly near miss for Dieter. He had captured one Resistance member after another, but Flick always eluded him.

Now he finished shaving, wiped his face, and phoned the chteau to order a car with a driver and two Gestapo men to pick him up. He got dressed and went to the hotel kitchen to beg half a dozen warm croissants, which he wrapped in a linen napkin. Then he went out into the cool of the early morning. The towers of the cathedral were silvered by the breaking dawn. One of the fast Citrons favored by the Gestapo was waiting.

He gave the driver the address of the Moulier place. He found Hans lurking in a warehouse doorway fifty meters along the street. No one had come or gone all night, Hans said, so Michel must still be inside. Dieter told his driver to wait around the next corner, then stood with Hans, sharing the croissants and watching the sun come up over the roofs of the city.

They had a long wait. Dieter fought to control his impatience as the minutes and hours ticked away uselessly. The loss of Stephanie weighed on his heart, but he had recovered from the immediate shock, and he had regained his interest in the war. He thought of the Allied forces massing somewhere in the south or east of England, shiploads of men and tanks eager to turn the quiet seaside towns of northern France into battlefields. He thought of the French saboteurs- armed to the teeth thanks to parachute drops of guns, ammunition, and explosives-ready to attack the German defenders from behind, to stab them in the back and fatally cramp Rommel's ability to maneuver. He felt foolish and impotent, standing in a doorway in Reims, waiting for an amateur terrorist to finish his breakfast. Today, perhaps, he would be led into the very heart of the Resistance-but all he had was hope.

It was after nine o'clock when the front door opened.

"At last," Dieter breathed. He moved back from the sidewalk, making himself inconspicuous. Hans put out his cigarette.

Michel came out of the building accompanied by a boy of about seventeen, who, Dieter guessed, might be a son of Moulier. The lad keyed a padlock and opened the gates of the yard. In the yard was a clean black van with white lettering on the side that read Moulier Fils-Viandes. Michel got in.

Dieter was electrified. Michel was borrowing a meat delivery van. It had to be for the Jackdaws. "Let's go!" he said.

Hans hurried to his motorcycle, which was parked at the curb, and stood with his back to the road, pretending to fiddle with the engine. Dieter ran to the corner, signaled the Gestapo driver to start the car, then watched Michel.

Michel drove out of the yard and headed away.

Hans started his motorcycle and followed. Dieter jumped into the car and ordered the driver to follow Hans.

They headed east. Dieter, in the front passenger seat of the Gestapo's black Citron, looked ahead anxiously. Moulier's van was easy to follow, having a high roof with a vent on top like a chimney. That little vent will lead me to flick, Dieter thought optimistically.

The van slowed in the chemin de La Carrire and pulled into the yard of a champagne house called Laperrire. Hans drove past and turned the next corner, and Dieter's driver followed. They pulled up and Dieter leaped out.

"I think the Jackdaws hid out there overnight," Dieter said.

"Shall we raid the place?" Hans said eagerly.

Dieter pondered. This was the dilemma he had faced yesterday, outside the caf. Flick might be in there. But if he moved too quickly, he might prematurely end Michel's usefulness as a stalking horse.

"Not yet," he said. Michel was the only hope he had left. It was too soon to risk losing that weapon. "We'll wait."

Dieter and Hans walked to the end of the street and watched the Laperrire place from the corner. There were a tall, elegant house, a courtyard full of empty barrels, and a low industrial building with a flat roof Dieter guessed the cellars ran beneath the flat-roofed building. Moulier's van was parked in the yard.

Dieter's pulse was racing. Any moment now, Michel would reappear with Flick and the other Jackdaws, he guessed. They would get into the van, ready to drive to their target-and Dieter and the Gestapo would move in and arrest them.

As they watched, Michel came out of the low building. He wore a frown and he stood indecisively in the yard, looking around him in a perplexed fashion. Hans said, "What's the matter with him?"

Dieter's heart sank. "Something he didn't expect." Surely Flick had not evaded him again?

After a minute, Michel climbed the short flight of steps to the door of the house and knocked. A maid in a little white cap let him in.

He came out again a few minutes later. He still looked puzzled, but he was no longer indecisive. He walked to the van, got in, and turned it around.

Dieter cursed. It seemed the Jackdaws were not here. Michel appeared just as surprised as Dieter was, but that was small consolation.

Dieter had to find out what had happened here. He said to Hans, "We'll do the same as last night, only this time you follow Michel and I'll raid the place."

Hans started his motorcycle.

Dieter watched Michel drive away in Moulier's van, followed at a discreet distance by Hans Hesse on his motorcycle. When they were out of sight, he summoned the three Gestapo men with a wave and walked quickly to the Laperrire house.