Without any instruction, Voss snipped off the right middle finger, causing even greater screams of agony.

"Monsieur Aubert will probably want some souvenirs of his visit here," Schlegal said.

"Of course, Colonel," replied Voss as he picked up the severed digits from the floor. He scratched his head with one of them, producing torrents of laughter from everyone in the room, including Lischka. He then put both fingers in the side pocket of Aubert's suit jacket and walked over to Schlegal.

"Let's give Monsieur Aubert time to rest and think things over. We'll meet again. After all, he has eight fingers left," said Schlegal. He motioned to his officers. "Give him something to stop the bleeding. I don't want him to die on us-and get all this blood cleaned off the floor."

Lischka stood. "That was most impressive, Colonel," he said, walking out of the room. "Carry on."

Voss summoned two soldiers from the hallway, then yelled out, "Marie, you old b.i.t.c.h, get your mop and pail and get in here."

The soldiers took Aubert by his arms and dragged him away like a sack of potatoes. A minute later, a haggard old woman in a wrinkled maroon dress shuffled in with a pail and knelt down to wipe up the blood with a rag. The officers watched in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I'm truly sorry we made such a mess, Marie. It won't happen again, I promise," said Schlegal.

"You're always saying that, Colonel, and always there's a mess," grumbled Marie.

"Marie, I didn't realize you still had such a nice a.s.s," Voss said. "You must have been a hot number during the Franco-Prussian War." The soldiers howled with laughter. Voss bent over and gave Marie a hard slap on her rear, but the old woman just squeezed out the blood from the wet rag in the pail and kept cleaning.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I was quite a beauty in the old days. One day, I'll tell you about the time I f.u.c.ked Kaiser Wilhelm I. He gave me the Iron Cross First Cla.s.s."

"Marie, my love, if only you were twenty-five years younger, I'd take you right here, right now on the floor," said Schlegal, tossing some franc pieces in the pail of b.l.o.o.d.y water.

After the room emptied out, Marie slowly got up off her arthritic knees and went over to a desk in the corner of the room and shuffled through some papers. She read one sheet very closely, then picked up her pail and walked out of the interrogation room.

55.

As he was going over a detail on the blueprints with Labrune, Lucien realized something was wrong.

All the usual cacophony of the building site in Tremblay had vanished. Dead silence. No hammering, no sawing, no cranes moving or men shouting. Labrune also took notice and had a puzzled look on his face. Lucien turned around and saw every single man staring in the same exact direction off to the east. He immediately thought they saw approaching bombers. There was no antiaircraft protection or bomb shelters at the site. No one in the German High Command in Paris thought it necessary yet. Where would everyone hide?

Lucien followed the eyes of a laborer who'd stopped nearby with his wheelbarrow and discovered to his amazement what had captured everyone's attention. About thirty meters away, in a navy blue dress and a dark gray scarf, came Bette. She smiled and waved as she drew near. Lucien looked around him and was quite amused. Every man had stopped dead in his tracks to gaze at Bette. It must have been quite odd for them to see such an incongruous sight, as if Martians had landed in a flying saucer.

"h.e.l.lo," said Bette, as she walked up to him. "I bet you're surprised to see me."

"Yes, I am, and so are two hundred other men," replied Lucien, tilting his head to the construction gang behind him.

Bette seemed puzzled. "What, they've never seen a woman on a building site?"

"Not someone like you, I can a.s.sure you, mademoiselle," answered Labrune, who turned to Lucien, expecting an introduction.

"Mademoiselle Tullard, this is Monsieur Labrune, our general contractor."

"A great pleasure," said the old man, who kissed her hand.

"So pleased to meet you. Lucien told me that without you, nothing would get built." Labrune's grizzled old face lit up with delight.

"I thought I'd surprise you. Karin from the office has an old Renault and a petrol ration so she dropped me off," Bette said, turning to Lucien. "I first stopped off at your office but that kid from your office, Alain, told me you were out here. I was hoping you'd be free for lunch."

"Well...you see I'm really busy..."

"Don't be so d.a.m.n rude to such an incredible-looking woman, Bernard. You must take her out for a fine lunch," protested Labrune, smiling from ear to ear at Bette. "You must go immediately. Don't keep mademoiselle waiting a second longer." Labrune grabbed the drawings out of Lucien's hands, placed his hand in the middle of Lucien's back, and started shoving him forward rather roughly. "We'll be fine without you."

"All right, let's go. My car's over there." Bette said good-bye to Labrune and walked off with Lucien.

"Now remember, don't hurry back on my account. Take the whole afternoon. You young people should enjoy yourselves," Labrune shouted after them.

"What a sweet old man, Lucien. And you said he was a son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h."

Labrune looked about him and screamed. "Let's go, you lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, get back to work. Haven't you ever seen a woman before?" Some men began working, but most kept staring after Bette.

As they walked, Bette's right high-heeled shoe stepped in a mud hole. "s.h.i.t, my best shoes."

Lucien burst out laughing. "Next time, wear work boots."

"I don't have any that match this dress, dummy." She took off the shoe and hopped the rest of the way to the car.

Once in the car, she wrapped her arms around Lucien and gave him a long, pa.s.sionate kiss. He didn't care if anyone could see them. In fact, he was secretly proud that the men saw what a gorgeous girl he had.

On the way back to Paris, she rested her head on his shoulder. Bette had had many lovers come and go in her relatively short life, reminding her of a single file of men marching endlessly through a revolving door. Handsome men, old men, single men, married men, and many rich men. So she considered herself an expert in this field and had come to the conclusion that men in general were a disappointment. Lafont, an aristocrat who once wooed her, introduced her to horseback riding, which became a pa.s.sion. She learned quickly that a horse was far more reliable and loyal than any man.

Beginning in her early twenties, Bette made a careful a.n.a.lysis of all her men, past and present. Like an anthropologist conducting a field study of the tribes in French Equatorial Africa, she devised categories and lists of salient characteristics of her subjects. There were the basic categories like wealth, breeding, intelligence, education, physical attributes, marital status, and s.e.xual ability, then more specialized ones for alcohol consumption, thoughtfulness, strength of character, and affection. She filled notebooks with data to a.n.a.lyze it in broad strokes, to see connections between types of men. Bette thoroughly enjoyed conducting her study. She would have liked to become a professor who could specialize in this type of work. Most women in France would go out with one or two men then be forced by society and family to marry. Since Bette had ignored that pressure and had countless men in her life, she had what the anthropologist would term a broad sampling group, which allowed her to discover certain patterns of behavior. Some results were expected-rich men were usually selfish, bored, and demanding; the more handsome a man, the more he treated her like s.h.i.t.

She had liked Lucien right off; the fact that he was creative was unique. He was one of very few creative men, aside from some painters and sculptors who wanted her to model in order to sleep with her. But he had another unique trait.

The "character" category was the one where men failed most miserably. Her study convinced her that men had no character or backbone. Horses, she felt, had more character. She had enjoyed Lucien's company and his lovemaking, but once she found out about Pierre, Lucien's character rating moved very high. In fact, Bette was bowled over by the revelation. She'd never had a man willing to die for something. This single act of courage was very attractive to her, more enticing than a man with a villa or a Bugatti. She could say she was doing the same thing with her two foundlings, but she had an innate woman's compa.s.sion, which was entirely different. Lucien stirred something in her heart that none of the scores of others ever had. As Bette got older, she had a keener sense of what was love and what was not. She knew she was falling in love with Lucien.

"I've got an interesting idea," said Bette, breaking the long silence. "Since Monsieur Labrune was kind enough to give you the afternoon off, why don't you show me all the buildings you've done in and around Paris after lunch? I've already gone to see the wine shop on rue Vaneau."

""You saw it?" asked Lucien, who was shocked and at the same time very flattered.

"Oh, yes. I like the way you curved the storefronts into the entry. It sort of sweeps the customer into the store, doesn't it?"

"That's exactly what I intended."

"The front door has a beautiful metal grate...is that bronze?"

"Yes, so are the door handles."

"The interior's very elegant. I saw the shelves where the bottles were displayed. It was very clever of you to design them that way. They sort of swell in and out. Much better than just ordinary straight shelves."

"Yes, I put a lot of thought into that."

"It's very creative."

Lucien had planned to make love to Bette all afternoon, but now he began to think of all the locations of his projects in Paris and the best routes to get to them.

56.

"It's a great pleasure to finally meet you, Monsieur Bernard. I've heard nothing but good things about you."

Whenever a German paid a Frenchman a compliment, one had to decide whether it was a backhanded compliment or whether he was being sincere. Lucien sensed Schlegal was being honest, but because he had a weakness for compliments, he could've been mistaken. Finally, Lucien relaxed a bit in his wooden chair; he had been scared stiff waiting twenty minutes for Schlegal to come in. In that time, Lucien couldn't keep himself from looking constantly out the window to the flat at 12 rue des Saussaies-which, to his rotten luck, was just across from Schlegal's window.

When Lucien got the telephone call from Schlegal, he almost fainted, he was that frightened. He would've jumped in the Citroen and driven straight into the English Channel. But the Gestapo officer was effusive and cheerful, saying that he knew what great work the architect was doing for the armament division's construction and engineering section. Lucien immediately thought that Herzog had told Schlegal about him, so he didn't panic. Schlegal asked him to come in, and Lucien a.s.sumed it was about some design work. But then again, it could be a trap to lure him in and torture him until he revealed what he knew about Manet's operation. His ego, though, convinced him that this meeting was all about his architectural talents, so he came. He knew he had to. After his encounter with the Resistance, Lucien had convinced himself he wasn't a collaborator. But working for the Gestapo was something different. If he was forced to design for them, there could be some serious repercussions, like being garroted or shot in the head by the Resistance. They'd probably watched him go into Gestapo headquarters. Again, his first thought wasn't about himself, but of what would happen to Pierre.

"Thank you, Colonel." He couldn't really repay the compliment by saying he'd heard good things about the Gestapo's work; that would sound a bit insincere.

"You've done some marvelous buildings for the Reich. I've seen them. They're a bit avant-garde for my taste, of course, but the high command in Paris is quite pleased with the results, and that's what counts. Isn't it?"

"The Reich has been satisfied with my work. If they weren't, they wouldn't give me more work, I suppose."

"Exactly. You're probably wondering why I asked you here today. It's for a professional consultation on a very unusual architectural matter."

The flow of compliments had eased his fear and anxiety, but now Lucien narrowed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair. This was about his Jew work. Lucien knew that the very moment Schlegal asked him about the hiding places, the reaction on his face would give him away. He had to keep a blank expression no matter what. The Gestapo officer's next question seemed years in coming.

"We've come across a hiding place. A very ingenious hiding place under a stair. And we're trying to find out who in Paris could construct such a beautiful piece of woodworking. I guess that's what you'd call it-woodworking?"

"Yes, that's the correct term. Please continue."

"It's a hinged stair that someone can hide under."

So Adele was f.u.c.king Schlegal. He could see why. He was extremely handsome and, most importantly, all-powerful. He could do or get everything she wanted. The stair was in Adele's country house, in her bedroom to be exact, which was where she'd been sleeping with this Gestapo officer in addition to him. No doubt, Adele had told Schlegal that he might know something about the stair since he was an architect. If she were in the room right now, he would have strangled her in front of the Gestapo devil.

Lucien was scared, but he knew that the next few minutes could determine his fate, so his performance had to be convincing. He couldn't panic.

"This is a brand-new stair?"

"No, they cleverly reused the old one."

Lucien smiled. He enjoyed being complimented in this roundabout manner.

"That is quite clever. And how does it work again?"

"It's just a flight of four steps leading to a small study. It's hinged at the top and can be lifted up, enabling someone to slip beneath it and hide."

"And how did you discover it if it was so well concealed?"

Schlegal paused, searching for the right words. "I...I came upon it completely by accident. I would never have found it."

"Well, there are a few Parisians who could build such a thing, but two are dead, another I know has left Paris for the south. Those are the only ones I know who could devise what you described."

"Would they be capable of designing or rather coming up with an idea like that as well as building it? Who'd think up such a thing is what I'm asking?"

Lucien wanted to blurt out that a carpenter could never design such a clever hiding place, that only an architect had the talent and brains to do it, but he kept his ego in check.

"A carpenter could come up with a stair like that."

"And you're sure you can't think of anyone else who could do it?"

"No, Colonel, I'm sorry I can't."

"Well, if you ever-"

Schlegal was interrupted by an aide who walked in without knocking. "There's a Colonel Herzog outside to see you immediately. He's from the armaments-"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, man, I know who he is. Tell him to wait a few minutes."

Herzog pushed through the doorway, shoving aside the aide, who retreated back to his desk.

"What's the meaning of this, Schlegal? Why is my architect here?"

"Calm down, Colonel. Your man is just advising me on architectural business. I'm not taking him away from you. We all know about the fine work he's doing for you. He hasn't been arrested, if that's what you're implying," said Schlegal.

Herzog stared down at Schlegal, who hadn't bothered to get up when Herzog barged into the room. Lucien, who knew Herzog's mannerisms by now, saw that he didn't respect Schlegal at all.

"What architectural business?" said Herzog.

Schlegal hesitated. "There are people who are hiding Jews in secret places throughout the city, Colonel."

Herzog shot a puzzled look at Lucien, then turned on the Gestapo officer.

"Jews hiding in the woodwork, you say? Where did you get that harebrained idea?"

Schlegal rose now and stood nose to nose with Herzog. Lucien was sure fists would start swinging any minute. He couldn't decide who'd win the fight; both were quite fit and the same size.

"I'm sure you're aware that the Reich considers international Jewry a serious and dangerous threat, Colonel. And that they must be swiftly and harshly dealt with. The Fuehrer has made this his number-one priority."

"I thought his number-one priority was winning the war against the Communists and the Allies," Herzog said. "Not scouring Paris for a lot of frightened Jews. The Wehrmacht, which is made up of real military men, doesn't lower itself for such nonsense. So you're wasting this man's time. And that means you're wasting my valuable time."

"I'd be careful about what you're saying, old boy. You're going to make a lot of people angry with that kind of talk."

"Next you'll be calling me a Jew lover, huh?"