The Second Objective

“What was your address?”

“Three seventy-five Union Street. South side of the street, near Sixth. Big white house, two stories, a porch that ran all the way around the front. We’d sit out there summer nights listening to Jack Be

Gra

“They could’ve but they didn’t; I swear to God it’s true; I lived it.”

Bernie heard footsteps entering the building through the open front door down below.

“Where’s the best cheesecake in Brooklyn?”

“Cheesecake? Junior’s, on DeKalb and Flatbush; me and Jackie used to go there after school.”

“Where’d your mother shop?”

“There was a greengrocer on the corner, corner of Polhemus and Garfield; she went over there almost every day-”

“What was it called?”

“Solly’s, Solly’s Produce. There was a Laundromat next door, a radio repair shop, then a coffee shop run by two brothers, they were Greek, a long name, lots of vowels in it. My dad used to get that sticky pastry they’d make on his way to work, what do they call it, baklava?”

“There was a candy store across the street.”

“I know it, I know it, Foppiano’s, this nice old Italian guy, had a big mustache, wore an old worn-out gray sweater every day, kept everything in glass jars behind the counter. Root beer sticks, Houten’s chocolates, Black Crows, those little licorice deals? That’s where I bought comic books-and it wasn’t right across from Solly’s, it was diagonal.”

“Tell me something that happened on that street. Something you’d only know if you were living there.”

Bernie thought frantically. “When I was a little kid-I don’t know, maybe six or seven?-there was a robbery at an Esso station. A girl got shot, I think she was a teenager. I remember it real clear; police were all over the place. I saw them put her in the ambulance, taking her away. Shook me up bad. There was blood on the sidewalk for a couple days.”

Gra

“You’re from the neighborhood,” said Bernie. “You are, aren’t you? You’re from Park Slope.”

Gra

“Jesus Christ, you know I’m telling the truth, what else do you need to hear?”

“I don’t know what else.”

“Please. I know you don’t have to believe me, but I want to help you.”

He waited. Gra

“I’m sorry he killed your partner; I’m sorry he killed anybody, but he’s not finished yet, and whatever’s coming is going to be worse. Mister, I got reasons to want him dead every bit as bad as you. I’ve known this guy since he joined the brigade; I know a lot about him, I know how he thinks. If there’s anybody in this whole fucking war who can help you stop him, it’s me.”

Gra

“Miller was here, before he went to the theater,” he told them, then pointed to the bedroom. “He killed the woman who lived here, body’s in there. Call the police.”

“You really want to get the gendarmes involved?” an MP asked skeptically.

“You stay here and handle it. It was a Kraut killed her, make that clear to ’em, the same guy we’re looking for. He’s an SS lieutenant, Erich Von Leinsdorf. He’s dressed like a GI; he’s one of Skorzeny’s men-get that out on the radio. Make sure these cops know it wasn’t an American did this. And get that old uniform out of there.”

The MP looked at Bernie again. “We got those three guys downstairs. Like you asked. The ones from the theater.”

“Any of ’em talk?”

“Only a little. Two of ’em hardly speakie the English. That sergeant you took out was their squad leader.”

“His name was William Sharper,” said Bernie. “He was an American deserter.”

The lead MP looked at Bernie, even more puzzled, then back at Gra

“No,” said Gra

“So who’s this then?” asked the MP, looking at Bernie again.

“He’s a witness. He saw the hitter up close.”

“Where you going, Lieutenant?”

“I’m going after him,” said Gra

28

Reims

DECEMBER 20, MIDNIGHT

They left the apartment and climbed into an extra jeep Gra

“He must’ve come back here,” said Bernie. “After he knocked me out, before he went to the movie house.”

Gra

Gra

“Put those on,” he said. “As far as anybody’s concerned, you’re an MP, working with me on special assignment. Use your real name, don’t talk to anybody, don’t answer any questions unless you ask me first.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t leave my sight. If you run, if you touch a weapon, if you make one wrong move, I won’t wait for a firing squad, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“I understand.”

Gra

“What’s your name, sir?” he asked.

“Lieutenant Gra

“Yes, sir.”

When Bernie had finished dressing, Gra

When Erich Von Leinsdorf and Eddie Be

“Where we going, Boss?” asked Be

“Don’t talk, Eddie. We’re not out of this yet.”

They emerged from the buildings onto the banks of the Aisne Canal, barely visible through the fog twenty feet below. They heard police whistles blowing, shouts, and men ru