The Second Objective

“Coffee?” asked Ververt.

The corrupt patrolman and the pimp had been taken aback by the appearance of the second man, who arrived at the rooming house soon after they took up their surveillance. They assumed he was another American deserter, and decided to alter their approach. Instead of charging up to the garret, they waited and followed the men, when they left their building, to a jazz club owned by a notorious local gangster. They observed them through a window, sitting down with Ververt. The co

Shortly after seven o’clock at the Hotel Meurice, a British major marched down to the front desk in his bathrobe and registered a noisy complaint about a missing dress uniform that he had sent for cleaning the previous day. Bernie and Gra

So did an Algerian chambermaid, who was standing in a nearby line of employees waiting to be questioned by the hotel’s chief of security. She stepped forward to say she remembered seeing a valet returning a major’s uniform earlier that day on the fourth floor. The major’s anger went up a few decibels-he was staying on the second floor, so why the bloody hell was his uniform being delivered on the fourth floor? The major then answered his own question: because theft was rampant in this bloody hotel, that was why, because of the overwhelming presence in this city of the bloody Wogs.

“Just another reminder that the Wogs begin at Calais,” he was heard to say.

The chief of security called Gra

The maid, sensitive to the major’s racism, mentioned that this valet was a man she had never seen in the hotel before, but not that he’d given her five dollars after she’d opened a room for him with her pass key. She failed to recall which room it was.

Gra

One key was missing, room 417, registered to a Lieutenant Alan Pearson, who according to his card had checked in shortly after noon. One of the clerks behind the desk then remembered that Lieutenant Pearson had come back from lunch shortly thereafter looking the worse for wear from drink, in the company of another British officer who had asked for the key to 417 and then helped him upstairs.

“Who was this other man?”

A major, he thought. Pressed for details, the clerk recalled only that the major wore a black eye patch, although he couldn’t say for certain which eye it covered, and that was all he could remember about him.

“That’s exactly why he wore it,” said Gra

Seconds later, Gra

Von Leinsdorf and Eddie Be

Like the discharge from the smokestack of the crematorium.

“You all right, chief?” asked Eddie, looking back at him.

Von Leinsdorf had always prided himself on his ability to shut off memories of the camp, all the unwanted pieces of his past, partition them from his waking mind. Now they were punching through those walls with alarming frequency. He didn’t know what it signified, but it left him reeling.

“Yes, fine.”

They continued, turning the corner into the narrow covered entrance to their rooming house. Von Leinsdorf pulled Eddie back into the shadows against the wall of the building. Moments later, the two men Von Leinsdorf had earlier seen standing outside their building stepped forward. One of them held a handgun and barked at them in French.

“Speak English,” said Von Leinsdorf.

“Paris police. Put your hands against the building.”

Von Leinsdorf took a step forward, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his raincoat. “I’d like to see a badge first.”

The policeman took another step toward them. “Do as you are told.”

Eddie started to turn around, but Von Leinsdorf stopped him with his voice. “We’re not doing anything until we see a badge.”

The policeman seemed thwarted by his lack of respect. The pimp stepped forward with a snarl, unfolding a straight razor from his pocket.

“Faites ce qu’il dit, chien!” He took a few threatening steps toward Eddie. “Vous ne payez pas, ainsi nous vous faisons!”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“He said you didn’t pay so he’s going to make you pay,” said Von Leinsdorf. “What’s he talking about?”

Eddie swallowed hard and blinked, but didn’t answer.

“Nobody move,” said a distinctly American voice. “Any of you.”

A man in a trench coat and hat stepped into view in the street just outside the passage behind Von Leinsdorf, holding with both hands a Colt.45 and a flashlight lined up against its barrel. The gendarme turned toward the newcomer, irritated.

“This is a police matter,” said the gendarme.

The man swung the flashlight onto the gendarme. “Put your gun down on the ground and we’ll talk about it.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Military police.”

“Good news,” said Von Leinsdorf, pulling a badge from his pocket. “So are we. Criminal Investigation Division.”

Eddie’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to keep up.

The officer pointed his light on Von Leinsdorf and the badge he was holding. “Toss that over here. The rest of you put your weapons on the ground and kick them toward me. Right now.”

Von Leinsdorf threw the badge toward the feet of the MP. The gendarme and the pimp laid the gun and razor on the ground and kicked them in his direction.

“Get down on your hands and knees,” he said.

The Frenchmen obeyed. Before he picked up Von Leinsdorf’s badge, the MP slid his light over onto Eddie Be

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“I’m with him,” said Be

“A cooperative witness helping with our investigation,” said Von Leinsdorf. “I’ve got his ID right here. These guys are cops, like they said, and they’re dirty as hell.”

“That is what we are doing,” said the gendarme, pointing at Von Leinsdorf. “They are deserters, black marketers-”

Be

At five minutes to eight, the hotel’s chief of security knocked on the door to room 417. He identified himself and a