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“I guess not.”
One of Massou’s men brought him a glass of beer. “Would you care for something? Wine, or brandy? Coffee perhaps.”
Gra
“My officer’s gun was never fired,” said Massou. “It seems the MP was quicker on the draw. The only other anomaly is this.”
He produced a straight razor from his pocket.
“It was lying on the street. Perhaps it belonged to the dead American, Be
“Hard to say,” said Gra
“Just another night in Montmartre,” said Massou, wearily. “Chasing a murderer, through the middle of a war.”
Gra
“It’s from a Colt,” said Gra
Massou finished the beer and handed the glass back to one of his men. “You should have a look at the apartment upstairs.”
Gra
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Lieutenant?” asked Massou.
“I don’t know what it would be.”
“The driver will take you where you wish to go,” said Massou, putting on his hat. “The end of the hunt is never what it should be.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Massou shook Gra
Bernie glanced at Gra
“I ask to satisfy my personal curiosity.” Massou lit his pipe and studied Bernie as he spoke. “To the untrained eye it may seem that what we do, our methods, differ from those we pursue by only a matter of degree. Our authority may be sanctioned by law, but it can seem as harsh as these savages we hunt.” He kept looking at Bernie, but the rest seemed directed at Gra
Massou tipped his hat. As he walked to a waiting car, a military police jeep drove up and the MP on board handed something off to a CID man, who walked it to Gra
“Addressed to you, sir,” said the officer, handing over an envelope. “Came over in the pouch from London.”
Gra
“Is that him?” asked Gra
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t mention why his father lost the job.”
“From what I heard,” said Bernie, putting it together, “I think they found out the father was Jewish.”
“Don’t know why they make such a big deal out of it.” Gra
Bernie took a moment to register that.
“We stopped him, anyway. That’s what matters.”
“I gotta take you in, Bernie.”
“I know.”
“We could wait till morning.”
“Let’s get it over with.”
SHAEF Headquarters, Paris
DECEMBER 21, 11:00 P.M.
They rode in the backseat as the same police driver steered them through the night streets toward SHAEF headquarters in the Place Vendôme.
“I’d like to try and write my parents,” said Bernie. “Would you let me do that before…?”
The rest of his question hung between them.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. They live in Frankfurt, at least they did a couple months ago. I’d like to let ’ em know I tried to help. Help the Americans.”
Gra
“Always thought I’d see the neighborhood again. I dream about Park Slope all the time, you know? That’s where I always go. Think that means I’m really an American, deep down, if I dream that way?”
“Maybe so, kid.”
“That’s something, anyway,” said Bernie, watching the city go by out the window. “Beautiful place, isn’t it? Doesn’t even look like anybody lives in it.”
“It’ll outlive all of us.”
“You have to put cuffs on me when we go in, Earl?”
Gra
“I’d appreciate that.”
They pulled up outside of SHAEF headquarters, a ponderous bank building fronted by massive columns, commandeered after the Liberation. Gra
“Don’t say anything,” said Gra
“Don’t make any promises,” said Bernie. “I appreciate it, but I know it’s not up to you. I’ll take whatever’s coming.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, Gra
“What’s this regarding, sir?”
“The 150th Panzer Brigade.”
“Follow me.”
They entered the dimly lit lobby and waited while the MP went into the offices. Stripped of decoration, windows blacked out, the cold marble of the massive room extended to the edge of their vision. They stood under one of the columns and waited. Civilian aides and junior officers trafficked through the room, still bustling near midnight. They all wore the familiar blue SHAEF pass on a chain around their neck.
Bernie felt a cold chill run down his neck. A shaking started in the pit of his stomach and spread outward. He blinked, having trouble seeing. His mind raced, involuntarily calculating how many days and hours he had left to live. Von Leinsdorf had been right about that, too: It was worse knowing when you were going to die.
He noticed Gra
The letters e and a in “headquarters” were transposed.
Gra
“What’s wrong?” asked Bernie.
“There is a mistake on the passes. But the army never corrected it.”
“The blue one?”
“Did they give you one of these?”
“Yeah, and we got new ones in Belgium from the Abwehr-”
“After you came across?”
“Von Leinsdorf said their forgers didn’t notice the mistake in time to fix it. He said these were the ones we were supposed to use.”
“And they were spelled correctly.”
“That’s right.”
“But Schmidt’s wasn’t corrected,” said Gra
“Then you must have caught him before he could pick them up.”
“God damn it, that’s what Ole was trying to tell me. The fucking passes.”
“What about them?”