The Paris Architect: A Novel Part 17

"Are all Germans this cheerful at 7:00 a.m.?"

"Hausen, are you cheerful so early in the morning?" Herzog asked his driver with great glee.

"h.e.l.l, no, Major," growled Hausen, who stepped on the accelerator and raced down the avenue.

"Hausen is hung over. He was out late last night entertaining one of his many hussies, weren't you, Corporal?"

"I'm going to get me a hussy, and I ain't going to be fussy," sang Hausen in a cracked voice. "That's my motto, Major."

"I bet you still haven't made it to Notre Dame, Hausen."

"Not yet, but I'll get there, I promise."

"I'm trying with little success to educate the corporal here. But he has been to every wh.o.r.ehouse in the city," said Herzog, nudging Lucien with his elbow.

"So why are you so d.a.m.n cheerful this morning? Have you acquired another Durer etching?"

"Maybe you'd be in a cheerful mood if you were going to be promoted for meritorious achievement to the Reich."

"Really? Well, congratulations."

Lucien was genuinely happy for Herzog. A few months earlier, he would've felt ashamed and embarra.s.sed for feeling this way about a German, but as his friends.h.i.+p and admiration for the engineer grew, he no longer minded. It was just his gray-green Wehrmacht uniform that was different, and Herzog only wore that when he was on duty. At other times, when Lucien visited him in his apartment, he dressed like a million other Frenchmen relaxing on their day off.

He and the German could slip effortlessly into a discussion about art, architecture, women, the news of Paris, or any topic except the events of the war. Lucien suspected Herzog never talked about it because he didn't want to offend him, and Lucien never raised the subject either. Over the years, Lucien had let his friends drift away until he had only a handful of professional acquaintances left, and since the defeat, even they had scattered. But he had never really had a close friend in his life. He looked forward to his meetings with Herzog, who often invited Lucien to his place. Lucien a.s.sumed Herzog understood that Lucien couldn't invite him to his apartment because Celeste didn't want the enemy in her home. When she left him, he didn't tell Herzog. Partly because he was ashamed, but mainly because Pierre was living there now.

"Still awfully early in the morning to be getting a promotion. You Teutons are all so efficient; is it to make sure you get the maximum use of every hour of the day?"

"I'm not, but Herr Albert Speer is, and when the Fuehrer's personal architect calls, I come at any hour."

"Speer himself is going to be there?"

"The Reich's minister of armaments and war production himself, in all his glory."

"I forgot that he's the minister of armaments."

"When the first minister, Fritz Todt, died in that plane crash in February, the Fuehrer chose him to run the show, and he made a very, very wise choice. One of his very few wise choices. Speer's a brilliant man."

"But as a designer, you think he's quite retrograde," said Lucien, with a sly smile.

Herzog grinned and scratched his head. He tried to evade the question but couldn't.

"I remember how impressed I was with his Nuremburg parade grounds back in '34. The buildings were all knockoffs of Greek architecture, but he used antiaircraft searchlights to create a kind of cathedral of light. There were 150 of them, all pointing straight up into the night sky. It was so breathtaking. Something like two hundred thousand people were there, surrounded by these towers of light."

"You were there?"

"I saw it at the cinema. Triumph of the Will, by that woman director, Leni Riefenstahl, showed the whole thing."

"Didn't he design the stadium in Berlin where they held the 1936 Olympics?"

"No, Werner March did that. Speer did Hitler's Reich Chancellery. It's got a hall that's twice as long as the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. I've been there."

"Did you take a taxi to get from one end to the other?"

"I should have. It felt like I was walking across Russia. Of course, there was his new capital, Welthauptstadt Germania, with a domed building that was going to be seventeen times larger than St. Peter's."

Lucien roared with laughter.

"And there was supposed to be an arch so G.o.dd.a.m.ned big that the Arc de Triomphe could've fit inside its opening. Good thing the war came, and it didn't get built. Speer and the Fuehrer had a little problem with scale."

"Christ, that's for sure," said Lucien.

"But the Fuehrer loves his cla.s.sical architecture. In fact, he wanted all his buildings built of granite so a thousand years from now there would be these impressive ruins, like the Acropolis in Athens. So people would remember the Reich as they did ancient Rome."

"You've got to hand it to Speer, though, he's got the ultimate client."

"He was in the right place at the right time. Goebbels had hired him to renovate his Propaganda Ministry, so he recommended Speer to the Fuehrer. The two hit it off immediately-became soul mates. He basically had carte blanche as a designer. You do know the Fuehrer once wanted to be an architect?"

"Yes, I knew that."

"Maybe he felt that he didn't have the talent to be a painter, so he settled for being an architect, which didn't require as much talent," replied Herzog, grinning.

"It'll be a cold day in h.e.l.l when a painter can do all the things an architect can do!" Lucien said. "Those lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can hide away in a garret and paint whatever they please."

Herzog couldn't suppress his smile.

"When you meet Reich Minister Speer, you can tell him yourself what jerks painters are. I'm sure he'll agree with you."

"I'm going up with you?" Lucien was startled.

"Why of course. I didn't tell you that our minister of armaments has heard of your talent and the buildings you've designed? He wants to meet you."

Hausen sped down the empty streets. He turned onto a narrow street where up ahead on the left a black Mercedes was parked. Two men, obviously plainclothes Gestapo officers in their fedoras and long top coats, were coming out of a building, escorting a man and a woman wearing yellow felt stars. The woman was trying to comfort the crying toddler she was holding.

"Slow down, Hausen."

Herzog rolled down his window and craned his neck to look as they pa.s.sed by then twisted his body around to look out the back window. He stayed there until the car was out of sight.

Herzog looked down at his lap and absentmindedly fiddled with his gray kid gloves.

"Can you believe the army of Bismarck is reduced to doing that?" he muttered. "Makes me feel ashamed to be in uniform."

The German's jovial mood had vanished, and the rest of the ride continued in silence.

When they pulled up in front of the Majestic, Herzog took Lucien by the arm and led him through the grand entrance of the hotel. Inside the lobby, he growled a few words to a lieutenant, who immediately led them both to an elevator flanked by two well-armed soldiers.

At the sixth floor, Lucien and Herzog were escorted to a set of double doors, which the officer opened without knocking. He announced the visitors and slipped away. A tall, imposing man with heavy, dark eyebrows came out from a room with his hand extended.

"Colonel Herzog, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Herzog bowed his head, clicked his heels, and shook his hand. "Reich Minister Speer, I'm honored to see you. May I introduce Lucien Bernard, an architect whom the Reich has employed?"

"And with very good results. I saw your factory in Chaville yesterday, a most interesting and robust structure."

"You're most kind, Reich Minister," replied Lucien.

"A wonderfully functional piece of work as all utilitarian architecture should be. Those concrete arches are quite beautiful."

Lucien smiled and nodded a silent thank you to Speer.

They followed Speer into a suite of s.p.a.cious rooms. Lucien, who had never been in the Majestic, was in awe of the opulent surroundings. Rolls of maps and drawings were scattered on tables and the sofas.

"Have a seat, gentlemen. I have coffee and croissants ready for you," said Speer, snapping his fingers. A soldier servant materialized out of nowhere.

Lucien looked at Speer closely as the Reich Minister sipped his coffee and chatted with Herzog about what factories were most critical for armaments production in 1943 and how much they would cost. Speer didn't look evil at all. He was an architect, a respectable-looking, professional man like himself. A man of great intelligence and charm who was responsible for the implementation of the death and destruction of tens of thousands of people in the past six months. He was a cold-blooded murderer, but he didn't personally use a gun or a knife. Instead, he ordered others to use the weapons he planned and produced. And to what end? The pure evil of dominating other nations merely because the n.a.z.is deemed them inferior?

Lucien wondered why such an upstanding man like Speer would serve a madman like Hitler. Were there others like him? As intelligent and capable? If so, Germany would win the war. Lucien began to feel nauseous and wanted to get out of there.

Speer rose to signal the meeting was over.

"Monsieur Bernard is a most creative man. He takes his architecture very seriously," said Herzog, gesturing toward Lucien.

"We all do, Colonel," replied Speer. "It is the most difficult of all the creative arts."

"Far more difficult than the painter's craft, I think," said Herzog.

"Much more difficult than painting," exclaimed Speer. "No comparison."

Herzog had a hard time holding back a smile.

"Colonel, I want to congratulate you on your fine work in France. The facilities you have built are producing a great deal of war materiel for the Reich. We have plans for more plants, and I know you will continue to demonstrate your superior skills and planning. The Fuehrer is counting on you."

"I'm honored to serve the Fuehrer, Reich Minister."

"Did you tell Monsieur Bernard about the Fresnes facility?"

"No, Reich Minister, I was waiting for final confirmation of the plan."

"Well, now you have it. This is a most important building for the Reich," said Speer. "It will produce torpedoes for our U-boat fleet. This must be especially strong to withstand an Allied attack. They'll do everything humanly possible to take it out. It's absolutely critical to strengthen our submarine fleet. It must continue to destroy American s.h.i.+ps. The Americans work day and night to produce armaments on a scale Germany can never approach. It seems never-ending."

Lucien looked down at the rug.

"All Germans know the fine job you're doing, Reich Minister," said Herzog in a voice that seemed quite sincere to Lucien.

"The politics, the Gauleiters, the party-you would think they would all work together to bring total victory to Germany. But they fight me and each other tooth and nail. Even the Fuehrer can't help me," said Speer in a tired voice. "The silliest things can hinder production. Like Germany's view of women. In all other countries, women work in factories making armaments, but not in Germany. Most women aren't allowed to work in factories; it's an affront to womanhood," he said in disgust. "We have a new automatic a.s.sault weapon ready to go, but we can't produce nearly enough of them, so the army still has to use a bolt-action rifle like it used in the first war."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Reich Minister. I will double my efforts, I can a.s.sure you," said Herzog, shaking Speer's hand.

"I know you will. Good luck, my boy."

Lucien extended his hand.

"Monsieur Bernard, I envy you. You're a designer-I'm reduced to being a bureaucrat nowadays."

"It's been a pleasure, Reich Minister."

"You're very fortunate to live in such a wonderful city, monsieur. You know, the Fuehrer once said, 'I'm ready to flatten Leningrad and Moscow without losing any peace of mind, but it would have pained me greatly if I'd had to destroy Paris.'"

Speer walked them to the door of the suite. "The Fuehrer was never interested in any of the cities he defeated except for Paris. I was with him and his sculptor, Arno Breker, when he visited for a few hours in June 1940. We went to the Eiffel Tower and Napoleon's Tomb," said Speer with a smile. "He thought Vienna was the more beautiful city, but I don't agree."

After opening the door for them, he placed his hand on Lucien's shoulder.

"You know, I once did a plan that would redesign Berlin with a five-kilometer-long avenue as a new axis, similar to your Champs-elysees."

38.

Adele was just seconds from reaching an o.r.g.a.s.m when she heard a loud knocking at the door of her flat.

"Who the h.e.l.l is that?" yelled Schlegal. With Adele astride him, he was also quite excited.

"Keep going, keep going, just ignore it. Don't stop, d.a.m.n it," Adele pleaded. But the knocking became louder and faster. Adele felt Schlegal deflate beneath her.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, I told you I only had half an hour before I had to get back," said Schlegal, who grabbed Adele's arm and tossed her off the bed as if she were a rag doll.

If she hadn't caught hold of the blanket, she would have landed on the floor. Adele scowled at Schlegal. She wasn't used to this type of treatment from a lover.

"Answer the G.o.dd.a.m.n door," Schlegal said before he put a pillow over his face.

Adele put on her black silk dressing gown and walked to the door. "Yes, yes, I'm coming," she called out. "Or rather, I was about to come," she mumbled under her breath.

She flung open the door to face Bette, who walked through the doorway with a big smile on her face, knowing full well she'd interrupted some serious goings-on.

"And what in G.o.d's name do you want?" Adele said.

"I always follow your instructions to the letter, boss, and they were to come here promptly at 12:30 to pick up the sketches and take them to Andre. 'Don't dare be late. Andre needs those sketches now.' Sound familiar?"

"Don't be such a smarta.s.s, okay? I had a little last-minute business to take care of, and I lost track of the time."

Bette walked into the salon and sat on the black art moderne sofa and propped her feet on the art moderne stainless-steel coffee table.

"Get your feet off my table. By the way, did anyone ever tell you what huge feet you have? Like canoes."