The Paris Architect: A Novel Part 24

"Your suit will dry in about five minutes, monsieur."

"That's wonderful. I'll be on time for my meeting. You know how Germans are about punctuality."

Without any prompting, Bette told Lucien the whole story. He listened without interruption, then walked around the salon in silence. She watched him as he examined the apartment.

"Does the architect approve of my s.p.a.ce?" Bette asked coyly.

"It's a magnificent apartment. I'm jealous that I didn't do it. The way one decorates her home says a lot about a person."

"And what does it say about me, Monsieur Bernard?"

"That you have excellent taste. But those two 'accessories' of yours playing down the hall tell me a great deal more about Mademoiselle's character."

"Does that please you?"

"It does indeed," replied Lucien as he knelt down in front of her, held her hand, and kissed it tenderly.

"Lucien, you're sweet, you're wonderful. I'm sorry I had to deceive you."

"But there's one problem, my love. Did you notice how easily I found your secret? You know, the Gestapo will have as easy a time as I did. That can't be. We must fix this immediately."

Lucien got up and walked to the window that overlooked the street. "This is an exceptionally deep windowsill. What's under here?"

Bette walked over. "I don't know; you're the architect, you tell me."

"There must have been an old radiator inside here, then they took it out," said Lucien as he pried up the wooden sill with his penknife and looked into the cavity.

"Ask the children to come here," he said. He tossed some cus.h.i.+ons from the sofa into the cavity.

"All little bunnies, come out here please."

Emile and Carole scampered out in glee.

"Children, let's play a game," said Lucien.

The children smiled and nodded their heads excitedly.

"It's sort of like hide-and-seek. I want to hide you under the window," said Lucien. He lifted Emile and put him inside the hole, then Carole. They both fit snugly side by side.

"This will be our secret hiding place," he said as he lifted them out. "All right, back in the bedroom to play, my little ones."

"Suppose the Boche search there; they could lift the lid up and find them."

"The lid will be hinged at the back, and there'll be two locks on the underside of it that you'll have Emile fasten when they're inside. The Boche won't be able to lift the lid. And you'll place lots of stuff on top, like bowls and vases of flowers."

"What a clever man. You thought of that very quickly."

"I have had a bit of experience in these matters. Now if you'll get my suit, I'll be on my way. But I'll return right after my meeting, because I also have a secret. I think you'll find it quite interesting."

53.

"I didn't realize you had such a peculiar sense of humor, Monsieur Manet."

"The fact is, I don't have a sense of humor at all. So my wife tells me. But in the case of this refuge, I had no choice."

"Did you happen to notice that it's right across the street from 11 rue des Saussaies?"

"Yes, Lucien, I did."

"Which happens to be Gestapo headquarters?" Lucien peeked between the curtains to look at the building. Lucien had first visited this apartment a week ago to check it out for hiding places. He'd been so intent on making sure he wasn't being followed, he hadn't realized until he'd left that it was directly across the street from Gestapo headquarters. The sight of the official-looking building nauseated him, as if he'd eaten a bad oyster. He hoped that at this meeting, he could persuade Manet to change locations.

"Of course, every Parisian knows that address," replied Manet with a sly smile.

"And are you still intent on using this flat?"

"Like I told you, I had no choice in the matter. Time is critical, and this is the only apartment I could secure at the moment, so you'll have to be extra clever."

"That, Monsieur Manet, is the understatement of the century. There's no way to find another place?"

"No. And I'm sorry to say that you must be extra quick. I must move in a guest in a few days. He's in great danger at the moment. He'll be staying here for a while. It's still too dangerous to get to Spain, and Switzerland is out of the question."

"There are horrible things taking place over there even as we speak," said Lucien, half expecting to hear screams of agony coming from across the street.

"If we're not careful, you and I could wind up there."

"Believe me, I've thought about that scenario hundreds of times."

"I'm not surprised," replied Manet.

"Well, I have to admit that this choice of apartment does have a kind of insane ingenuity to it."

"So do you have any ideas, Lucien?"

"Yes, since my last visit, I've come up with one or two possibilities." Lucien began his now familiar walk through the apartment. His eyes surveyed every square meter of wall and floor area again. It was a very ornate apartment, like all the others Manet had provided. He thought how difficult it would be to design a hiding place in a plain low-rent flat. Gilt and white paneling lined the walls, and each room had a huge marble fireplace with a deep stone hearth extending a meter in front of it.

About two meters above the floor in the salon was a deep ledge, which protruded almost thirty centimeters from the wall, stretching around the perimeter of the room. On one wall above the ledge, there were large paintings set into the white plaster wall and surrounded by gilt moldings, each separated by floor-to-ceiling pilasters. After walking through the entire apartment, Lucien made a second trip, scribbling down notes and little thumbnail sketches on a sc.r.a.p of paper. Occasionally, he took some measurements-the width of the pilasters, the depth of a hearth, the width of some doors, and the thickness of a wall. Lucien sat on the sofa in the salon and scribbled some more notes, then pondered for a bit.

"Would you say your guest is fat or lean?"

"Just as lean as you, maybe more so," replied Manet.

"And how tall would you say?"

"About two or three centimeters shorter than you."

"Is he fit and of normal strength?"

"Yes, I'd say so."

"Good, then we're finished here for now. I'll be back tomorrow to verify a few things and have the drawing for you in the evening."

Manet looked over in the direction of Gestapo headquarters. "We do have a problem of sorts. My best man who's been doing this work is, as we speak, being entertained by the Gestapo across the street."

Lucien walked over to a window and peeked through the curtains as if he thought he could see a man being tortured across the street.

"How is he holding up?"

"He's suffered some terrible injuries. He'll never be able to work again."

"But will he crack?"

"No."

"Does he know about this apartment?"

"Yes."

It took six gla.s.ses of faux wine to steady Lucien's nerves after he left the apartment. He sat at a table at an outdoor cafe and stared at a bird perched on a kiosk, wis.h.i.+ng that he were that bird. He could just fly off and keep going until he got to Switzerland, leaving all his troubles behind. At this moment, a man who knew about the apartment was being tortured to death and could spill everything. The Gestapo could just watch and wait until Manet moved the Jew in, then pounce. Forget about internment; Lucien would be shot on the spot.

He signaled for another round. The waiter who served him seemed quite impressed that Lucien didn't show the faintest signs of drunkenness, even after drinking the watered-down p.i.s.s they called wine. Although this suicidal situation scared him s.h.i.+tless, he had no intention of backing out.

He wanted to do it.

54.

"I thought you were my most reliable officer, Schlegal, but maybe I was mistaken."

That comment made Schlegal's blood boil. No one had ever questioned his ability. But he kept his mouth closed and stood at attention before his superior, Kurt Lischka, head of the Paris Gestapo.

To Schlegal, Lischka had the bearing of a clerk in an insurance office rather than a policeman. His balding head and wire-rimmed gla.s.ses made him seem weak and very un-Aryan. In reality, he was the perfect Gestapo man-devoid of any feeling of compa.s.sion, a born murderer. Many a Frenchman had died within the walls of 11 rue des Saussaies under his watch.

"Did you know that Heinrich Mueller has taken a personal interest in the Ja.n.u.sky matter?" asked Lischka in a quiet voice as he paced back and forth in front of Schlegal.

"No, sir," said Schlegal, knowing that a lecture was on the way. When the head of the entire Gestapo of the Reich was breathing down the neck of a regional commandant, that meant trouble.

"To Mueller, Ja.n.u.sky isn't just another Jew destroying the Fatherland, but a repository of wealth-an estimated one hundred million francs-that can help Germany finance the total victory that our Fuehrer desires. Like a gold filling in the mouth of the lowliest Jew, Ja.n.u.sky's wealth belongs to the Reich, but we can't find it. And that's not the worst of it. Do you know how many Jews this b.a.s.t.a.r.d has helped escaped over the years? Probably thousands-and not just in France. He has a whole network of agents-even in Germany-working for him. He's bribed dozens of officials in Spain, Portugal, and Turkey to provide forged papers for these people. This Jew has paid out thousands for pa.s.sage on s.h.i.+ps in a half-dozen ports to help them escape. Now, we've heard Ja.n.u.sky has bought his own s.h.i.+ps to do the job. On top of that, Goring wants his art collection. Almost every G.o.dd.a.m.n day, he calls Mueller about it. So you, Schlegal, must find Ja.n.u.sky."

"Every day, we search for him, sir. There is an entire network of Frenchmen who are helping this piece of sc.u.m to hide. Each day, we chip away at this conspiracy and we get a little closer."

"I don't want Mueller coming here and personally supervising the search. You don't want that, do you?" Lischka sat down on a chair across the room and lit a cigarette. Schlegal noticed he didn't offer him one, which was a bad sign.

"No, that won't be necessary. In just a matter of days, we'll find him," lied Schlegal. He knew if Mueller came to Paris, Lischka would make his life a living h.e.l.l.

"I hope so, for your sake, Colonel. Your career has been quite impressive. People in Berlin have taken notice. This is your chance to s.h.i.+ne. Find this Jew and his money, and the world will be yours on a platter. We're talking promotion to general."

These words heartened Schlegal. His father and mother would be overjoyed-their son a general. It gave him a new resolve. Lischka picked up a bunch of black-and-white photographs off the desk and shuffled through them. He chose one and showed it to Schlegal, the formal portrait of Ja.n.u.sky with his hand resting on a book.

"Look at the ring on this Jewish pig's hand. That emerald is the size of a golf ball. That one gold ring could pay for an entire Panzer tank. Don't you think?" said Lischka.

"Probably two Panzer tanks," Schlegal blurted out, even though he had no idea what one tank would cost.

"You can stand at ease, Colonel," ordered Lischka, who took a final drag on his cigarette and stood up. "Now tell me about this poor devil here."

Lischka walked casually over to a man lying in the corner of the room and kicked him in the head. "Wake up, monsieur," he said in the cheerful tone a mother would use waking up her six-year-old.

"Aubert is a master carpenter who does the best cabinet work in Paris," Schlegal said. "Everyone we've talked to agrees he's the very best."

"And what does this have to do with the problem at hand?"

"I believe that some Jews are being hidden in ingeniously conceived hiding places throughout the city. To do this, master craftsmen like Aubert are needed to disguise these hiding places so we can't find them."

"That's a fascinating theory, Schlegal. Have you uncovered such a secret place?"

"Two."

"Has Aubert shed any light on this problem for us?"

"He's been most uncooperative, but I'm confident that he'll change his att.i.tude," said Schlegal. He motioned to Voss, who had been standing in the other corner of the room. The lieutenant took out a pair of wire cutters one would use to cut electrical cable from his tunic pocket and knelt beside Aubert.

"Wake up," roared Voss into Aubert's ear. The old man stirred and tried to raise his head, but it dropped back down on the wooden floor.

"Monsieur Aubert, I bet your hands are probably your most valued possessions," Schlegal said. "They do the beautiful woodwork everyone so admires, mm?"

Aubert, whose face was a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp, only moaned a bit.

"What would happen if you didn't have your index fingers? Make it hard to cut wood, maybe?"

Voss snipped off Aubert's entire right index finger as if it were the stem of a flower. It popped up in the air and landed on the floor. Blood gushed from his hand onto the floor as if it came from a garden hose. Aubert's screams produced a nerve-rattling reverberation off the gray plaster walls.

Lischka grimaced. "We should pad these walls in here, to soak up the noise, don't you think?"