‘Three suitcases stuffed with forty-five thousand fivers, Werner.’
Those big, beautiful white notes of the English, but had he heard him correctly? Enough not only to buy one’s way out of France and into Spain, but to retire in comfort forever. ‘In exchange for what?’
As if he didn’t already have a good idea. ‘A kilo of boart.’
The cheapest of the cheap and at an agreed-upon price like that? ‘And you need me.’
‘Definitely. Few others would know how to do it.’
‘Then perhaps we should first consider that truck I stopped early this morning. Nothing in the back, my Hermann, but two small and rather shabby suitcases, forgotten, I think, in the haste to leave it. A bicycle as well.’
Scheisse! ‘And the driver?’
That was better, and even more humble when handing the cigarette back. ‘His papers leave a lot to be desired and when questioned not only was he evasive, he tried to buy me off with this.’
A baguette brilliant, a beautifully cut oval, clear-white, and of about two carats.
‘Perhaps it is, my Hermann, that this girl you and that partner of yours have been chasing, felt I might weaken and let him go, but of course, when a whole city has been turned upside down looking for her by a Sonderkommando straight from Kaltenbrunner himself, even such as myself and my men have no choice but to do our duty.’
‘So you’ve kept his papers, taken the keys, told him to sit tight and have been waiting for me to show up.’
‘One Arie Beekhuis who sounds as if from of all places, Rotterdam-that is close to Amsterdam, is it not?’
‘Close enough. And those two little suitcases?’
Gut! ‘Nothing but scatterings of female underclothes, an extra blouse or two, a toothbrush that must have been shared-that sort of thing. And the bicycle, of course. A Belgian one, which is curious in itself, as was the city’s name on it. Did that truck happen to come through Liege?’
There was nothing for it but to beg. ‘Let him go, Werner. Handing him over will only complicate what I have in mind.’
‘And that is?’
Did he need to hear it again? ‘The boart for the cash.’
‘But he’s insurance, my Hermann, and I will need such a release in writing from you, stating, of course, that you have indeed checked his papers most thoroughly and have ordered me to release him, or is it that you …’
The son of a bitch. ‘How much?’
That was better, considering the risk. ‘Two of those three suitcases you mentioned, the last for yourself to do with exactly as you please.’
‘And still to pay Rudi Sturmbacher out of my share? Ach, I think I’ve got it.’
‘Gut. Just don’t try to cross me.’
‘Liebe Zeit, how could I even think of such a thing? Just be there when needed. No sooner, no later than that 1830 hours and over and done in such a rush, no one but us will be the wiser.’
Downing three of the Benzedrine, spitting out the pocket fluff, he got back into the car.
Eighty-four avenue Foch was busy: cars and motorcycles out front, armed men in uniform and not and going to and fro, orders being given, and upstairs in that temporary office of Kleiber’s, the billiard table as nerve centre.
Enlarged, a detailed street map of the eastern half of the Vaugirard clearly showed the abattoirs, arrows pinpointing the entrance off the rue des Morillons, but there was also a photo of the two life-size bronze bulls that still marked it in spite of the Reich’s incessant scrap-metal actions. Apparently nothing was to be left to chance. The routes in by foot, and the rail line which ran along the southern edge, were all indicated, the fences too, for it wasn’t a place for the casual. Another enlargement detailed the sewers and pointed out suspected and known caverns, caves and tunnels in the Left Bank’s bedrock that had supplied so much of Paris with its building stone, but had Kleiber thought of everything? He was using a cue to point things out to Johannes Uhl and Ulrich Frensel. And at the far end of the table was one of the suitcases: alligator leather, not inexpensive, and with the LV monogram of none other than Louis Vuitton.
By the travel stickers alone, its former owner had had a penchant for taking the waters: the Friedrichsbad in Baden-Baden, the Grand at Italy’s Montecatini Therme, the Hotel du Palais in Biarritz, Vichy, too, and Vittel’s Parc Thermal where last February Louis and he had come up against nearly 1,700 British and a 1,000 American females in that internment camp.
‘Kohler, ach you’re just in time. Two of the suitcases are being fitted with their transmitters. That was an excellent idea of yours. The Reichssicherheitschef was most impressed and has given his full support. We are to let those verdamte Banditen believe they are getting away and will track them with the wireless-listening vans. Already those are in place, others on patrol, and still others on foot with the hidden listening devices up the sleeve or in the fedora for the close-in work. Already, too, and I must inform you of this, we have located one enemy wireless which will be taken out as soon as our Mausefalle has sprung.’
Louis would have sadly shaken his head and said of the irony, Didn’t Hector Bolduc use freshly baited mousetraps in that garage of his? But real coffee, schnapps and Lebkuchen had been laid on, the warmers holding sausages, with mustard, sauerkraut and dill pickles to the side, and another with no less than strudeclass="underline" the cherry, the plum and the apple-and-raisin. Freshly whipped cream, sweetened with real sugar, was to help that last one go down and stay there.
‘Those were for that traitorously incompetent Kriminalrat,’ said Uhl. ‘Herr Frensel and myself were unaware of his having been recalled in such disgrace.’
‘There will be no more of his mistakes, Kohler,’ said Frensel. ‘Now we are to accomplish the inevitable seizure of the black diamonds those filthy Juden tried to hide from such as myself. Mein Gott, you’d think they might have learned. Ach, they even tried to use their children, thinking that I wouldn’t know where to look!’
In bundles of one-hundred notes, and piled in a heap, even with some still in the pale green linen packets they had come in, the fivers were near that suitcase. Each packet had been sealed with red wax, stamped with the swastika signet and labelled Geheime shy; Reichssache.
Stark white against the flowing dark black script, each note had Britannica on a throne in its upper left, the signature of K. O. Peppiatt, chief cashier, in the lower right, and in those and elsewhere would be the hidden security checks that would expose the counterfeit. Additionally, of course, there were all the marks and signs of having been well used: those of the banks each had passed through, the shops, the scribbled signatures, et cetera, and the consequent shy; wear.
All the packets were addressed to Munimin-Pimetex and though Goring must have had them sent, all had come directly from none other than Heinrich Himmler. But even knowing of these, if not of the privileged, would carry the death sentence, to which Louis would have said, And didn’t I tell you we were digging a bottomless hole for ourselves?
‘You’ll be checking in with Bolduc, will you, Kohler?’ asked Kleiber. ‘Be sure to tell him that the van, with himself as driver and Serge de Lenz as assistant, is to be here and ready at no later than 1500 hours. I must be absolutely certain that everything is in order. We’ve clocked the route several times and will be using the Pont d’Iena and an average of seven minutes, thirteen seconds. French traffic police are already stationed at every interchange to clear the way, the speed not too fast, you understand, so as to avoid unnecessary attention.’