Splashing some cool water over herself, the combination of the surprisingly warm quarters and her recent exertions having brought on a good sweat, she debated waiting for her lover to recover ,or whether to take matters into her own hands.
Her mind registered the smallest of sounds and tried to identify it, ending up with a choice between door and cupboard.
The second sound was much less open to interpretation, accompanied, as it was, by a spray of crimson over the headboard and wall.
She scrambled for her jacket, desperately feeling for the Walther PPK in the secret inside pocket, the same lump of metal that had caused Amethyst’s unexpected bruise.
She made too much sound and the wooden screen opened up in the centre, riven by the passage of a .32.
The subsonic round clipped her thigh.
Jourdan dropped to the ground, but failed to see anything worth shooting at.
Rolling out, she found herself staring into the barrel of an all too familiar Welrod.
“Gently, Fraulein, gently.”
The situation was bordering on surreal.
The Legion officer, clad in an ex-SS camouflage uniform with French markings, the OSS agent naked from head to toe, both holding pistols capable of killing the other.
However, only Amethyst had a gun pointed at a target.
Jourdan thought fast.
‘If he was going to kill me, he’d have done it.’
Even though the thought process was flawed, it enabled her to relax and place the Walther on the floor.
‘Up and onto the bed, if you please… quiet… no nonsense, Fraulein.”
He permitted himself to enjoy the superb body as Gisela Jourdan raised herself up and onto the bed next to the dead Kowalski, ignoring the detritus that had been blasted from his skull as the Welrod’s bullet took his life.
Her eyes flicked towards the pile of papers containing the file, and instantly she knew it was an error.
The Legionnaire moved backwards and ran a hand over the same pile, uncovering the words that betrayed its importance.
The German Legionnaire had clearly been after the Polish officer and, equally clearly in Jourdan’s opinion, was now deciding how to proceed.
She tried her normal tactic.
“Want to fuck me then, eh?”
Amethyst, his mind busy resolving the unexpected situation, allowed part of his mind to assess the pleasures he was going to miss sampling.
Jourdan saw the eye movement and misinterpreted it, opening her legs wide to expose herself to more intimate examination, as well as creating a distraction of her own.
Kowalski had been a man of habit and one habit, so he had said, was because he was a Pole, and always felt unsafe. He slept with a gun as well as a woman.
As part of Amethyst’s mind examined the body of the woman he was about to kill, another part saw the small movement.
Jourdan’s hand found the cold metal and slipped around the Beretta M1935 that Kowalski always kept under his pillow.
It was out and moving, even as the German reacted.
He was quickest.
The Welrod chugged and the bullet hit Jourdan in the throat.
Quickly, Amethyst picked up his spent cartridge cases, slipped them into his pocket, and then dragged Kowalski’s corpse off the bed, changing the dynamics of the room sufficiently, in his own mind at least, to confuse any investigation.
Slipping the folder into his trousers, Amethyst took a last look at the woman struggling for breath, her eyes widened both by the shock of the wound, and in indignation at her approaching premature death.
He listened at the door and, deciding that the landing was clear outside, opened it and slipped out into the corridor.
The last lifeblood spilled from Jourdan’s wound, even as she found the strength to pull the trigger.
The .32 Beretta round caught Amethyst in the left upper arm, passing through flesh and muscle.
Stifling a yelp of pain, the Legionnaire moved quickly along and into his room, aware of the sound of a pistol dropping onto the floor, and easily imagined the Beretta slipping from lifeless fingers.
Hässelbach, the first man to arrive at the open door, found a room full of blood and two naked bodies, one still utterly compelling despite the obvious neck wound.
Everything was placed in the hands of the Legion Military Police.
Or it was, until forty-nine minutes later, when an OSS detachment, complete with De Walle, arrived with a set purpose; they found that the situation was very different to that they had anticipated.
Whilst the loss of Agent Jourdan was regrettable, she was way down the priority list for the OSS team searching the room.
They left her corpse stiffening on the bed in a pool of congealing blood, only disturbing her when it became necessary to check the bed itself.
The file already nestled under the floorboards four rooms away, in the care of a man biting hard on a wad of cloth as he fished inside his arm for a .32 bullet.
De Walle had a brief meeting with Knocke to explain the full situation.
The search was widened and Amethyst, his arm wound bandaged and concealed under long sleeves, found his room being searched by a man in American uniform and a French legionnaire military police corporal.
He sat and watched proceedings as he moved swiftly with a needle and thread.
He was comfortable that the hiding place would not be found, even when he had to get off the bed in order to let the American move the bed frame.
He was comfortable that the uniform holed by Jourdan’s bullet and marked with his blood would not be discovered. Quick work with scissors and a razor had transformed the hole into a tear such as blemished many of the uniforms worn by members of Camerone and, in any case, he was studiously working on its repair even as the search continued.
What made him uncomfortable was the silent presence of Knocke, stood on the threshold, sometimes watching those in the room, sometimes checking other activities out of Amethyst’s sight.
The search completed, the Legion Captain found himself alone, save for the presence at the doorway.
“You look tired, Hauptsturmfuhrer. White as a sheet, in fact. Get some rest. Start at 0900hrs at the earliest. Alles klar?”
“Alles klar, Brigadefuhrer. Danke.”
“And make sure you do, Weiss. You know I’ll know.”
“Zu befehl, Brigadefuhrer.”
The door closed and Amethyst, also known as Ulrich Heinz Weiss, formerly of the 12th SS Panzer Division, smiled to himself, safe in the knowledge that there was a very great deal that Herr Knocke did not know.
Patton slammed the telephone down so hard that it shattered the cradle, leaving him still holding the damaged Bakelite handset as his staff sought cover from the shrapnel generated by his anger.
“Goddamned weather. No air until further notice.”
Taking up from where he had left off before the telephone interrupted, Patton dropped his voice and continued calmly, ignoring the signaller who started to replace the broken telephone.
“So, they chewed the Fourth Armored up real bad at Blankenheim this morning. Bruce Clarke’ll get ’em back on line for sure, but it’s messed up the timetable again!”
Charles H. Travers, the Major General commanding US Seventeen Corps scowled.
“Yes he will, General, but the boys are dog-tired and the equipment’s breaking down. Clarke’s report shows that one assault failed purely ‘cause of the icy conditions and engine failures. We gotta give the tankers some maintenance time.”
“No… hell no! We’re pushing the Commie bastards back and we will not stop! Give ’em some help, Ben. Whatcha got to give them some impetus?”
A quick look at the map suggested something.
“The 808th is tucked in behind and close, General. It’s been knocked about some, but they can be on the road immediately.”