Michael, Franziska, Rittenkrett and the two underlings went through a door and along a hallway. Rittenkrett guided them into a room with a checkerboard-patterned floor and some overstuffed chairs arranged around another huge fireplace, this one cold. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling and the walls were adorned with a few light fixtures done up to resemble torches that might be carried by a village mob, but with electric bulbs. Rittenkrett closed the door behind them. In here there was no noise of the party, just the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock in a corner.
Ross stood at the door. Sigmund wandered around, perhaps making mental numbers of how much everything in the room was worth. Rittenkrett folded his handkerchief into smaller and smaller squares.
“I presume,” he said after a few more ticks of the clock, “that you’re fucking her brains out? You must be, because she’s gotten stupid here just lately. She was supposed to meet me at headquarters this evening, at exactly six-thirty, yet where was she? With you, I’m guessing. This afternoon, she missed another important meeting. You know why? Because she called my secretary and said she had to go shopping.”
“I regret not being available this evening,” Franziska spoke up, her voice firm and clear. There wasn’t a hint of regret in it. “I had my notes delivered to you.”
“Oh yes, your notes. Your journalistic impressions. Of course. Those.” Rittenkrett reached into a pocket and brought out a pack of Krenter Indianer cigarellos, with the stylized drawing of an American Indian chief on the front. He lit a gold-colored bullet-style lighter, got the cigarello going and blew a couple of hearty smoke rings. “Major, do you have any inkling of what Fraulein Luxe is doing for the Gestapo? Or should I say, for the war effort against traitors unfortunately too close to home?”
“No.”
“Good, because it’s not your concern. You have your own war to fight. I presume you do. When are your orders coming through?”
“Any day now, I’m sure.” This was a hazardous area; he didn’t want the Ice Man checking up on his supposed division. “I’m ready to go tonight, if need be.”
“Are you?” Rittenkrett squinted at him through another smoke ring that floated toward Michael like a ghostly noose and broke apart only at the last second. He let the question linger, as he paced back and forth across the polished floor. His shoes were also white, and they made clacking noises. “Look, Major Jaeger!” Rittenkrett abruptly stopped, and with the cigarello clenched between his teeth he threw up his hands. “The problem seems to be that Franziska is neglecting some of her duties to be with you. Now, I don’t care if you’re fucking her. I myself have fucked her. She has a whole closet full of letters and medals and little pitiful gifts sent to her by men who have fucked her, from all branches of the services, and I think there are even some Boy Scout badges in there somewhere. I mean, this is what she does. She’s famous for it, sir. Surely you know why by now. Either that, or you’re dead down there.”
Michael was by no means dead down there, but he did feel a little ill.
“She is the perfect package,” Rittenkrett went on, behind his smoke rings. “And her photographic talents aren’t so bad either. Working with Signal, she has an open doorway to anywhere she wishes to go. Which makes her also valuable to me.” His gaze turned upon Franziska. “But I really don’t like it when you send me notes as if I’m not worthy of your time or presence. You have winnowed yourself into a position of responsibility, and I expect you not to falter in your duties. You realize, the perks you enjoy aren’t free.”
“I never assumed they were,” she said, with her own touch of ice.
Rittenkrett silently smoked at the center of the room. His expression told Michael he wasn’t sure he liked her tone. But then he shrugged the massive shoulders. “Let’s put this behind us and focus on our work. All right? The reason I’ve come here tonight is to tell you that something strange is happening with our list of clients. They are…shall we say…vacating the premises. Therefore we need to work faster. And, by the way, were you going to forget your appointment?” He checked his wristwatch. “In a little less than an hour, I believe?”
“There’s not much there,” Franziska said, and Michael just pretended to wear a puzzled look that he kept short of too much curiosity.
“But there’s something there,” the Ice Man reminded her, with a jab of his Indianer in the air. “You yourself said so, and I hold you to delivering it.” He gave the major a damp smile. “Business, you see, goes on both day and night. Oh, don’t look so glum, sir! I’ll tell you what.” He approached Michael, the white shoes clacking, but stopped short of crowding him. “We’ll give you a ride. Not far from your hotel is an excellent whorehouse with many beautiful young girls. Some of them are gypsies, if you like the dark look. Very talented, in their way. So if you were hoping for a warm hole tonight, you won’t be disappointed.”
Michael stared at the floor, somewhere between himself and the white shoes. “I’ll just accept a ride to the hotel, if that’s what you’re offering.”
“Yes, indeed it is. And Franziska, you should be on your way.”
She left without another word.
They rode back in a long black Mercedes that displayed small Nazi pennants on aerials mounted above the headlamps. Sigmund drove, Michael had the shotgun seat, and Ross and Rittenkrett occupied the spacious rear seat. Michael’s head felt foggy. He rolled his window down and put his face into the cold. A few snowflakes whirled before the lamps. Either that, or ashes.
Rittenkrett wished him good night in front of the hotel. “You do understand,” he added before Michael left the car, “the value of the work that Franziska is doing?”
“I’m sure it must be valuable.”
“Oh, yes. And one more thing, Major Jaeger: please don’t try to see her again. It really would interfere. All right?” He continued without waiting for a response, and this time his voice carried a sharp edge. “You’ve crashed my birthday party, made a spectacle of me before some very important people, and taken Franziska’s mind off her responsibilities. Now I’ll tell you that if I find out you’re seeing her again I’m going to forget what an excellent soldier for the Reich you’ve been and escort you through a door you certainly will not want to enter. In there is no cake and ice cream, I can promise you. But I’m sure we won’t see each other again, so once more I say good luck to you in your future battles, and Heil Hitler.”
Michael returned the salute with small enthusiasm. He got out of the car.
The Mercedes pulled away.
He went to his room, took a cold shower and stretched out on the bed. The sheets were fresh, but still her aroma seemed to be everywhere. It permeated and perfumed the air in here. No wonder, he thought; it was in his clothes. And it lingered on his own flesh too, no matter how hard he scrubbed.
But, in truth, he didn’t want to scrub too very hard.
He might have gotten to sleep around midnight. But on the first ring of the telephone he was immediately awake. “Hello?”
There was a silence. Michael waited through it.
In a voice that tried to be cheerful but had a sad center, she said, “I’m missing you.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Franziska, come to me.”
She hung up, and he lay waiting for her in the fragrant dark.
She arrived within fifteen minutes. His heart beat harder when he set his eyes on her. When he kissed her, he found her face was still cold from the wind. He wondered if she’d gotten the BMW up to racing speed through the empty streets. Under her coat she was wearing the dark blue dress and the strand of pearls around her throat. Within another minute she was as naked as he was, the expensive coat and dress falling to the floor the same as if they’d been old rags, her shoes kicked away, her sheer stockings tossed one way and another, her underwear crumpled in elegant folds. She started to remove the pearls, but he caught her fingers and said, “Leave those on for now.”