flickering shadows.
"When haven't I listened to you, my old friend and mentor? You are my Albert Speer, the precise analytical mind of an architect replaced by the precise analytical mind of a surgeon. Hitler made the mistake of ultimately disregarding Speer for the likes of Goering and Bormann. I shall never make such a mistake. What is it, Hans?"
"You were correct when you said we were winning the battle of nerves with our enemies. You were also accurate when you stated that in certain localities, especially in the United States, our Sonnenkinder have performed admirably, creating schisms and discontent."
"I'm impressed with my own assessments," interrupted [email protected], smiling.
"That's the point, Gunter, they are merely assessments based on current information.. .. However, the situation could change, and change rapidly. Right now could be the pinnacle of our strategic success."
"Why the pinnacle?"
"Because too many traps are being set for us that we can't know about. We may never be in such an advantageous position again."
"Then what you're really saying is "Invade England now, mein Fuhrer, do not wait,"
" interrupted jdger once more.
"Water Lightning, of course," said Traupman.
"It must be moved up. Six Messerschmitt ME 323 Gigant gliders have been retrieved and are being reconditioned. We have to strike as soon as possible, and set the panic in motion. The water reservoirs of Washington, London, and Paris must be poisoned the moment our flying personnel have been trained. Once the governments are in a state of paralysis, our people everywhere are prepared to move into positions of influence, even power."
The woman on the stretcher was carried out of the American Embassy in full view of the strollers on the avenue Gabriel. A sheet and a light cotton blanket covered her body; her long dark hair was swept back over the small white pillow, and her face was concealed beneath an oxygen mask below gray silk blinders that protected her eyes from the Paris sun. The rumors spread quickly, aided by several embassy attaches who circulated through the gathering crowd, answering questions softly.
"It's the ambassador's wife," said a woman in French.
"I just heard it from an American. Poor dear, she was hurt last evening during that terrible shooting."
"Crime here has become intolerable," said a bespectacled slender man.
"We should bring back the guillotine!"
"Where are they taking her?" asked another woman, wincing in pity.
"The Hertford Hospital in the Levallois-Perret."
"Really? It's called an. English hospital, isn't it?"
"They say their equipment is the most advanced for her wounds."
"Who said so?" broke in an indignant Frenchman.
"That strapping young man over there-where is he? Well, he was there and that's what he said."
"How badly is she hurt?" asked a teenage girl, her right hand gripping the arm of a young male student, his canvas shoulder bag filled with books.
"I heard one of the Americans say it was extremely painful but not life-threatening," answered yet another Frenchwoman, a secretary or a minor executive who carried a large, thick brown envelope under her arm.
"A punctured lung that makes it difficult for her to breathe. She was wearing an oxygen mask. Such a shame!"
"It's such a shame that the Americans are so meddlesome," said the student.
"She has trouble breathing and one of us who may be seriously ill is shoved aside to make her life more pleasant."
"Antoine, how can you say that?"
"Very easily. I'm a history major."
"You're a thankless dog!" cried an elderly man with a small Croix de Guerre emblem in his lapel.
"I fought with the Americans and marched into Paris with them. They saved our city!"
-All by themselves, old soldier? I don't think so.. .. Come, Mignon, let's get out of here."
"Antoine, really! Your radicalism isn't only passe, it's boring."
"Little fuck-up," said the aging soldier to anyone who would listen. " Tuck-up," it's a term I learned from the Americans."
Upstairs in the embassy, in Stanley Witkowski's office, Claude Moreau was slumped di consolately in a chair in is front of the colonel's desk.
"Fortunately," he said in a weary voice, "I do not need money, but I shall never be able to spend what I have in Paris, or even France."
"What are you talking about?" asked Stanley, lighting a Cuban cigar, his expression one of self-satisfaction.
"if you don't know, Colonel, you should be granted what the American military calls a Section Eight."
"Why? I've got all my marbles and I'm doing what I'm pretty damned good at."
"For God's sake, Stanley, I've lied to my own. Bureau, to the hastily summoned committee of the Chamber of Deputies, to the press, to the President himself! I've