Discouraged and stuck here until tomorrow, she dragged a heavy chair to barricade the front door. If someone moved it, she’d wake up. Afraid she’d pass out with tiredness if she didn’t sleep, she cradled the pistol, sat down on the Damascene embroidered gilt-edged recamier, kicked off her ragged sandals and put her dirty feet up.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
Was that almost admiration in Philippe’s voice?
“Five brothers. So don’t get any ideas,” she said, holding the pistol.
“Oh, but I have.”
“Wake me in an hour.”
She put her head down and was out.
Sunday, June 23, 1940
Grand Palais, Paris | 10:45 p.m.
Oberleutnant Wiesen’s adjutant, Joachim Heller, stood at attention, sweat beading his forehead. His full cheeks were flushed and he held his cap under his arm. He looked about eighteen.
It had taken fifteen minutes to locate Heller on duty—he’d been accompanying Oberleutnant Wiesen’s party at the Café de la Paix at la Place de l’Opéra. They called that duty? Gunter had also summoned Oberleutnant Wiesen.
“You followed procedure filing your report,” said Gunter, consulting his notebook. He and Niels stood with the two soldiers on the gravel path beside Grand Palais. “Commendable. However, your report indicates she had no papers. Can you explain that?”
Heller’s cheeks blushed even brighter red.
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. The woman was suffering from an epileptic fit, sir. The doctor insisted she needed treatment and he’d deal with that later.”
Convenient.
“You will follow up on that and inform me after we’re finished, Heller,” said Gunter. “Now please talk me through the events.”
With a worried blink, Joachim did. The Oberleutnant corroborated.
“However, I didn’t accompany my driver to the clinic,” said Weisen with a clipped Hamburg accent. “I had an appointment.”
An appointment at the Café de la Paix.
“Think back, both of you please, to what happened prior.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wiesen.
“I mean before you heard noises and investigated. Had you seen the woman in the apron before? Around here, talking to someone?”
Joachim’s brow furrowed as he concentrated. “I was waiting for the Oberleutnant by the door. He was in a meeting. I had a smoke.”
He paused.
“Go on.”
“I heard a woman, but I’m not sure it’s who you mean, sir. Could have been a cleaning lady or part of the staff.”
“Continue, Adjutant Heller.”
“I just heard a woman’s voice.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t speak French. Never saw her. But I remember Antwann.”
Gunter rolled that in his mind. “Antoine?”
“Possibly, it sounded like that, I’m not sure. But she said it several times.”
Oberleutnant Weisen took off his hat, revealing prematurely white hair over his young face. “Not Antoine Doisneau?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“He’s an engineer attending the conference here with école Polytechnique.”
“Can you explain this participation? What it’s concerning?”
“It’s technical work. Classified,” said Wiesen. “But now that I think about it, I recall Antoine was talking to someone.”
Could this mean the woman was in contact with this Doisneau? Gunter took this idea down in his notebook.
“You mean the woman wearing an apron?”
“No idea,” said Weisen. “They were somewhere over here by the trees. I couldn’t see.” Weisen, his face flushed from drink, seemed anxious to return to his party. “If that’s all?”
“One more thing, Oberleutnant. What’s this conference concerning?”
“As I said, it’s classified.”
Gunter took the Oberleutnant aside. “I appreciate that it’s sensitive.” He showed his RSD badge. “I’m investigating on the Führer’s orders, verstehen Sie?”
They both knew the Führer’s orders superseded any rank.
Weisen debated. Gunter recognized the nervous shift in his eyes. Then he glanced around and lowered his voice. “Directive 17. It’ll be your neck, not mine, if this gets out.”
“Doubtful. I have no idea what that means.” Gunter smiled. “But I’ll have to ask you to elaborate or I wouldn’t be doing my job.”
Weisen scowled. Then he leaned and spoke into