Karl’s military demeanor slackened when he saw the beautiful Mademoiselle Colbert directed out of Gestapo headquarters with her arms tied behind her back. Roughly hustled along with her were three men unknown to him, equally bound. The two Gestapo men pushed the four captives none too kindly into the back of the waiting van especially equipped to transport persons of interest to various interrogation sites. Karl had to keep himself from coming to Mademoiselle Colbert’s aid, the impulse abandoned when he saw Colonel Albrecht coming down the steps wearing a face he knew only too well—tight, implacable, unyielding.
“Drive us to 45 Boulevard Raspail,” he instructed.
Karl reacted with surprise. “Not to 84 Avenue Foch?” Boulevard Raspail was the location of the Lutetia Hotel, former headquarters of the Abwehr. The cells in the SD headquarters contained means to induce prisoners to talk, whereas the Abwehr’s interview rooms did not, except for one, known as Cell Block B, that had been reconfigured to meet the standards of the SS.
“To Boulevard Raspail, Karl,” Derrick repeated tersely.
“Yes, Herr Colonel!” Hope sprang in Karl’s breast for Mademoiselle Colbert.
At the Lutetia Hotel, Karl stayed with the van, not daring to check on the prisoners inside, while Derrick took off through the arched entrance. Without breaking stride, he barked to his desk clerk that he wanted to see Major General Konrad March in his office immediately. The clerk had the former head of the Abwehr in tow within two minutes.
“He’s in a foul mood, Herr General,” the clerk warned Konrad as he knocked on his superior’s office door, and Derrick’s harsh command, “Komm herein!,” confirmed it. The colonel was in the process of lighting a cigarette. The sergeant beat a hasty retreat, closing the door quickly and quietly, and Konrad said, “I thought you’d given that up.”
“Certain situations call for the restoration of certain broken habits.” He offered Konrad his gold case of American Chesterfields.
Konrad declined. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve got your fisherman and son’s tutor outside in my van, Barnard Wagner and Claus Bauer.” He handed Konrad the three captives’ identity papers. “Major Schultz at Gestapo headquarters had them rounded up for interrogation. They were overheard speaking English together and were reported to the Gestapo by one of their informers posing as a blind beggar.”
Konrad sought a chair to sit down. “How did they happen to end up in your hands?” He wasn’t sure what to say.
Derrick pulled up a chair close to the general’s so they could speak in low tones. “They are Americans, members of the same cell working for the OSS, Konrad. Your fisherman and son’s tutor knew each other before they ever met at your house. Perhaps you figured that out.”
Konrad was genuinely surprised. He’d thought the boys had simply recognized each other as Americans and learned they were working for the same outfit after being sent to gather intelligence on their own, Barnard on his fishing boat, Claus in his schoolroom. This he explained to Derrick, adding in disbelief as he rubbed his forehead, “Gott! How could I have thought it simply a stroke of good luck that their paths crossed mine?”
“Don’t feel bad, Konrad. I was blinded, too. Mademoiselle Veronique Colbert is one of them, part of the same cell. She is an American, also. Her name is Victoria Grayson from Williamsburg, Virginia.”
Konrad’s jaw dropped.
“Yes,” Derrick confirmed. “I have known of her nationality since the beginning, but not that she was a spy. I made the discovery quite by accident, the night of the premiere, and I have been using her to channel information to her OSS sources, as you have Herr Wagner and Herr Bauer.”
“And you didn’t tell me!” Konrad accused.
“Come now, General. You know why I couldn’t risk your being in possession of that knowledge any more than you could chance telling me that your friends were Americans and your son’s tutor was also a spy.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Konrad said, mollified. “I quite understand. Do please go on.”
“The third young man I know little about. His cover name is Stephane Beaulieu, an engineer employed at the Barousse Consulting Firm of Civil Engineers near the Eiffel Tower, also an American. I suspect that a fifth member is involved—the artist responsible for drawing a mural on the wall of a convent located in the Latin Quarter. The wall is next to a house with a mail depository in the door that serves as their dead-letter box. I believe the mural to be a medium for communicating in code.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I’ve had the cell under surveillance for some time,” Derrick said and gave him a short briefing on how he’d come by his discoveries. “I didn’t know who your young friends were until I saw their names on their identity papers,” he concluded.
“Why did Major Schultz call you?”
Derrick blew out a final stream of smoke and crushed the butt of the Chesterfield in a tobacco tray on his desk. “Because the major knew that Mademoiselle Colbert and I are well acquainted.”
“Of course,” Konrad said, understanding perfectly. “And you’ve got them all in the van? We’re to put the Nacht and Nebel plan into place?”
“With one exception. Mademoiselle Colbert is to be executed.”
Konrad’s ruddy skin tone whitened to the shade of a boiled potato. “My God, Derrick, why?”
Derrick snapped a flame to another cigarette. “Because I made the mistake of saying that I intended to have her set before a firing squad for playing me for a fool. Major Schultz asked if he and his Gestapo pigs could watch the execution. Good for his men’s morale to witness the results of their labor, he said. I was forced to agree to his request.”
“The swine,” Konrad said. “But of course you’re not going through with it?”
“I have to. Otherwise, I might be accused of going soft on an enemy spy. Hitler is about over the edge. He’s ordered Himmler’s eye on every department under his command, convinced that with the way the war is going, some of us might be inclined to switch loyalties. I’ve got to take this step to avoid suspicion.”
“But, my God, Derrick, you…you have feelings for this woman!”
“All the more reason why her death is necessary, Konrad. My attraction to her is well-known and documented. The execution of the beautiful woman I’ve come to care about will play well in my favor with Himmler and prove my loyalty to Hitler. Your young friends and the engineer will simply disappear with no eyebrows raised, but if I don’t go through with this execution, I could be the one before a firing squad and our entire operation blown. I plan to arrange it for day after tomorrow, and I need your help.”
* * *
The search of Bridgette’s room was over in less than half an hour. The two French Gestapo men knew the hidden cavities to look for. They came down from the attic carrying the wireless set concealed in a suitcase, the mother superior hovering anxiously in her black robes at the foot of the stairs.
One of the men set the case on a refectory table and opened it. “Did you know anything about this, Mother Superior?” he demanded.
Sister Mary Frances pretended shock and shook her wimpled head. “No, I did not. All I know about Mademoiselle Dufor is that she is employed as a fashion designer at the House of Boucher. What has happened to her?”
“She’s been arrested on suspicion of being an enemy spy.” The man snapped the case shut. “This proves it.”
Sister Mary Frances made the sign of the cross. “Oh dear. Where has she been taken?”
“To our headquarters on Rue de Saussaies, where she will be interrogated.” He would have questioned the mother superior further to determine her involvement, but in France, unless for justified cause, the Catholic Church was off-limits to the French Gestapo, most of whose members were reared in the Church.
The moment the two men left, Sister Mary Frances put in a call to the burly Frenchman whose name she did not know but who had left a number for her to call him should an emergency arise regarding Mademoiselle Bernadette Dufor. She laid a hand on her heart to calm her fear that he could not be reached, but he answered on the second ring. “Mademoiselle Bernadette Dufor has been taken,” she informed him without preamble.
“Who by?”
“The French Gestapo. They were just here and found the radio. She’s been taken to their headquarters at 11 Rue de Saussaies.”
“Merci, Mother,” the Frenchman said.
Sister Mary Frances hung up, trembling. If ever she believed in miracles, she must do so now. It would take one to deliver sweet Mademoiselle Dufor from the hell into which she had fallen. She left her office and set off down the corridor, announcing to the nuns that they were not to disturb her, that she would be unavailable for the night. Once inside the walls of the convent chapel, she knelt on a pew bench, clasped her hands, and began to pray.
* * *
At La Maison de Boucher, Madame Jeanne Boucher heard, “Madame Boucher!”
The assault on her ears could have been mistaken for the shriek of a bull elk. Jeanne hurried into the salon.
“Yes, Madame Richter?”
In a ghastly gray frock of many folds, its originator unknown, Madame Richter sailed toward her with all the intent of a pirate frigate ready to commandeer an undefended ship. Jeanne swore the woman got uglier at every fitting, her ill-favored looks and figure made worse by a meanness that leached from her entrails. “Where in God’s name is Mademoiselle Dufor? She was to fit me today.”
Playing the role of so many of her indifferent countrymen, Madame Boucher lifted her shoulders and displayed her palms in typical French style. “I would assume at the headquarters of the French Gestapo. Two members of their body arrested her this morning.”
“Mademoiselle Dufor?” the woman shrilled her disbelief. “Whatever for?”
“Oh, one of our designers denounced her for no other reason other than she was jealous of her from the first day of her employment here.”
“The bitch should be sacked. What am I to do now?”
“I did sack her, but have no fear. I’m sure one of our other designers would be happy to assist you in every way possible.”
“The devil they will! I must have Mademoiselle Dufor!”
“I’m afraid that is impossible, madame. My hands are tied.”
“Mine aren’t. My husband has authority over those imbeciles of the French Gestapo. Mademoiselle Dufor will be back here this afternoon. Prepare my gown for my fitting.” And with that Madame Richter sailed out, leaving Jeanne staring after her in astonishment. Rescue was on the way for Bernadette by the last person on earth she would have expected to save her.