Jackdaws

“As you wish,” Flick said with an air of weary courtesy, but in truth she was pleased he had not told them they were underdressed. She and Ruby walked quickly around the block and found the rear entrance.

The lobby was bright with light, and the bars on either side were full of men in evening dress or uniform. The buzz of conversation clicked and whirred with German consonants, not the languid vowels of French. Flick felt as though she were walking into the enemy’s stronghold.

She went up to the desk. A concierge in a coat with brass buttons looked down his nose at her. Judging her to be neither a German nor a wealthy French woman, he said coldly, “What is it?”

“Check whether Mademoiselle Legrand is in her room,” Flick said peremptorily. She assumed that Diana must be using the false name on her papers, Simone Legrand. “I have an appointment.”

He backed off “May I tell her who is inquiring?”

“Madame Martigny. I am her employee.”

“Very good. In fact, Mademoiselle is in the rear dining room with her companion. Perhaps you would speak to the head waiter.”

Flick and Ruby crossed the lobby and entered the restaurant. It was a picture of elegant living: white tablecloths, silver cutlery, candles, and waiters in black gliding around the room with dishes of food. No one would have guessed that half Paris was starving. Flick smelled real coffee.

Pausing on the threshold, she immediately saw Diana and Maude. They were at a small table on the far side of the room. As Flick watched, Diana took a bottle of wine out of a gleaming bucket beside the table and poured for Maude and herself. Flick could have throttled her.

She turned to make for the table, but the head waiter stood in her way. Pointedly looking at her cheap suit, he said, “Yes, Madame?”

“Good evening,” she said. “I must speak with that lady over there.”

He did not move. He was a small man with a worried air, but he was not to be bullied. “Perhaps I can give her a message for you.”

“I’m afraid not, it’s too personal.”

“Then I will tell her that you are here. The name?”

Flick glared in Diana’s direction, but Diana did not look up. “I am Madame Martigny,” Flick said, giving up. “Tell her I must speak to her immediately.”

“Very well. If Madame would care to wait here.”

Flick ground her teeth with frustration. As the head waiter walked away, she was tempted just to run past him. Then she noticed a young man in the black uniform of an SS major at a nearby table staring at her. She met his eye and looked away, fear rising in her throat. Had he merely taken an idle interest in her altercation with the head waiter? Was he trying to remember where he had seen her before, having seen the poster but not yet made the connection? Or did he simply find her attractive? In any event, Flick realized, it would be dangerous for her to make a fuss.

Every second she stood here was dangerous. She resisted the temptation to turn and run.

The head waiter spoke to Diana, then turned and beckoned Flick.

Flick said to Ruby, “You’d better wait here-one is less conspicuous than two.” Then she walked quickly across the room to Diana’s table.

Neither Diana nor Maude had the grace to look guilty, Flick observed angrily. Maude appeared pleased with herself, Diana haughty. Flick put her hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “This is terribly dangerous. Get up, now, and leave with me. We’ll pay the bill on the way out.”

She had been as forceful as she knew how, but they were living in a fantasy world. “Be reasonable, flick,” Diana said.

Flick was outraged. How could Diana be such an arrogant idiot? “You stupid cow,” she said. “Don’t you realize you’ll get killed?”

She saw immediately that it had been a mistake to use abuse. Diana looked superior. “It’s my life. I’m entitled to take that risk—”

“You’re endangering us too, and the whole mission. Now get up off that chair!”

“Look here-” There was a commotion behind Flick. Diana stopped and looked past her.

Flick turned around and gasped.

Standing in the entrance was the well-dressed German officer she had last seen in the square at SainteC‚cile. She took him in at a glance: a tall figure in an elegant dark suit with a white handkerchief in the breast pocket.

She quickly turned her back, heart pounding, and prayed that he had not noticed her. With her dark wig, there was a good chance he would not have recognized her at first glance.

His name came back to her: Dieter Franck. She had found his photograph in Percy Thwaite’s files. He was a former police detective. She recalled the note on the back of his photo: “A star of Rommel’s intelligence staff, this officer is said to be a skilled interrogator and a ruthless torturer.”

For the second time in a week, she was close enough to shoot him.

Flick did not believe in coincidence. There was a reason he was here at the same time as she.