locations.
The Soldier knifed his way through the snobby, tacky, zany crowd-mobbing Cote d’Azur Airport in the glittery, the still very fashionable French Riviera.
This particular day, the military man looked like a gangly Mediterranean playboy. He wore aviator sunglasses, Cardin accessories, a white silk shirt open down to his trim waist.
Not on each arm, but close enough to look like it, were two bosomy women in their late twenties. They were the Nurse and the Legal Secretary, both of them important weapons experts in the burgeoning plan for Dachau Two.
From the crowded little airport they went by “Acapulco Jeep” to a pink stucco villa a few kilometers up the Riviera coast at Menton.
The appointed house was about a mile from the nearest neighbor, a two-star, four-crossed knife-and-fork restaurant. The pink villa belonged to the restaurant owner, a wealthy businessman from Paris. The
Banker
.
The pretty house was visible only for an instant as Renaults and Citroens, headed for Italy, made a long sweeping turn around the spectacular Moyenne Corniche.
The
Engineer
, the
Accountant
, the
Newspaperman
, and the
Lawyer
were already unpacked and waiting inside the villa when Colonel Essmann and the two women arrived.
By Wednesday, June 28, all those who were coming had settled in at the curious Riviera villa. The fun and games, the eating at Le Bec Rouge and Colombe d’Or were ended abruptly. A very serious meeting was called among the conspirators.
“Because of the need for complete secrecy, because of the extreme importance of this project,” the Soldier, a surprisingly dramatic speaker in front of the Storm Troop group, said, “none of you knows precisely why he’s here sunbathing, playing baccarat with someone else’s money, getting fat on rich French food down in Monaco and environs.”
There was scattered laughter from the group.
“I say that you don’t know the precise reason … because I’m certain all of you know or suspect the general reasons.
“To begin at the beginning, an extraordinary commando attack has been authorized … on the Olympic Village.”
The Soldier paused to let the import of his statement take its full effect. He waited until the villa room was completely still. Then he continued.
“This plan—Dachau Two—has been conceived to produce maximum results through the use of the best people.
Yourselves
. You and a few other experts have been carefully chosen to execute the military portions of this important plan.”
Once again the Soldier paused for effect.
“First of all, my sincere congratulations. This is history you are partaking in, I can assure you. Second, though, my condolences, because the chances of this turning into a costly, unprecedented disaster are very high indeed.”
Cheering exploded in the fancy villa’s living room. There was loud clapping and shouting. The conspirators embraced and kissed one another. Bottles of French wine were popped open. The meeting then went on through most of the night.
The Storm Troop was preparing a coup that would astound the world.
CHAPTER 35
A sweet
frisson
carried the smell of sea and pines up from the Mediterranean.
At six-thirty the next morning, a Frenchman—a farm-implements salesman from Lyon—got to watch a most bizarre and unexpected spectacle from high up on the Moyenne Corniche.
As the middle-aged Frenchman paused for a casual roadside relief stop, he gazed down at a luxurious villa.
He saw a band of suntanned men and women in bikinis converging on the villa from the nearby woods.
They were all running fast. Some of them carried long pine or olive branches, which reminded the French salesman—of what? Make-believe rifles? African spears?
The salesman wiped his brow with a red handkerchief.
He squinted his eyes and bent for a closer look.
Inside the villa, he could catch glimpses of the people racing from room to room. Working their way upstairs, quickly and efficiently.
Finally, they all came out
The Soldier knifed his way through the snobby, tacky, zany crowd-mobbing Cote d’Azur Airport in the glittery, the still very fashionable French Riviera.
This particular day, the military man looked like a gangly Mediterranean playboy. He wore aviator sunglasses, Cardin accessories, a white silk shirt open down to his trim waist.
Not on each arm, but close enough to look like it, were two bosomy women in their late twenties. They were the Nurse and the Legal Secretary, both of them important weapons experts in the burgeoning plan for Dachau Two.
From the crowded little airport they went by “Acapulco Jeep” to a pink stucco villa a few kilometers up the Riviera coast at Menton.
The appointed house was about a mile from the nearest neighbor, a two-star, four-crossed knife-and-fork restaurant. The pink villa belonged to the restaurant owner, a wealthy businessman from Paris. The
Banker
.
The pretty house was visible only for an instant as Renaults and Citroens, headed for Italy, made a long sweeping turn around the spectacular Moyenne Corniche.
The
Engineer
, the
Accountant
, the
Newspaperman
, and the
Lawyer
were already unpacked and waiting inside the villa when Colonel Essmann and the two women arrived.
By Wednesday, June 28, all those who were coming had settled in at the curious Riviera villa. The fun and games, the eating at Le Bec Rouge and Colombe d’Or were ended abruptly. A very serious meeting was called among the conspirators.
“Because of the need for complete secrecy, because of the extreme importance of this project,” the Soldier, a surprisingly dramatic speaker in front of the Storm Troop group, said, “none of you knows precisely why he’s here sunbathing, playing baccarat with someone else’s money, getting fat on rich French food down in Monaco and environs.”
There was scattered laughter from the group.
“I say that you don’t know the precise reason … because I’m certain all of you know or suspect the general reasons.
“To begin at the beginning, an extraordinary commando attack has been authorized … on the Olympic Village.”
The Soldier paused to let the import of his statement take its full effect. He waited until the villa room was completely still. Then he continued.
“This plan—Dachau Two—has been conceived to produce maximum results through the use of the best people.
Yourselves
. You and a few other experts have been carefully chosen to execute the military portions of this important plan.”
Once again the Soldier paused for effect.
“First of all, my sincere congratulations. This is history you are partaking in, I can assure you. Second, though, my condolences, because the chances of this turning into a costly, unprecedented disaster are very high indeed.”
Cheering exploded in the fancy villa’s living room. There was loud clapping and shouting. The conspirators embraced and kissed one another. Bottles of French wine were popped open. The meeting then went on through most of the night.
The Storm Troop was preparing a coup that would astound the world.
CHAPTER 35
A sweet
frisson
carried the smell of sea and pines up from the Mediterranean.
At six-thirty the next morning, a Frenchman—a farm-implements salesman from Lyon—got to watch a most bizarre and unexpected spectacle from high up on the Moyenne Corniche.
As the middle-aged Frenchman paused for a casual roadside relief stop, he gazed down at a luxurious villa.
He saw a band of suntanned men and women in bikinis converging on the villa from the nearby woods.
They were all running fast. Some of them carried long pine or olive branches, which reminded the French salesman—of what? Make-believe rifles? African spears?
The salesman wiped his brow with a red handkerchief.
He squinted his eyes and bent for a closer look.
Inside the villa, he could catch glimpses of the people racing from room to room. Working their way upstairs, quickly and efficiently.
Finally, they all came out
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