tell them to wait,” Himmler said. “I have a better idea.” He turned to Schellenberg. “You leave for Spain this morning, flying by way of Paris.”
“I was under the impression that you didn't want me to have anything further to do with this Winter affair, Reichsführer.”
“True, but Major Kleiber here could take charge most adequately.” He looked up at Heydrich. “Arrange it with the Paris office. When does your plane leave, Schellenberg?”
“Eleven o'clock from Tempelhof.”
“I wish you luck then in the venture that lies ahead. Naturally I shall expect daily reports.”
“Of course, Reichsführer.”
“Kleiber, you will please stay.”
Schellenberg and Heydrich went out. In the anteroom, Heydrich paused to light a cigarette. “God, what a night. Still, it all seems to be working out in the end. You see, Walter, all you have to do is live right.”
Himmler said to Kleiber, “In the matter of the Winter girl's escape last night. The fact that she was able to ask the sentry if the Reich Chancellery messenger had gone through shows an intimate knowledge of procedure here that can only indicate that she had inside help.”
“General Schellenberg, Reichsführer?”
“Watch him closely, Kleiber, and report to me daily. You can phone from our Lisbon Embassy. Here is the necessary authority.” He passed Kleiber an envelope.
“I understand, Reichsführer.”
“Let's hope you do,” Himmler said. “You may go now.”
Kleiber went out, and Himmler picked up the old-fashioned pen with the steel nib that he always favored and started to note the details of the conversation meticulously in his diary.
At that moment, the wine tanker was turning off the road outside Alf on the road to Trier. Henri was at the wheel; his brother, asleep beside him, came awake instantly.
“Why are you stopping?”
“Come off it, Paul. The young lady needs a turn in the bushes like the rest of us, and if she doesn't, I do.”
Hannah had slept surprisingly soundly considering the circumstances, but she was awake now, aware of the truck slowing down and bumping over rough ground.
The trap was opened, and Henri grinned through at her. “Time to stretch your legs—or whatever else you want to do.”
She was instinctively wary, ready for anything as she scrambled through. When she jumped to the ground, she slipped a hand into her pocket and gripped the butt of the Walther.
“Where are we?”
“On the road to Trier. Luxembourg after that.” There was a rustling in the bushes, and Paul Dubois appeared, fastening his trousers. Henri waved a hand, “The other side of the wood is yours. Quarter of an hour, then we move on.”
He climbed back into the cab, and Hannah turned and walked away through the trees, going some considerable distance before she stopped.
Afterward, she moved back in a half-circle, attracted by the sound of running water, and came out among pine trees on a small promontory above a river. It was pleasant standing there, the early morning sun playing on the rushing water. There was a movement behind, and she turned to find Henri approaching.
“Ready to go?” she said.
“Time for a cigarette.”
He offered her one, and she accepted it, her right hand clasping the Walther firmly, pushing the safety catch off with her thumb. He was standing very close now.
“That's the Moselle River behind you. Pretty, isn't it?”
“If you like that sort of thing,” she said in French. “Personally, I'm a big city girl.”
His eyes widened. “Heh, you've got a Parisian accent. How come?”
“I sang at a club in Montmartre for six months in thirty-eight. Club le Jazz. Do you know it?”
“I used to go there all the time.” He ran a hand up her right arm and pushed his body against her, his voice thickening. “Hey, listen, cherie. How about you and me …”
She slipped the Walther out with an ease which surprised herself, but then she was not the girl she had been forty-eight hours before, not
“I was under the impression that you didn't want me to have anything further to do with this Winter affair, Reichsführer.”
“True, but Major Kleiber here could take charge most adequately.” He looked up at Heydrich. “Arrange it with the Paris office. When does your plane leave, Schellenberg?”
“Eleven o'clock from Tempelhof.”
“I wish you luck then in the venture that lies ahead. Naturally I shall expect daily reports.”
“Of course, Reichsführer.”
“Kleiber, you will please stay.”
Schellenberg and Heydrich went out. In the anteroom, Heydrich paused to light a cigarette. “God, what a night. Still, it all seems to be working out in the end. You see, Walter, all you have to do is live right.”
Himmler said to Kleiber, “In the matter of the Winter girl's escape last night. The fact that she was able to ask the sentry if the Reich Chancellery messenger had gone through shows an intimate knowledge of procedure here that can only indicate that she had inside help.”
“General Schellenberg, Reichsführer?”
“Watch him closely, Kleiber, and report to me daily. You can phone from our Lisbon Embassy. Here is the necessary authority.” He passed Kleiber an envelope.
“I understand, Reichsführer.”
“Let's hope you do,” Himmler said. “You may go now.”
Kleiber went out, and Himmler picked up the old-fashioned pen with the steel nib that he always favored and started to note the details of the conversation meticulously in his diary.
At that moment, the wine tanker was turning off the road outside Alf on the road to Trier. Henri was at the wheel; his brother, asleep beside him, came awake instantly.
“Why are you stopping?”
“Come off it, Paul. The young lady needs a turn in the bushes like the rest of us, and if she doesn't, I do.”
Hannah had slept surprisingly soundly considering the circumstances, but she was awake now, aware of the truck slowing down and bumping over rough ground.
The trap was opened, and Henri grinned through at her. “Time to stretch your legs—or whatever else you want to do.”
She was instinctively wary, ready for anything as she scrambled through. When she jumped to the ground, she slipped a hand into her pocket and gripped the butt of the Walther.
“Where are we?”
“On the road to Trier. Luxembourg after that.” There was a rustling in the bushes, and Paul Dubois appeared, fastening his trousers. Henri waved a hand, “The other side of the wood is yours. Quarter of an hour, then we move on.”
He climbed back into the cab, and Hannah turned and walked away through the trees, going some considerable distance before she stopped.
Afterward, she moved back in a half-circle, attracted by the sound of running water, and came out among pine trees on a small promontory above a river. It was pleasant standing there, the early morning sun playing on the rushing water. There was a movement behind, and she turned to find Henri approaching.
“Ready to go?” she said.
“Time for a cigarette.”
He offered her one, and she accepted it, her right hand clasping the Walther firmly, pushing the safety catch off with her thumb. He was standing very close now.
“That's the Moselle River behind you. Pretty, isn't it?”
“If you like that sort of thing,” she said in French. “Personally, I'm a big city girl.”
His eyes widened. “Heh, you've got a Parisian accent. How come?”
“I sang at a club in Montmartre for six months in thirty-eight. Club le Jazz. Do you know it?”
“I used to go there all the time.” He ran a hand up her right arm and pushed his body against her, his voice thickening. “Hey, listen, cherie. How about you and me …”
She slipped the Walther out with an ease which surprised herself, but then she was not the girl she had been forty-eight hours before, not
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