Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [132]
Emerging from the veil of smoke and ash, Berliners gathered around the animal. Fritzi had been the star attraction of the Berlin zoo for twenty years, a favorite of Berliners. Now the terror flyers had killed him. Men and women began to weep openly, and gently touched the giant animal, trying to comfort him in death.
Dietrich touched the dampness at the corner of his eye. He said quietly, "It's not like losing your wife, is it? A dumb zoo elephant."
Eberhardt stared sadly at the elephant. "This'll all be over soon. All of this destruction."
The detective glanced at Eberhardt. "Are you and I lengthening the war or shortening it, General? By trying to catch Jack Cray."
"That's not for us to worry about, Otto." Eberhardt turned toward the Funkwagen. "We've been told to catch Cray, and that's what we'll do."
12
"You DON'T look any better as a brunet," Katrin said, her arm in his, leaning into him as if guiding him along the sidewalk. A scarf hid her hair and much of her face.
"I used up all the countess's dye on my hair and eyebrows." Cray adjusted the bandage that hid the right side of his face.
He was wearing a Wehrmacht officer's uniform borrowed from the countess. A corner of the bandage was fitted under his peaked hat. Smoke rose from the block ahead of them, and in the east was a wide smoke column.
She said, "You've had practice with a cane, looks like."
Cray limped along, using a black walking stick and favoring his right leg. "I broke my foot once."
"How?"
"Trying to kick down a door. My foot broke instead of the door. I learned my lesson."
"You learned a lesson?" A trace of amusement was in her voice. "I'm encouraged. I don't suppose the lesson was to renounce all violence and to live in peace."
He looked at her. "The lesson was to use explosives on a door, not my foot."
She pursed her lips, "I keep forgetting who I'm talking with."
They walked by an automobile turned over on its back like a turtle and stepped around a fresh bomb crater, then avoided a newly killed dog—the carcass had not yet been taken away for someone's dinner— and rounded a corner to come upon an apartment house that had collapsed in on itself. Across the street from it was a burning row house. Two pumper trucks were in the street, and firemen were rigging nozzles to a hydrant. They wore Prussian blue greatcoats, and their helmets had polished metal combs centered on top and leather flaps that hung to their shoulders.
The east end of the row house had been hit by a bomb, and was fractured and exposed to the street. Fire was bubbling up through the windows, and quickly eating its way toward the neighboring house. A wall collapsed inside the house, sending a cloud of black dust and sparks out shattered bay windows onto the street. Flames crawled beneath the overhang. Smoke curled skyward. At the corner was a telephone pole with a poster showing Jack Cray's face.
"The rest of the homes and stores along the street weren't hit," Ka- trin said. "Just those two."
"Maybe these stray bombs were jammed in the plane's bomb bay, and were kicked loose by one of the crewmen."
Her voice was dark with resentment. "I'd hate to have one of your planes return to England with unused bombs."
A Borgward 4X4 rolled down the street to stop near a pumper. Painted on the olive door was TECHNISCHE NOTHILFE. The canvas flap was pushed aside and six men in off-white herringbone uniforms spilled out of the truck's cargo bay. Several carried axes and mauls. Another opened a tool chest mounted behind the driver's door and brought out bolt cutters with handles the length of his legs. One of these men conferred with a fireman, who pointed at the house, then moved his hands in measured