The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [116]
Von Richter finished, grunted and pulled away. He sat back in the seat, his pants half-open. Another command to the driver. Zigaretten und alkohol. The driver started the car and pulled back onto the street. A few blocks later, they stopped in front of a brasserie. The driver pounded on the door until it opened. He disappeared inside.
Claire pulled at the shreds of her dress around her, her eyes out the window. She had seen the briefcase twice before on his desk. And both times found it empty. But tonight, here it was. Straight from his office.
Von Richter closed his eyes. His voice trailed off to a snore. Another breath, Claire watched the brasserie. The driver was still inside. She plucked a matchbook off the seat and slid onto her knees on the floorboards. She glanced back at von Richter. His eyes were closed, head tipped back. She flipped open the case’s leather flap and slid out the contents. Von Richter’s boot moved next to her. She froze. Another snore. She lit a match.
The top of the pile was Signal, the Nazis’ version of Life magazine. Beneath, a typed form with a column of items and a column of numbers, with lines for signatures. A request form. She struggled to make out the words. Opel Blitz. Quantity 11. Heavy transport trucks, she’d seen them hauling soldiers. Division der SS. Soldiers then, too. But it was the words written across the bottom that caught her eye. Fort Montluc zu Compiègne. 23/07/44. She knew those places. Both prisons. A convoy then, prison transport.
Her hands shook as she flipped the page. A list of names. Another match lit and she skimmed the print. Kinsel, Raymond. They had captured Christophe? She got to the bottom of the page. That was all.
Von Richter shifted and exhaled. Claire shoved the papers into the briefcase. No, she protested silently. Another match flamed. She pulled the pages out and reread the names, one by one. The match burned her fingers as she flipped the page over. Five more names were listed. Grey, Thomas Harding was the last.
Outside, a door slammed. She shoved the papers into the case and slid onto the seat as the driver opened the door.
Von Richter opened his eyes and sat up, zipping his pants. “Zigaretten.” He lit a cigarette then reached for the bottle. “Drink?” He tipped the bottle toward Claire.
She shook her head and slid her trembling hands beneath her. Grey was alive. The engine started, they pulled into the street. Von Richter drank, she turned to stare out into the rain. In eleven days, Grey would be outside prison walls. He could be rescued.
The bottle was half-empty when they pulled up in front of the Ritz. Von Richter leaned on her shoulder through the lobby, his briefcase swinging loosely in one hand. At the base of the stairs, he pushed Claire against the wall and ran a finger down bare skin. Claire forced herself to look up into his eyes and smile. He pressed his lips against hers.
“Duty,” he said regretfully, thumping the case. He smirked at the soldier standing guard then laboriously worked his way up the stairs.
The sentry stared at the skin revealed by Claire’s ripped dress. She spun and hurried down the long corridor to her room. Turning on the water in the bath and stripping down, she climbed in and began to scrub.
She stared at a small round burn on her shoulder. Von Richter’s cigarette. She hadn’t felt it. She laid back in the bath, submerged up to her face. It was worth it. Grey was alive.
She remembered Odette’s words. You are on your own. Her body tremored. What if the Resistance wouldn’t help?
They will help, she said silently. Water drained off her as she stepped out of the tub. Still dripping, she walked into the bedroom and over to her desk. She pulled out a pad of stationery; a crown decorated the top.
I found Christophe. Noon in front of the pool by the temple to discuss price.
Evelyn
The Resistance had turned away from her. But they wouldn’t abandon Kinsel. Or Grey.
Claire made the drop at first