Reinhard Heydrich crossed the lobby of the Hotel Crillon toward them. Lynn turned to Melissa and whispered, “Why do I get the feeling I’m about to lose my head?”
“Maybe because King Louis XVI was guillotined directly in front of this building,” she replied with a light chuckle. “Let me take the lead.”
Already nicknamed the “limping lady” by Berlin’s Gestapo, Captain Hall hoped they had no other description that would identify her. Without hesitation, she acquiesced to Melissa’s request. Reinhard Heydrich was a man all of one piece—tall, blonde, athletic, long-skulled with a slender, pinky-white face and narrow nose with a high bridge. He exemplified to a tee what she expected an SS man should be.
Melissa gestured for her to stay put. She strolled toward him.
The discussion that entailed appeared one-sided, dependent upon Melissa’s gregarious personality for its continuity. In short, Lynn concluded he was a man of few words, apparently not given to the love of talk. His bearing, on the other hand, said something else. It oozed uninhibitedly with a high degree of entitlement and vanity. He kept glancing at her. His icy gray-blue eyes sent chills up Lynn’s spine and she wrestled to remain calm and self-contained. Suddenly, Reinhard turned and, with a cursory glance over his shoulder at Lynn, re-joined his companions. A short outburst of laughter erupted between them before they were ushered to their table by the maître d’.
“What was that all about? From that smirk on your face, maybe you shouldn’t tell me.” Lynn’s gaze refocused on the dining room.
“He thought we were whores.”
“What?!”
“He wanted to retain our services for the rest of the day. He offered a goodly sum. Difficult to turn down. We could have made a tidy amount.”
“We?! Are you kidding me?!”
“Hush! Keep your voice down, Lynn.” She took Lynn’s arm and led her toward the lift. “According to Walter Schellenberg—”
“Who’s he?“
“A friend of Heydrich.”
“How do you? Never mind.” Lynn shook her head in dismay. “Go on.”
Melissa drew closer to Lynn. “Well, Walter told me that Heydrich’s only weakness is his insatiable appetite for sex.” Melissa flicked her eyebrows. “Ooh-la-la.”
“Sometimes you disgust me. And this is one of those times. My God, Melissa! He’s a man who’s lost the human measure.”
“Maybe so. But our line of work often makes—forgive the pun—strange bedfellows. If I could land Heydrich and sex was required, then that’s what I would do.”
Empty of rebuttal, Lynn accepted that this was just one of the gritty sides to intelligence-gathering. “Let’s get you packed and out of this hotel.” She followed Melissa into the lift. When the elevator door began to close, she noticed Reinhard at the entrance to the dining room staring in their direction. I wonder if he’s sifting through his mental files? That nightmare momentarily unnerved her. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She feared that her mission may have been turned on its head. There was no doubt in her mind that everything had become immensely more dangerous. The door opened and they stepped out onto Melissa’s floor. “Wait Melissa!”
“Hey! Let go! What bee got in your bonnet?” She pulled her arm free from Lynn’s grasp.
“Unless there’s something so important in your room that you’re willing to bet your life on, I suggest we leave. Right now! By the back stairs!”
“What’s got into you?”
“In a name, Reinhard Heydrich. He’s putting two and two together as we speak. There’s a good possibility when those elevator doors open next it will be him with his companions. And it won’t be any social call.”
“Putting two and two together? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Me, we’re talking about me. I don’t have time to explain. I’ll tell you as we go.”
__________
Werner had followed Lynn and Melissa to the Hotel Crillon. Ensconced in one of the lush chairs in the lobby, he pretended to read the newspaper. He did not know Captain Hall’s companion. At least not yet. The self-assuredness in her gait when she approached Reinhard gave him pause. I must press my network harder to discover who she is.
Lynn Hall was the ‘limping lady’ described by Berlin’s Gestapo but he had no intention of sharing that information with Reinhard. He hated the man’s guts. Reinhard was besmirched with the mortal sin of the indelible stain of Jewish blood in his ancestry. Still, he was a gifted and a dangerous man. He would be foolish not to fear him. Hitler and Himmler had readily accepted him into their ranks. Why? Because they knew Reinhard had files on Hitler’s unexplained origins and Himmler’s Jewish ancestry. Also, the sonofabitch had files on Goebbels’s private affairs and Goring’s debauches, too. The excuse proffered by Himmler when asked by a select few was that Reinhard’s non-Aryan origins would be useful. And, of course, he never elaborated. Laughable. It drew down to self-preservation, plain and simple. Hypocrisy at its worst. In a nutshell, Reinhard’s cunning had checkmated them.
Warner glanced at his watch. “Where the hell’s Max?” After months of hard work, he had given his personal go-ahead to the sabotage plot. An unsettled feeling swept over him. No! It can’t be! Impossible! Queenie is dead. I killed her. Still, he sensed her presence. Distracted by Reinhard’s lone figure at the entrance to the dining room he followed the line of his gaze. It ended at the elevator where Captain Hall and her companion waited.
A crescendo of excited voices filled the lobby entrance. The commotion turned heads including Werner’s. He was unable to decipher what they were saying above the cacophony. He glanced back. Reinhold, Captain Hall and her companion were gone. Flummoxed by the hysteria, he approached the entrance of the hotel. Several people had broken off from the crowd and ran through the lobby shouting, “The S. S. Paris is ablaze!”
“Did you see it yourself?” Werner inquired of one of them.
“Yes! She’s listing badly,” came the trailing reply.
A young boy tugged at Werner’s sleeve. “She’s practically submerged, sir.”
“Tell me, what about the Normandie?”
“Not much to say. She’s still in drydock. The Paris prevented her from leaving.”
Werner hoped for both but begrudgingly had to be satisfied with one. He felt her presence again, mocking him. Where’s Max? He should be here. He scanned the crowd. Damn it! He’s not among them. The crowd thinned out. At the far end of the lobby, he saw him. Quickly, he traversed the space between them. “What happened?”
“They were waiting for us,” Max replied, resolutely. “I’m lucky I made it out with my life.”
“Who were waiting for?”
“British Intelligence. Two of them. More. I’m lucky I made it out with my life. They were in hiding. It was as if they knew our plans”
“Get a hold of yourself, Max!”
“We lost three of our best men.” He began to pace.
“What about the rest of our team?”
“At the prearranged location, waiting for orders.”
“Damn it, Max! Stop your pacing!” Shit and bugger damned! “We must join the others. There’s much to rethink before our charade in Poland.”
“What the hell!”
Werner glanced over his shoulder in the direction Max pointed. “It took him long enough,” he chortled.
“I don’t understand.”
“See the one out front of the four? That’s Reinhard Heydrich. His hubris will be his downfall. He hopes to ensnare a couple of troublesome yet dangerous mice. But he’s underestimated those mice.”
“Mice?”
“Two very smart woman who, no doubt, have already outsmarted him.” He tapped Max on the shoulder. “Before joining the others, let’s ensure they’re still within my net.”