Part 16 (2/2)

”A point-a distinct point,” General Dornberger said.

Drucker nodded, doing his best to look as well as sound convincing. He was convinced Gunther Grillparzer wouldn't be in that Weimar flat any more if he or the Gestapo Gestapo came knocking. The ex-gunner would probably have shed his alias and his girlfriend, too, though Friedli had been worth hanging on to. Nothing, though, was worth the risk of kicking your life away at the end of a piano-wire noose after some highly ingenious men spent a long time making you wish you were dead. came knocking. The ex-gunner would probably have shed his alias and his girlfriend, too, though Friedli had been worth hanging on to. Nothing, though, was worth the risk of kicking your life away at the end of a piano-wire noose after some highly ingenious men spent a long time making you wish you were dead.

Dornberger paused to light a cigar. He aimed it at Drucker as if it were a pistol. ”You realize that, if your enemy in the SS wants you badly enough, he will simply come and take you away regardless of anything I can do.”

”Yes, sir, I understand that,” Drucker said. He knew he sounded worried-he was was worried. But anyone with a powerful enemy in the SS had every right to be worried. More than a generation of German history proved as much. worried. But anyone with a powerful enemy in the SS had every right to be worried. More than a generation of German history proved as much.

”All right, then.” General Dornberger picked up Grillparzer's letter, folded it in thirds, as it had been in the envelope, and then slowly and methodically tore it to pieces. ”I think we will be able to carry on on that basis. You understand that Neufeld has also seen this?”

”I would have expected that, yes, sir,” Drucker said, nodding. ”But, sir, Major Neufeld wouldn't tell his granny her own name if she happened to ask him for it.”

Dornberger chuckled, coughed, and chuckled some more. ”I won't say you're wrong. I will say that's one of the reasons he's so useful to me. If your unfriend has sent copies of this letter to people besides me-which it makes sense that he would do-we shall try to deal with them as you've suggested.” He took another puff on the cigar, then set it in an ashtray. Exhaling smoke, he went on, ”You are dismissed, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Drucker sprang to his feet and saluted. ”Heil Himmler!” he said, as he had when he came in. For once, the words were not automatic. He wondered what he was doing hailing the man who, along with heading the Himmler!” he said, as he had when he came in. For once, the words were not automatic. He wondered what he was doing hailing the man who, along with heading the Reich, Reich, also headed the outfit that had tried to execute Kathe, the outfit that had done its best to get him drummed out of the also headed the outfit that had tried to execute Kathe, the outfit that had done its best to get him drummed out of the Wehrmacht, Wehrmacht, the outfit that would no doubt take another shot at him now, thanks to Gunther Grillparzer. the outfit that would no doubt take another shot at him now, thanks to Gunther Grillparzer.

But that couldn't be helped. As long as he lived in the Greater German Reich, Reich, he had to conform to its outward usages. He made a smart about-turn and strode out of General Dornberger's office. In the antechamber, Major Neufeld's face revealed nothing but dyspepsia. Drucker nodded to him and walked out. he had to conform to its outward usages. He made a smart about-turn and strode out of General Dornberger's office. In the antechamber, Major Neufeld's face revealed nothing but dyspepsia. Drucker nodded to him and walked out.

He was just leaving the administrative center when a black Mercedes pulled to a halt in front of it. A couple of Gestapo Gestapo men got out of it and hurried into the building. They took no special notice of him, but he would have bet Reichsmarks against pfennigs they hadn't come to Peenemunde on any other business. men got out of it and hurried into the building. They took no special notice of him, but he would have bet Reichsmarks against pfennigs they hadn't come to Peenemunde on any other business.

To h.e.l.l with you, Grillparzer, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, Drucker thought. Drucker thought. If you drag me down, I'll take you with me. If you drag me down, I'll take you with me. He knew the alias under which the ex-panzer gunner had been living in Weimar. If the He knew the alias under which the ex-panzer gunner had been living in Weimar. If the Gestapo Gestapo couldn't track the b.a.s.t.a.r.d with that much to go on, the boys in the black s.h.i.+rts weren't worth much. couldn't track the b.a.s.t.a.r.d with that much to go on, the boys in the black s.h.i.+rts weren't worth much.

As Drucker walked away from the administration building, he wondered if the loudspeakers would blare out his name again. The SS had wanted his scalp ever since he managed to get Kathe out of their clutches. If Dornberger couldn't convince them to leave him alone...

What would he do then? Take out his pistol and go down fighting? Take it out and kill himself, so he wouldn't suffer whatever the blacks.h.i.+rts wanted to inflict on him? If he did either of those things, how would he avenge himself on Gunther Grillparzer? And what would happen to his family afterwards? But if he didn't do it, would that save his wife and children? And what horrid indignities would be waiting for him?

The loudspeakers kept quiet. Drucker stayed where he could keep an eye on that black Mercedes. After about forty-five minutes, the Gestapo Gestapo men came out of the administrative center and got back into the car. By the way they slammed the doors, they weren't happy with the world. The Mercedes leaped away with a screech of tires, almost flattening a couple of enlisted men who'd presumed to try to cross the road. The soldiers sprang out of the way in the nick of time. men came out of the administrative center and got back into the car. By the way they slammed the doors, they weren't happy with the world. The Mercedes leaped away with a screech of tires, almost flattening a couple of enlisted men who'd presumed to try to cross the road. The soldiers sprang out of the way in the nick of time.

Drucker watched it go with the same savage joy he'd known when he stuck a pistol in Grillparzer's face. Before then, he hadn't felt that particular delight since taking out a Lizard panzer during the fighting. Somebody'd tried to ruin him, tried and failed. That was how things were supposed to work, but things didn't work that way often enough.

Whistling, Drucker went into the officers' club, ordered a shot of schnapps, and knocked it back with great relish. The fellow behind the bar, a young blond corporal straight out of a recruiting poster, grinned at him. ”Something good must have happened to you, sir,” he said.

”Oh, you might say so. You just might say so,” Drucker agreed. ”Let me have another one, why don't you? There's nothing in the world to match the feeling you get when somebody shoots at you and misses, you know that?”

”If you say so, sir,” the bartender answered. ”I'm sorry, but I haven't seen combat myself, though.” Polite puzzlement was on his face: what sort of combat would Drucker have seen lately?

But Drucker knew-and combat it was, even without a literal shot being fired. ”Don't be sorry, son,” he said. ”Count yourself lucky. I wish I could say the same thing.”

”Germans!” Monique Dutourd snarled as she walked up to her brother in the Jardin Puget, a few blocks south of Ma.r.s.eille's Old Harbor. Not far away, sweaty kids booted a football toward one side's goal.

”Don't start talking yet,” Pierre warned. He looked around to make sure no one else in the park was taking any notice of him, then pulled from his pocket a gadget plainly not of Earthly manufacture. Only after waving it at her and examining the lights that glowed and flickered at one end did he nod. ”All right. The Boches Boches have not planted any ears on you.” have not planted any ears on you.”

”Germans,” Monique said again; even the usual scornful French nickname for them didn't let her get rid of enough anger to be satisfying. Only by calling them exactly what they were could she vent even part of the loathing she'd come to feel for the occupiers.

To her intense annoyance, her older brother chuckled. ”You just went about your business as long as they didn't bother you too much. It's only after they start annoying you personally that you discover you've hated them all along, eh?”

”Oh, shut up, d.a.m.n you,” Monique said. Pierre had been content to let her think for twenty years that he was dead; she saw little point wasting politeness on him. ”This is business. If we can get the Lizards to rub out Dieter Kuhn-”

”I get him off my back and you get him off your belly,” Pierre broke in, which almost made Monique turn on her heel and stalk out of the park. He went on, ”Well, neither of those things would be so bad.”

”Nice of you to say so.” Monique glared. She was sick to death of Kuhn on her belly, and inside her, and in her mouth. But it wasn't her death she wanted; it was the Sturmbannfuhrer Sturmbannfuhrer's. She l.u.s.ted for that as she would never l.u.s.t for the n.a.z.i alive.

Pierre waggled a finger at her. He was sad-eyed and plump, not at all the young poilu poilu who'd gone off to fight the who'd gone off to fight the Reich Reich in 1940-not that she was a little girl any more, either. He said, ”You have to understand, I don't hate the Germans just because they're Germans. I do business with quite a few of them, and I make a nice piece of change off them, too.” in 1940-not that she was a little girl any more, either. He said, ”You have to understand, I don't hate the Germans just because they're Germans. I do business with quite a few of them, and I make a nice piece of change off them, too.”

Monique tossed her head. ”Never mind the advertis.e.m.e.nts, dammit. We both want this one dead, and we want it done so we can't be blamed. You have the connections with the Lizards to arrange it, and-” She broke off.

”And what?” her brother prompted.

Unwillingly, she went on, ”And, since he comes to my flat every couple of nights, we have a place where the Lizards can lie in wait.”

”Ah,” Pierre said. ”You want him to die happy, I comprehend.”

”I want him to die dead,” Monique ground out. ”I don't care how. He won't stay happy, by G.o.d.”

”I suppose not,” Pierre said, with the air of a man making a sizable concession. He sat down on a wooden bench with rusty iron arm rests. Monique stood there, hands on hips; in his own way, her brother could be almost as infuriating as Dieter Kuhn. Pierre continued, ”Well, I will see what I can do. When will the n.a.z.i be at your flat again? Tonight?”

Monique grimaced. Having to admit that Kuhn came there at all was humiliating enough. Having to admit that she knew his schedule was somehow worse. But she did, and could hardly pretend otherwise. Reluctantly, she answered, ”No, he was there last night, and that means he isn't likely to be back till tomorrow, and then a couple of days after that, and so on.”

”Nice regular fellow, eh?” Pierre chuckled. Monique wanted to hit him. In that moment, she wouldn't have minded seeing him dead. But then he said, ”All right, my little sister, I'll pa.s.s the word along. And who knows? It could be that, one day before too long, someone scaly will be waiting for your German when he comes outside.”

”He's not my German, and you can go straight to h.e.l.l if you call him that again,” Monique said. She didn't have to worry about keeping Pierre sweet. He had his own good reasons for wanting Kuhn dead. That let Monique take a certain savage pleasure in turning her back on him and stamping past the oleanders that screened the traffic noise and out of the Jardin Puget.

She would have taken even more pleasure if she hadn't heard Pierre laughing as she stalked away.

Since she didn't have to entertain Dieter Kuhn that evening, she actually managed to get some research done. Reading Latin, especially the abbreviation-filled Latin of her inscriptions, helped ease some of her fury. Scholars would be poring over these texts a thousand years from now, long, long after she and Dieter Kuhn were both dead. Thinking in those terms gave her a sense of proportion.

She bared her teeth in something that wasn't a smile. With any luck at all, a thousand years from now Dieter Kuhn would be dead a great deal longer than she was. Outliving him is the best revenge, Outliving him is the best revenge, she thought. But she shook her head a moment later. Revenge was the best revenge. she thought. But she shook her head a moment later. Revenge was the best revenge.

When he knocked on her door a night later, she was almost eager to see him. He'd brought along a bottle of red wine, too; he didn't try to make himself hateful to her. He could only have succeeded, though, by leaving her alone. He didn't feel like doing that.

As usual, she endured his attentions without enjoying them. As usual, that bothered him not in the least. Men, Men, she thought. She'd known a couple of Frenchmen who'd cared for her pleasure as little as Dieter Kuhn did. But she hadn't had to go to bed with them, and she'd stopped going to bed with them as soon as she realized what sort of men they were. The German didn't give her that choice. she thought. She'd known a couple of Frenchmen who'd cared for her pleasure as little as Dieter Kuhn did. But she hadn't had to go to bed with them, and she'd stopped going to bed with them as soon as she realized what sort of men they were. The German didn't give her that choice.

Monique didn't mind drinking his wine. Having him spend a few Reichsmarks was revenge of a sort, even if only of the tiniest sort. It turned out to be pretty good wine, too. And, if she got a little drunk, if her thinking got a little blurry, so much the better.

”Well, my dear,” Kuhn said as he b.u.t.toned the fly to his trousers, ”I must be off. I will see you again day after tomorrow, I think.”

I am not your dear, Monique thought. She hadn't got so blurry as to be confused about that; there wasn't enough wine in the world to leave her confused about that. Monique thought. She hadn't got so blurry as to be confused about that; there wasn't enough wine in the world to leave her confused about that. With any luck at all, I'll never see you again, except, it could be, your bleeding corpse. With any luck at all, I'll never see you again, except, it could be, your bleeding corpse.

”Yes, I suppose you will,” she answered aloud, and gave him a sweet smile. ”Au revoir.” ”Au revoir.”

”Au revoir,” the SS man answered, and he smiled, too. ”You see, you are coming to care for me after all. I knew you would, even if it took a while.” the SS man answered, and he smiled, too. ”You see, you are coming to care for me after all. I knew you would, even if it took a while.”

<script>