Leaving Lieutenant Hesse outside Chez Regis, he had followed Michel Clairet to the premises of Philippe Moulier, a supplier of fresh meat to restaurants and military kitchens. It was a storefront property with living quarters above and a yard at the side. Dieter bad watched the place for an hour, but no one had come out.
Deciding that Michel intended to spend the night there, Dieter had found a bar and phoned Hans Hesse. Hans had got on a motorcycle and joined him outside the Moulier place at ten. The lieutenant told Dieter the story of the inexplicably empty room above Chez Regis. “There’s some early-warning system,” Dieter speculated. “The barman downstairs is ready to sound the alarm if anyone comes looking.”
“You think the Resistance were using the place?”
“Probably. I’d guess the Communist Party used to hold meetings there, and the Resistance took over the system.”
“But how did they get away last night?”
“A trapdoor under the carpet, something like that- the communists would have been prepared for trouble. Did you arrest the barman?”
“I arrested everyone in the place. They’re at the chƒteau now.”
Dieter had left Hans watching the Moulier property and had driven to Sainte-C‚cile. There he questioned the terrified proprietor, Alexandre Regis, and learned within minutes that his speculation had been off target. The place was neither a Resistance hideout nor a communist meeting place, but an illegal gambling club. Nevertheless, Alexandre confirmed that Michel Clairet had gone there last night. And, he said, Michel had met his wife there.
It was another maddeningly near miss for Dieter. He had captured one Resistance member after another, but Flick always eluded him.
Now he finished shaving, wiped his face, and phoned the chƒteau to order a car with a driver and two Gestapo men to pick him up. He got dressed and went to the hotel kitchen to beg half a dozen warm croissants, which he wrapped in a linen napkin. Then he went out into the cool of the early morning. The towers of the cathedral were silvered by the breaking dawn. One of the fast Citro‰ns favored by the Gestapo was waiting.
He gave the driver the address of the Moulier place. He found Hans lurking in a warehouse doorway fifty meters along the street. No one had come or gone all night, Hans said, so Michel must still be inside. Dieter told his driver to wait around the next corner, then stood with Hans, sharing the croissants and watching the sun come up over the roofs of the city.
They had a long wait. Dieter fought to control his impatience as the minutes and hours ticked away uselessly. The loss of Stephanie weighed on his heart, but he had recovered from the immediate shock, and he had regained his interest in the war. He thought of the Allied forces massing somewhere in the south or east of England, shiploads of men and tanks eager to turn the quiet seaside towns of northern France into battlefields. He thought of the French saboteurs- armed to the teeth thanks to parachute drops of guns, ammunition, and explosives-ready to attack the German defenders from behind, to stab them in the back and fatally cramp Rommel’s ability to maneuver. He felt foolish and impotent, standing in a doorway in Reims, waiting for an amateur terrorist to finish his breakfast. Today, perhaps, he would be led into the very heart of the Resistance-but all he had was hope.
It was after nine o’clock when the front door opened.
“At last,” Dieter breathed. He moved back from the sidewalk, making himself inconspicuous. Hans put out his cigarette.
Michel came out of the building accompanied by a boy of about seventeen, who, Dieter guessed, might be a son of Moulier. The lad keyed a padlock and opened the gates of the yard. In the yard was a clean black van with white lettering on the side that read Moulier Fils-Viandes. Michel got in.
Dieter was electrified. Michel was borrowing a meat delivery van. It had to be for the Jackdaws. “Let’s go!” he said.
Hans hurried to his motorcycle, which was parked at the curb, and stood with his back to the road, pretending to fiddle with the engine. Dieter ran to the corner, signaled the Gestapo driver to start the car, then watched Michel.