Dieter made Michel walk the length of the train, slowly, showing him the numbers of prisoners and the scale of their suffering. “The plane,” he said again.
Michel said, “The field outside La Chatelle, at three a.m.”
Dieter was almost certain that was false. Flick had been scheduled to arrive at La Chatelle seventy-two hours ago but had aborted the landing, presumably because she suspected a Gestapo trap. Dieter knew there was a backup landing place, because Gaston had told him so; but Gaston had known only its code name, Champ d’Or, not its location. Michel, however, would know the exact place. “You’re lying,” Dieter said.
“Then put me on the train,” Michel replied.
Dieter shook his head. “That’s not the choice-nothing so easy.”
He saw puzzlement and the shadow of fear in Michel’s eyes.
Dieter walked him back and stopped at the women’s car. Their feminine voices begged in French and German, some invoking the pity of God, others asking the men to think of their mothers and sisters, a few offering sexual favors. Michel bowed his head, refusing to look.
Dieter beckoned to two figures standing in the shadows.
Michel looked up, and a terrible dread came over his face.
Hans Hesse walked out of the shadows, escorting a young woman. She might have been beautiful, but her face was ghastly white, her hair lay in greasy strands, and she had sores on her lips. She seemed weak, walking with difficulty.
It was Gilberte.
Michel gasped.
Dieter repeated his question. “Where will the plane land, and when?”
Michel said nothing.
Dieter said, “Put her on the train.”
Michel moaned.
A guard opened the gate of a cattle car. While two others kept the women in with bayonets, the guard pushed Gilberte into the car. “No,” she cried. “No, please!”
The guard was about to close the gate, but Dieter said, “Wait.” He looked at Michel. Tears were pouring down the man’s face.
Gilberte said, “Please, Michel, I beg you.” Michel nodded. “All right,” he said.
“Don’t lie again,” Dieter warned.
“Let her out.”
“The time and place.”
“The potato field east of Laroque, at two a.m.”
Dieter looked at his watch. It was twelve-fifteen. “Show me,” he said.
Paul said, “I’m single.” He looked at Flick.
She shook her head. “I intended to ask Michel for a divorce… but how could I, in the middle of an operation?”
“So we’ll wait until after the war to get married,” Paul said. “I’m patient.”
‘typical man, Flick thought. He slips marriage into the conversation like a minor detail, on a level with buying a dog license. So much for romance.
But in truth she was pleased. It was the second time he had mentioned marriage. Who needs romance? she thought.
She looked at her watch. It was one-thirty. “lime to go,” she said.
Dieter had commandeered a Mercedes limousine that had been outside the chƒteau grounds and so had survived the explosion. The car was now parked at the edge of the vineyard next to the potato field at Laroque, camouflaged with leafy vines torn from the ground. Michel and Gilberte were in the backseat, bound hand and foot, guarded by Hans.
Dieter also had with him the two corporals, each armed with a rifle. Dieter and the riflemen looked into the potato field. They could see clearly in the moonlight.
Dieter said, “The terrorists will be here in the next few minutes. We have the advantage of surprise. They have no idea that we’re here. But remember, I must have them alive-especially the leader, the small woman. You have to shoot to wound, not kill.”
One of the marksmen said, “We can’t guarantee that. This field must be three hundred meters wide. Let’s say the enemy is a hundred and fifty meters away. At that distance, no one could be sure of hitting the legs of a running man.”
“They won’t be running,” Dieter said. “They’re meeting a plane. They have to form a line, pointing electric torches at the aircraft to guide the pilot down. That means they’ll be standing still for several minutes.”
“In the middle of the field?”
“Yes.”
The man nodded. “Then we can do it.” He looked up. “Unless the moon goes behind a cloud.”