Then he walked back and forth between the compartment door and the window until he could detect no more “loose” water slopping around.
His socks and feet were still wet, and now they seemed to grow cold.
The train began to slow. It was the scheduled stop at Offenburg.
He opened the window. People were streaming from the train for the station.
It’s piss-call time!
He took Reber’s suitcases from the rack, adjusted the brimmed cap on his head at an angle appropriate for a young lieutenant of the SS-SD, and picked up the suitcases and left the train.
He was disappointed when he got inside the station. There were long lines before the rest rooms, and there didn’t seem to be any other place he could “forget” the suitcases. He made a circle of the crowded waiting room and started for the train.
“Watch it, please, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer!” a voice called, and Furmar looked over his shoulder and saw two workmen pulling a station cart loaded with luggage and packages. Fulmar stepped out of the way and then, taking the chance, added Reber’s suitcases to their load.
Wherever they were going, it would take them some hours to find they had two suitcases more than they were supposed to, and several hours more before they did anything about them. He followed the baggage cart onto the platform and stood watching it for a moment. The handlers pulled it all the way down the platform past his train, then crossed the tracks behind it.
Feeling very pleased with himself, he boarded the train again.
From the aisle, he could see what had happened to the luggage cart. It was standing under a sign, “Tuttlingen/Mengen/Neu-Ulm.” It would be at least a day before someone asked questions about it there.
By then, for sure, they would have discovered the Gestapo agent’s body anyway, and the shit would begin to hit the fan.
When the train was moving again, he went into the compartment.
There were two people in it, two middle-aged men who looked like bureaucrats.
“Heil Hitler!” they said, almost in unison.
Fulmar raised his hand from the elbow, answering the salute, but did not speak.
He had a choice now. The remaining suitcase was empty and could not be tied to him. He could leave it, claim it, or leave and come back later and claim it.
It was time to eat. There were ration cards with his identification, but Baker had told him to avoid using them if at all possible because they could not positively guarantee they would be accepted.
The “suggested solution” was to offer money in lieu of the coupons.
He would order something to drink. If there were ration coupons required for that, a young officer could credibly be expected to ask for them without coupons. All they could say was no. Then he could watch the others in the dining car and see how they handled the ration coupons for food.
He would tip generously for the drink, or drinks, make it clear to the waiter that he had plenty of money.
Both alcohol and food proved to be simple. They had only wine, and he had two glasses, tipping generously each time. He saw that there was food, but that ration coupons were necessary in advance.
When he ordered the third glass of wine, he looked up at the waiter and smiled.
“What is a hungry man to do?”
“If he has coupons, he eats,” the waiter said.
“Will these coupons be all right?” Fulmar asked, holding up a couple of bills folded tightly.
The waiter looked at him for a moment, then took the money in a smooth movement.
“I believe we can take care of the Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,” he said.
What he got a few minutes later was two slices of dark bread, between them a slice of salami.
Six days before, Fulmar thought, he had been disappointed because there was only ham and roast beef for sandwiches at Whitbey House, some sonofabitch had eaten all the turkey.
FOUR] Fulmar stayed in the dining car for an hour, until the train had stopped at and left Strassburg.
The waiter had not seated anyone else at his table, and that eliminated the necessity (and the risk) of carrying on a conversation.