Himmler's War-ARC (40 page)

When Jessica arrived, Mrs. Turnbull waved her into her small and tidy office. “Things are changing, Jessica, I need to ask you some questions regarding your future with us.”

Jessica tried to keep from showing her surprise. Had she done something wrong? She did not want to be sent back in disgrace especially since she couldn’t think of anything she might have done, or anyone she might have offended. Had the situation with Monique and her thieving boyfriend come to haunt her?

Turnbull continued. “Because of all the fighting in and around Paris, it’s been decided that we’re going to break up into smaller parts and get out of here. Tell me, do you have any problems dealing with Germans?”

“Not really,” she said, relieved. “I guess we all knew the time would come when we would have German refugees. I’m just a little surprised that you’re inferring that the time is now. I guess I should have realized it since we conquered the Rhineland.”

“Correct. We are moving a group of our people into the suburbs of the occupied German city of Aachen. The city itself is pretty well ruined, but I’ve been informed that there are suitable places on the outskirts and in suburbs just outside the city. We believe it is far enough from the Rhine to be safe and, incredibly enough, its being in Germany might just render it safer than France. At least we won’t have DeGaulle and the communists fighting each other to contend with.”

“Indeed,” Jessica said.

Turnbull grinned. “And you’ll be several hundred miles closer to your paramour.”

Jessica laughed. “He isn’t my paramour, at least not yet.”

“I realize this will cause some complications, so take the rest of the day off, pay your bills, and get packed. Inform your roommate, Monique, that I’ll help her get situated once you leave, and I’d like you to leave as quickly as possible. By the way, you’ll be heading up a section there, so take one of our cars. You’ll need it in Aachen.”

Jessica took the long way home, electing to visit her uncle, who was also glad she was leaving Paris and then informed her that much of SHAEF was also heading for Aachen instead of Rheims, France, as originally planned. A token office would remain in Paris to keep French honor satisfied, but again there was the irony that it was safer with former Nazi enemies than with French allies as the civil war raged. There had been no serious fighting in Paris for the past several days, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t flare up in an instant. Nor would her Red Cross uniform necessarily protect her. A number of innocent bystanders had been swept up in the fighting and several had been killed.

Tom Granville could tell her little about the progress of the war except the obvious—everything was on hold because of the winter weather. “Not exactly a military secret,” he said.

Nor could he tell her anything about FDR’s health since he didn’t know, a question everyone wanted answered. FDR was alive and apparently improving, but how healthy was he? It was becoming as obvious as the bad weather that his health problems went far beyond his contracting a simple case of the flu.

Her uncle did say that it was possible that GI’s would be given leave time. “Until then,” he said, “I don’t think we can pull that chewing out trick again to bring young Captain Morgan to you.”

Jessica was in good spirits as she arrived at the apartment. Being in charge of a group would be better than just being a clerk. She was confident she could handle the job and the fact that it would bring her closer to Jack was a legitimate bonus. The only difficulty she foresaw was telling Monique that she’d have to find a new place to stay. She hoped Mrs. Turnbull really could help her out, but, if she couldn’t, then there always was the women’s barracks.

Jessica turned the knob and entered. A hand clamped down on her mouth and she was thrown to the floor, knocking the wind out of her. Strong arms grabbed her and tied her hands behind her back, and a cloth was stuffed into her mouth. She was dragged into her bedroom and thrown onto the bed.

Jessica blinked. She thought she might have blacked out for an instant. Her chest hurt from where she’d slammed into the floor, but the pain was receding. She looked around and saw Monique looking down on her. Standing beside her was Monique’s former lover, Charley Boyle.

“You idiot,” Monique said to her. “Why did you have to come home now? Promise you won’t scream and I’ll remove the gag.”

Jessica nodded and her mouth was freed. Monique gave her a glass of water but did not untie her.

“I guess you two are back together again,” Jessica said dryly. “But what about Charley’s status with the army? He’s still a thief and a deserter, isn’t he?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Monique said, “except that I’m going with him.”

“Why?”

Monique shrugged. “Because I love him, and he takes care of me. You should also know that I’ve been his banker regarding all the things he’s taken and sold. We hid twenty thousand dollars in the attic of this building, and now the two of us will take it and disappear. That kind of money will last a long time and give us a good start on a new life.”

Charley laughed harshly. “It’s not like we have a choice. The French cops and the MP’s are looking for me along with some of my associates. Seems that some of the penicillin I sold turned out to have gone bad and now they want their money back. I didn’t know it had to be stored carefully.”

Jessica was stunned. Had bad medicine killed GI’s? She had another thought. “Monique, but what about your son?”

Charley roared. “What son? Did you ever see him? That was all made up by Monique get your sympathy. And don’t worry about my fat wife and her dumb kids back home in the States. They can go screw themselves blind for all I care.”

Jessica sadly admitted to herself that she had never seen Monique’s son. She just assumed he existed because Monique said he did.

Even Monique laughed. “I used that story to make you feel sorry for me and give me a job. I never dreamed it would work out as well as it has. Before I found you and Charley, I was a prostitute, and, yes, I did sleep with Germans. This war has provided me with a lot of opportunities and I’m taking them.”

Jessica sagged. She had been a complete fool. Monique had lied to her from the moment she first opened her mouth. But what would happen to her now? She was tied up and helpless. Where they planning to kill her? After all, she knew all about them. But did she? She had no idea where they were going and what identities they might use.

“Don’t worry,” Monique said. “We’ll leave you here, unharmed. The police probably know more about us than you do, so there’s really nothing you can tell them except the obvious, that we’ve gone away. We’ll disappear, change our names, and move on, right Charley?”

Charley grinned. She felt even more uncomfortable the way he was looking down at her. “That’s right, baby.”

Monique patted her on the cheek. “Killing you is not only unnecessary, but something neither of us wants to do. Stealing is one thing, murder another. Consider yourself lucky, though. By the way, thank you for bringing that car with the Red Cross on it. It’ll solve a lot of problems. We’ll load it up and drive off and then simply disappear. Nobody will stop a Red Cross car.”

With that she took a suitcase and left Charley to watch her. For the first time, she noticed a .45 automatic in the back of his belt. His expression changed and he glared at her.

“Y’know, I’ve always hated people like you. Rich bitches, officer’s kids, officer’s pussy. People like you don’t even notice enlisted men, no matter how many stripes I have or how much experience I have. We’re just part of the furniture to you.”

“Not true. I’ve always respected you.”

“Bullshit. You tolerated me. You know what else I hate? Teenage lieutenants giving me orders, that’s what. Some of those young pricks are still in diapers, yet they’re in charge. Ain’t right. Used to be the army was for men, not for little kids.”

He stood over her and leered. “Here’s something to remember me by.”

He put the rag back in her mouth and then tore her blouse apart. He pulled her bra over her breasts and she whimpered from the pain.

“Not bad,” he said, fondling them as she tried to pull away.

Charley laughed and pushed her slacks down and pulled her thighs apart. His hand slid inside her panties and began pawing her, hurting her.

Monica returned and pushed him aside. “Damn you, Charley, we don’t have time for that. Take these packages and get down to that car.”

Boyle laughed and did as instructed. Monique took the gag partway from Jessica’s mouth. “You’ll be able to spit it out in a bit. Then you can scream your little heart out and someone will probably find you before dark. Either that or you can crawl out the door and someone’s bound to see you. Sorry it had to end this way, but that’s life.”

Monique disappeared out the door. Jessica lay there, working the gag. A moment later, she heard screams and the sound of popping. What now?

The door opened and an American MP entered, his gun drawn. “Oh shit,” he said on seeing her. He threw a blanket over her and checked the other room, finally holstering his weapon. He took a knife and cut her bonds.

“What is happening?” Jessica asked, anxiously as she rearranged her clothing under the blanket. Another man entered and she recognized him as Major Harmon, one of the Provost Marshal types who’d questioned her before. She heard the unique squeal of Parisian sirens coming from the street below.

“Sorry this had to happen, Miss Granville,” said Harmon, “but we we’ve been watching this place for several weeks and were about ready to rush in when we saw Boyle. But then we saw you go in and wondered what the hell was going on.”

“You thought I was part of it?” she said, clutching the blanket closer.

“Yep. Not anymore though.”

Jessica stood and took a deep breath. She made it down the stairs without help, even though she thought she knew what she would find.

Monique lay on the floor by the door. A medic was treating her for gunshot wounds in her chest and leg. Monique’s face was pale, her eyes unfocused and rolled back in her head.

Jessica felt unsteady and Major Harmon took her arm. “She actually pulled a pistol on us,” he said. “If she lives, she’ll spend a long time in a French jail, maybe forever. Not so for Boyle.”

Charley Boyle lay on his back on the sidewalk. A cloth covered his face. Blood had poured from wounds in his skull and run down the sidewalk and into the gutter.

“He could have surrendered,” said the OPMG officer. “But I guess he couldn’t abide the thought of spending the rest of his life in a federal prison. Tough.”

What a waste, she thought. Charley’s family was destroyed and Monique would spend much, if not all of her life in prison, assuming she recovered.

* * *

Harry Truman took the oath of office as Vice President in FDR’s residence in the White House on Saturday, January 20, 1945. Eleanor was present, looking even more somber and gloomy than she usually did. Fewer than a dozen dignitaries were present at the low-key event. All plans for a gala were cancelled. The public was informed that the President was too ill to attend, although he was steadily improving. After the swearing in, Truman wondered if the poor man was alive enough to be cognizant of where he was and what was happening.

Chief Justice Stone administered the oath to the four-term President. FDR did not speak. He merely nodded to questions regarding whether he would preserve and protect the Constitution. His eyes were glassy and his breath was shallow. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was gray. This is a farce, Truman thought.

On the way out of the White House, Truman was intercepted by the departing Vice President, Henry Wallace.

“Best wishes, Harry, and I hope you are better prepared to step in than I was. At least Franklin lived long enough to prevent me from becoming President, which I think was one of his goals. I don’t think he will accomplish that regarding you.”

Nor do I,
Truman thought.

“By the way, Harry, I understand there’s a strategy meeting tomorrow morning at ten in the Executive Office Building. Have you been invited?”

Truman bristled. He had not. What the hell had happened to the idea that he would be informed and involved? He would see about that.

Promptly at ten the next morning, the uninvited Truman strode forcefully into the conference room. He loved the look of surprise on everyone’s faces. “What is the problem, gentlemen? Or had you forgotten I existed and, more important, that I am the Vice President who will shortly become President and commander in chief?”

Jim Byrnes responded angrily. “That’s presumptuous, Harry. Franklin’s still alive.”

“Is he?” Truman retorted. “Yesterday, a breathing corpse began his fourth term as President. He was barely present at the occasion. Was he conscious, or was somebody pulling his strings like he was a puppet? And since when did we use a Ouija Board to determine presidential responses?”

Byrnes stood and glared, his face was turning red as his Irish temper showed. “That is disgusting and I demand an apology.”

Truman returned his glare. “And I demand one for being ignored. Who the hell decided not to include me, Franklin or you people?”

Truman looked at those assembled. Along with Byrnes were Marshall, Admiral King, and the secretaries of defense and navy. No one answered, although he thought he detected quiet amusement in the eyes of the unflappable Marshall.

“Gentlemen,” Truman continued, “with the exception of me, no one in this room is elected to public office. Therefore, no one besides me is entitled to run this nation.”

“You’re forgetting that FDR still lives,” Byrnes said softly. His choler was receding.

“Once again, does he? Gentlemen, I’ll give you a most unpleasant choice. You immediately accept the fact that I am the surrogate President, or I will go to federal court tomorrow and file suit alleging that Roosevelt is mentally incompetent and unable to serve as President.”

“Justice Stone will put a stop to that,” Byrnes said, but he was clearly uneasy at the prospect. Just what would the Chief Justice really do? Chief Justice Stone was a law unto himself. Nobody knew for certain what he would decide. Besides, he thought, Truman had a point. Was FDR mentally competent or not? Why the devil was the Constitution so silent on the question of a disabled president?