Hanging on

Beckmann's broad face was set like a lump of concrete. “You know little about the Schutzstaffeln, Father Picard. I have but fifteen men with me — however, each one is tougher, more dedicated, more battle-hardened than any five other troopers the Third Reich commands.” He looked at Rotenhausen and cracked a concrete smile. “Present company excepted, of course.” To Kelly, he said, “My men will sleep out by the side of the road with the rest of the convoy. If rain should come, it will not perturb them, Father.”

Major Kelly twisted his hat and hoped that the meager light from the two large kerosene lanterns would not reveal the immense relief that must be evident in his face. Yesterday, he had decided that it would be best to offer the krauts shelter in order not to seem suspiciously secretive about the town's houses and schools. Of course, had either Rotenhausen or Beckmann accepted the offer, the hoax would have fallen down like a village of cards. In this respect, their personal feud and the interservice rivalry between the SS and the Wehrmacht had worked to Kelly's advantage. Neither wanted himself or his men to appear weak and soft in the other's eyes. And thus far, neither bad mentioned the necessity for a building-to-building search. They were so involved in their reciprocal hatreds that they might actually blunder through this whole long night without even suspecting the secreted enemy around them.

Kelly almost smiled at this thought — and then realized that he was indulging in hope. The deadly disease. If you hoped, you died. It was that simple, but he had forgotten. He began to tremble twice as badly as he had done, scared witless.

Rotenhausen took a pipe from his shirt pocket, a thin tin of tobacco from his trousers. As he prepared his pipe, he stared at the top of Beckmann's head and discussed the procedure for standing down the convoy until dawn. “The Panzers should be parked on both sides of the road, at least twenty feet between them. Likewise, the trucks and artillery wagons. Only the 88 mm guns and the antiaircraft kliegs should remain on the road where they have a good base for counterattack in the event of a raid. No vehicles will be pulled into St. Ignatius; there is no need to jeopardize nuns and deaf-mutes.” He finished tamping the tobacco. “We will post guards at all the intersections. Two-hour watches. Would you care to commit any of your men to this enterprise, Standartenfuhrer?”

“Certainly, Kamerad,” Beckmann said. He propped his jackboots on a small table before the sofa. “We will take responsibility for the bridge.”

“Good enough,” Rotenhausen said. He looked past Kelly at the two Wehrmacht junior officers who waited by the hall door. In German, he gave them orders for the bedding down of the convoy.

Even while Rotenhausen was speaking, Beckmann gave his stone-faced aides their orders for the establishment of an all-night guard patrol on the bridge.

One Wehrmacht soldier left, and one remained.

One Schutzstaffeln man left, and one remained.

Major Kelly, standing in the middle of it all, sweating profusely and methodically destroying his hat, thought that this was like some complex game of chess in which real men were the pieces. Clearly, the rules were elaborate.

Having lighted his pipe, puffing calmly on it, the warm bowl gripped in one hand so tightly that it betrayed his studied nonchalance, General Rotenhausen said, “Father Picard, with your kind permission, I will have my aide start a fire in the kitchen stove and heat some water for my bath.”

“Certainly! Be my guest, General, sir,” Kelly said in mediocre French. “But first—” He sighed. He knew this might precipitate disaster, but he said, “My people will be wanting to get back to their beds. Could you tell me when you will want to search the village?”

Rotenhausen took his pipe from his mouth. Smoke rose between his lips. “Search the town, Father? But whatever for?”

Kelly cleared his throat. “I am quite aware that not all Frenchmen are as uncommitted in this war as those in St. Ignatius. I would understand if you wished to search for partisans.”

“But you have no partisans here, do you?” Rotenhausen asked, taking a few short steps from the stone fireplace, halving the distance between them.

“This is chiefly a religious community,” Kelly said. Remembering how convincing Maurice could be when he was lying, Kelly clutched at his heart. “God forbid that the Holy Church ever take sides in an earthly conflict of this sort.”

Rotenhausen smiled, stuck his pipe between his teeth again. He spoke around the slender stem. “You call this village St. Ignatius?”

“Yes, sir,” Kelly said.

“And how many people live here, did you say?”

Beckmann sat on the sofa, watching, face expressionless.

Major Kelly could not see the purpose in Rotenhausen's asking questions to which he already had the answers. But he responded anyway. “Less than two hundred souls, sir.”

“And the town is built around a convent of some sort?” Rotenhausen asked, smiling and nodding encouragingly.

He did not look like a man who would lead a backwoods French priest into a deadly admission and then blow his head off with four shots from a Luger. Nevertheless, he must be dealt with cautiously.

“The convent was here first,” Kelly said, cautiously. “The deaf came to be taught. Then the mute. Then deaf-mutes. Other sisterhoods established nunneries here to help with the work. The church was built. Then the store. A few of the laity moved in, built homes, seeking the calm and peacefulness of a religious community.” Kelly felt that his knees were melting. In a minute he was going to be writhing helplessly on the floor.

Rotenhausen took his pipe from his mouth and thrust it at Major Kelly. “To tell you the truth, Father, I would like to search your village.”

Kelly almost swayed, almost passed out.

“However,” the general continued, “I believe it would be a waste of time and effort. My men are weary, Father Picard. And they will soon be expected to fight the Allies. They need what rest they can get.” He put the pipe in his mouth and spoke around it. “Furthermore, the Reich is currently in no position to make an enemy of the Catholic Church. If we were to pry through nunneries and church schools looking for partisans, we would only help to force Rome into taking sides, and we would buy even more bad publicity for the German people.”

Behind Rotenhausen, Standartenfuhrer Beckmann had gotten to his feet. Lantern light caught the polish on his leather belt, glittered in the death's head insignia on his cap and shoulders. He was an evil, black Frankenstein, his white face slightly twisted, half cloaked in shadows.

Kelly felt sure that Beckmann was going to disagree with the general. He was going to say the search should be held. Then everyone would die. Bang. Bang, bang, bang. The end.

But that was not what Beckmann had in mind. “Perhaps General Rotenhausen has given you the impression that Germany has, in the past, done the wrong thing and that, as a consequence, our country now suffers from a poor image in the rest of the world. I must set you straight, Father. Germany follows the dictates of the Fuhrer, and it makes no mistakes.” He smiled at Rotenhausen. “There is no need to search St. Ignatius, because the Catholic Church is no enemy of the Reich. Oh, at times, a few of your bishops have acted unwisely. But for the most part, you people have remained neutral. Why, even Himmler is of your faith, Father. Did you know?”

“I didn't know,” Kelly murmured.

Standartenfuhrer Beckmann's voice rose as he spoke. “Whether or not a search of St. Ignatius would generate bad publicity for the Reich is purely academic. The main reason we need not hold a search is that — you are all Catholics here. Christians. And that means you are not Jews.” Beckmann's voice had taken on a strange, chilling urgency. His face was strained, his eyes wild. “The Jews are Germany's only enemies, Father Picard. The Jews, Mischlingen, and subhumans are the threat to the race's perfection. When the world is Judenrein, then this war will end, and everyone will see that the Fuhrer was correct!” He was breathing heavily now. “Free of Jews! How good the world will then be! And your great church recognizes this, Father Picard. It remains neutral. It is no ally of the Reich, but neither is it an enemy.”