Grannit hesitated. “Let me see what I can do.”
Grannit left the room, and walked right past Moran and his men. “I gotta take a piss.”
He went across the hall into the room where Ole Carlson was examining Schmidt’s documents.
“These forgeries are high-quality,” said Carlson. “I can’t find a single fault that gives ’em away-”
Grannit leaned in and whispered, “Come into the other room. Wait for my signal after I go back in with Schmidt, then buy me a minute alone with him.”
Carlson’s eyes went wide, and he followed Grannit back into the observation room where the CIC officers had congregated, keeping an eye on Schmidt through the window. Grannit lit a cigarette.
“So?” asked Moran, in a foul mood. “Is he bullshitting us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’re through fucking around with this asshole. If he’s got something, let him put it on the table.”
“I’ve got a good sense of this man, Major. We need to work him carefully-”
“Yeah, well, he can go fuck himself. I think he’s full of shit, I think he’s bluffing-”
“I respectfully disagree-”
“Well, who made you the fucking expert?”
“Colonel Otto Skorzeny put their unit together,” said Grannit. “That name means something to you college graduates, doesn’t it? You think Hitler sent them over here to play patty-cake?”
“So take a billy club and beat it out of him. That’s how the NYPD likes to work, isn’t it? Or do you prefer a rubber hose?”
Grannit pulled his sidearm and chambered a round. “Why don’t I just pump bullets into him until he comes clean. You want to give me your okeydokey on that, Major? I’ll make him confess to the fucking Lincoln assassination if that does the trick for you. Is that how you want to utilize our only asset?”
“You’ve got five minutes,” said Moran.
Grannit stubbed out his cigarette on the doorjamb and walked back into the interrogation room. He sat down, glanced back at the one-way window, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Seeing that signal, Ole Carlson stepped into the room, stumbled over somebody’s foot, and spilled his coffee all over Major Moran’s trousers. During the confusion that followed, Grannit leaned forward and switched off the hidden microphone under the table.
“Okay, Karl, I got you your deal, let’s hear it,” said Grannit.
“They won’t prosecute me as a spy, they’ll treat me like any other prisoner of war?”
“You have my word on it.”
Schmidt leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands on the table, shoulders heaving with emotion. Grannit guessed he had less than a minute before the CIC smart-asses rushed in to turn the microphone back on.
“Save it for your family reunion, Karl, we’re short on time. Now, you’re going to have to ride along on those patrols we talked about; I told them you agreed to that-”
“Yes, of course-”
“And this whole thing stays between me, you, and the officer in charge, because it’s against regulations. You can’t mention it, even to him when they all pile in here, okay?”
Schmidt lifted his head up from the table. “Yes.”
“What was your second objective?”
Grannit reached down and turned the hidden microphone back on.
“After the first two days,” said Schmidt, “we are supposed to move south. Into France.”
“How many men?”
Schmidt didn’t blink. He reasoned that if he exaggerated the scope of the threat, he had a better chance at clemency, and that the right lie might save his life.
“All of us,” said Schmidt. “Eighty men. The entire company of Skorzeny’s commandos. We’re to meet in Reims on the nineteenth, at a cinema, then move south to Paris.”
“What’s in Paris?”
“We rendezvous at the Café de la Paix with our local support and then move on Versailles. That’s our objective.”
“What is?”
“To attack Allied headquarters command.”
Grannit felt his throat tighten.
“And to kill General Eisenhower.”
19
VIII Corps HQ, Bastogne, Belgium
DECEMBER 18, 7:00 A.M.
Jesus Christ, take a look at this.”
The telex operator ripped off the printed cable and held it out to the radioman next to him before Bernie could read it.
“Holy shit.”
The corporal’s reaction drew Von Leinsdorf’s attention, and he stepped toward them, taking a look at it before Bernie did. He handed it back to the corporal, then smiled at Bernie.
“Read it, Corporal,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“Let me have your attention!” The corporal stood up on his chair and read it out loud. “First Army HQ, emergency override alert for all units in Belgium, Luxembourg, and Holland. Be aware that squads of German commandos in American uniform, driving American vehicles, are operating in combat zone behind Allied lines-”
Bernie froze in place. The room quieted and soldiers gathered around them as the message continued.
“Be also warned brigade strength force disguised as same, equipped with Sherman tanks and mobile artillery, believed to be somewhere in the field, details to follow-”
Excitement radiated out around them. The corporal rushed the cable toward the CO’s desk. News of the bulletin ripped through the room, generating an uproar.
Bernie backed up against the wall, out of traffic, trying to make himself invisible. He caught Von Leinsdorf’s eye. Von Leinsdorf tilted his head toward the door and Bernie started toward the exit. A couple of HQ staff sergeants ahead of them looked like they were trying to stop people from leaving and to organize a stronger watch on the door. Von Leinsdorf grabbed one by the arm.
“Christ, can you fucking believe this?” asked Von Leinsdorf.
“I believe they’d do anything.”
“But how are we gonna know the difference? How can we tell these fuckers apart? Nazis wearing our uniforms, what if they’re standing right in front of us?”
“We’ll know, sir. They can’t pull something like this off.”
“Jesus, I hope you’re right. Station men here, check IDs coming in and out. We’ve got to secure our perimeter, get word to the MPs, let’s jump on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sergeant hurried off. Von Leinsdorf grabbed Bernie behind the elbow, guiding him through the door. “Keep walking. Don’t stop.”
The MPs outside were just hearing the news. Von Leinsdorf barked at them, “CO needs you men inside, double time, move, move, move.”
The news radiated out in front of them, jumping from man to man. Bernie kept waiting for someone to notice them, stop them, put an end to it, and some part of him half wished it would happen. As they reached the street, another artillery barrage began and lit up the morning sky, shells stepping progressively closer to the village.
“They caught one of us,” said Von Leinsdorf. “Probably one of the scout teams.”
“How much do you think they know?”
“Their alert didn’t mention the Second Objective. So we keep going.”
“To where?”
“Reims, France,” said Von Leinsdorf.
“What are we doing there?”
“In Reims? We’re going to the movies.”
They turned the corner and saw an MP in the parking area examining the unit numbers on their jeep. Bernie saw Von Leinsdorf’s hand move toward his belt as they approached.
“Corporal, what are you standing there for? Don’t you know what’s happening?” asked Von Leinsdorf.
“You from Twelfth Army, sir?” asked the MP.
“That’s right,” said Von Leinsdorf, climbing aboard and signaling Bernie to get in and drive, as he held up the document tube. “And we’re heading back there now, got to get these to the Old Man.”
The MP put a hand out and stopped Bernie from starting the jeep. “Where’d you come in from?”