He had never spoken so directly of his feelings about the future that Hitler envisioned for Germany, although Victoria had come to believe that he did not share the maniac’s delusion. But was the colonel’s blunt, seditious opinion meant to put her off guard? She studied him in silence for a moment until the peace and quiet were suddenly shattered by the roar of a motor engine racing up the road toward the folly. They turned to see, skimming along the border of hedgerows, an SS staff car with its red-and-black Nazi flag whipping from the antennae and its back seat occupied by two uniformed officers. Victoria went numb. She should have known. They had come for her. This had all been a game.

“Let’s go,” the colonel ordered tersely and gripped her arm. One of the car’s passengers, a major, hurriedly disembarked from the vehicle and came flapping toward them in his leather coat. They met halfway. The usual stiff-armed salutes and Heil Hitlers were exchanged, and the major, grim-faced, glanced toward Victoria. In German he asked, “May I speak freely, Herr Colonel?”

“Yes, my companion does not comprehend German.”

There followed a rapid trade of questions and answers while Victoria, limp with relief, stepped away from the men to admire the view but within hearing range of their conversation, unaware that she was recording every word of crucial intel they spoke. After a while, the colonel broke off from the major and stepped to Victoria. “My deepest apologies, mademoiselle,” he said in French, “but we must get back to Paris immediately. An emergency has arisen.”

“A pity,” she said. “I was so looking forward to the fried chicken.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Monday afternoon of the following week, November 16, as Louis Mueller was preparing to leave for the day, he heard the outer door of the Sorbonne bang open and the loud rush of feet toward the entrance of the staff offices. Startled before he had time to become frightened, Louis popped up from his desk at the appearance of three men wearing the slouch hats and ankle-length black cowhide coats of the German Gestapo charging into the school facility. One spotted the astonished Louis in his glass-enclosed office and led the march through his door to confront the sports director, who was staring at them openmouthed. The Gestapo spokesman held an envelope in his hand.

“Herr Louis Mueller?”

Louis swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“You’re under arrest for sodomy!”

Louis’s face bloomed a tomato red. “What?”

Chris and the other instructors who had not yet left for the day peered out their cubicle doors to investigate the source of the disturbance. The leader of the black-coated pack slapped the envelope onto the sports director’s desk. “Are you the man in these photos?”

Eyes bulging, cheeks pulsing like bellows, Louis picked up the envelope and slowly withdrew a number of photographs. He nodded meekly. “Yes.”

“Come with me!”