Stile Maus (18 page)

‘According to this the case is locked with a state of the art locking mechanism that will also act as a demolition tool in the case of an emergency,’

Tobias stooped a look over from the seat of his armchair. 

‘To unlock the case you must input this code,’ Howard said, tapping his finger upon the page, ‘in the event where the documentation inside may be compromised a trigger can be activated, destroying the entire case and its contents within.’ 

‘A little farfetched,’ Tobias said with a sip of champagne.

‘I’m not sure you understand the sheer importance of keeping this mission completely covert,’ replied Howard, ‘the way Major Anaheim was going on I wouldn’t be surprised if the Fuhrer himself was out of the loop.’

Tobias shrugged.

‘Here,’ Howard said, prompting the case into the actor’s hands, ‘you see the two latch buttons on either side of the combination slots?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you set the combination to
7774
and then press down on both latches this tiny bomb will be triggered and a timer will begin.  You will only have a few seconds before it lets off a small explosion.’

Tobias studied the slab of explosives within.  A bundle of corded wire hugged the inside panels.  Inside lay an assortment of further documentation, stamped papers and a thick wad of Francs bundled together within a stretch of green card.  A brown envelope had been tucked into one of the lids two pockets. 

‘And what’s this?’ Tobias enquired.

‘That my boy is the tools that will help us recreate Tobias
Vilsmaier and turn him into...’ Howard shook off a puzzled look and consulted the folder once more before nodding, ‘... Captain Niklaus Linder, a highly ranked officer of the Luftwaffe.  Your back story is that you were injured during a training exercise and have since been grounded for the foreseeable future, hence your participation in this operation.’      

Tobias familiarised himself with the concept of his new name by swilling it around with another sip of champagne.     

‘Finish that off and see how the uniform fits,’ Howard requested, ‘we don’t want you running around Paris with sleeves down to your knees.’

Tobias adjusted the link on his cuffs and took a comb to his hair.  The uniform filled the mirror.  The shoulders were broad and decorated in tassels that hung from a tier of black velvet and his chest sparkled with an array of glimmering medals.  He ran his fingers across the fine material.  Each pocket had been closed with a polished golden button.  The trousers were black and sleek, draping just above a pair of finely made shoes.  A door opened and Howard entered, a smile developing upon his face as soon as he saw the actor in his newly acquired attire.         

‘That’s it my boy,’ he boomed.  In his hand he held the brown envelope that had been in the briefcase and he set it down upon a tall dresser by the mirror.  Intrigued to see what was inside Tobias edged forwards and delved a hand inside.  A pair of glasses came first, a leather pouch second.  He set the rounded spectacles over the bridge of his nose and then unfastened the flap of the pouch. 

‘Who knew the Gestapo had a sense of humour,’ he said, finding it hard not to split a smile.     

A ladder of moustaches toppled down to his waist.  Howard grinned.

‘What are you waiting for my boy?’

Tobias peeled away the backing of the first disguise and set it beneath his nose.  He looked into the mirror and his forged moustache crinkled over a nervous smile.  He barely recognised the man stood before him.  His hand met the gun belt wrapped around his waist and he unsheathed an imaginary pistol and pointed it at his reflection.  Bang.  Bang.  Bang.  Howard came to his shoulder.

‘Let this be your greatest performance yet,’ he said.    

He reached the lobby and requested that the receptionist put him through to the commanding officer at the western barracks.  A deep voice greeted him and then fell silent as Tobias began to explain the reason of his lateness, every word of course fabricated. 

‘Excellent,’ the actor said as he passed the receiver back over to the receptionist who had tried her very best to look busy as the conversation went on.  After Lieutenant Von Meyer had listened to Captain Linder’s pack of lies he excused his tardiness and rescheduled the meeting for Thursday at 2:00pm in two days time.  Tobias left the lobby and signalled for a valet to retrieve his car.  The blue wonder hurtled round the corner in a matter of seconds.  He climbed in and ran his hands over the smooth steering wheel before nudging up the gear stick and zapping off down the street. 
Boredom had become painful throughout the days and he refused to seclude himself within the gloomy confines of his hotel room.  He would drive for a while and when he came across a tavern he would head inside.   

The evening came without warning and Tobias watched the growing moon through a drunken glaze.  The bar had only just started to get busy and the actor was taking no chances on trawling in the crowd of beautiful women who would often arrive three or four at a time.  A tab was set and the drinks began to seem infinite. 

‘And what’s this one for?’ yelled a woman over the humming bustle, her fingers wrapping around the pointed edges of a medal. 

‘Bravery,’ Tobias winked.  The woman swooned, her gorgeous smile brilliant in the dim light. 

‘What’s it like to be a pilot?  Where have you visited?  How many battles have you won?  The answers were becoming more arrogant, less thought through.  One such story told of his triumph over a battalion who as he so eloquently put it, had no chance against his fighter jet as he flew behind enemy infested lines and dissembled their heavily manned settlement.  His growing fan base giggled at every word and gleefully accepted each glass of free champagne.  The barkeep kept his tongue, gritting his teeth as he pulled bottle after bottle from below the bar and carried it over towards the loudest corner of the tavern.  No thanks were returned, no acknowledgement offered.  The drunken uniform sitting between a flicker of teal and silver and black dresses had lost himself within the world of his character. 

Her hands ran over his hot face and she smiled as their lips parted.  They hustled together within the alleyway, a hum of conversation spilled out from the tavern.  Tobias kissed at her neck and her chocolate hair fell against his shoulders.  She whispered something in his ear.  Her words burned against his cheekbones.  He took her by the hand and they rounded the corner.  His car sat across the street.  The blue wonder.  They clambered inside and sped off, Paris was a city asleep. 

Tobias woke, a nightmare flashing before his eyes.  The drunken stupor of last night raged within his forehead and each strand of beaming musk that broke through the parted curtains burned at his fragile, awakening stare.  There was a deep sigh and the silky sheets dragged away from his naked form.  She lay beside him, her lips parting with each perfect breath.  The invading light was cold and fresh and he didn’t need to look at his watch to know that the morning had only just arrived.  He padded barefoot over to a chest of drawers and unscrewed the bottle of bourbon that sat on top.  It met his lips and he winced at the bitter taste.  He threw on a shirt and trousers and hung his tunic loosely over his shoulders before taking one last look at his sleeping guest and leaving. 

The bar tender studied him intently as he poured another drink.  It was the same tender from a few nights ago, he knew his name began with a B or a G but he didn’t search his mind for the answer.  Besides, the drink had already started to infest his way of thinking and his attention ran free. 

‘Another?’
grinned the tender.

‘Yes.’

Tobias slinked another shot of gin down his throat and tapped his finger against the bar.  He felt a stare.

‘Can I help you with something, squire?’

The bar tender sat with his elbow upon the bar, a daft smile lingering on his face. 

‘Tell me,’ he began, ‘the way
the climb
ended, there’s got to be a part deux, no?’

Tobias stared at him.

‘Excuse me?’

The tender offered an uneasy chuckle as if the man sitting before him had just told a joke that he didn’t quite understand,

‘
Le Climb
, you’re Mr Tobias Vilsmaier no?’

Tobias clapped a hand to his bare face and then pushed away from the bar leaving the stool to clatter across the floor.  He didn’t look back. 

He pictured the tavern in his mind, trying to figure out if anyone had been sitting in the shadows.  It was unlikely so early in the morning but he continued to search the blurred window of his mind.  A back up disguise sat within the bottom drawer of the wardrobe in his hotel room.  He needed it.  Did she see him without it too? He thought.  Who knew?  The most important thing was to sneak back into the room and resurrect Captain
Niklaus Linder without anyone seeing. 

He crossed the lobby sheepishly, tucking his chin into the buttoned curve of his upturned collar.  In the distance a receptionist stood up, his hands behind his back, and nodded without so much as a good morning.  It must have been the uniform.  Tobias stepped into the lift and proceeded up to his floor where he stepped into an empty hallway.  He found his room and turned at the handle, peeking through the gap before committing a footstep inside.  The girl was gone.  Tobias breathed a deep sigh of relief and
slumped his head against the door frame.  Then he slinked towards the wardrobe, removing his jacket and letting it fall against the carpet as he moved with shallow steps.  The drawer shuddered under his tingling clasp and the briefcase came into view. 

‘Better keep this close from now on,’ he murmured, peeling away a moustache and placing it upon the bedside table.  He ruffled at his hair and slowly slipped back under the sheets.  They were still hot with her daisy scent.  What was her name?  The drink had made him sleepy and it didn’t take long before his eyes felt heavy.  He hoped for a dreamless slumber.   

PARIS AT SUNSET

Dazzling stretches of vibrant red battled over the hills of green.  The clouds were alight.  The keys landed in his palm. 

‘You’re sure about this?’ 

Stefan nodded.  He took another look at the barn around him and thanked Francis once again, this time offering a hand for him to shake.

‘Look after yourself,’ Francis said, his eyes finding it hard not to look at the bandages under the boy’s shirt. 

‘I’ll be fine,’ Stefan smiled half-heartedly.  Pierre descended down from the loft, a roll of towels and empty glasses in his hands.  He nodded.

Stefan climbed onto the bike and started it up.   

‘You’d better take this too,’ Pierre said, handing over a Luger, ‘you were carrying it when you arrived.’

Stefan held its cold steel snout and then tucked it into the inside of his jacket pocket. 

‘Stay off the roads.  They’ll be patrolling the main routes.’ 

His reply vanished under the thunderous growl of the motorcycle. 

‘Good luck.’ 

The wheels began to roll and he slowly veered though the barn doors and down the path.  Francis crossed his arms and smiled.  Pierre came to his side and patted him gently upon the shoulder.

‘It was the right thing to do,’ Pierre assured.

‘I know.’

Pierre raised a glass to his lips and spoke before taking a mouthful. 

‘Finally,’ he grinned, ‘no more sleepless nights.’ 

Little did he know, it was just the
beginning. 

She woke.  Something had stirred, pulling her away from her dreams.  She sat up.  It sounded as though some sort of engine had kicked and now purred against the early morning silence.  She raced into the hallway, her feet sticking to the frozen floor boards.  She crept over the spilling rays of sunlight as if it were a game.  Her tingling fingers met the window sill and she crouched low, aiming her gaze at the barn.  Three shadows lingered at the entrance.  She tried to shake away the blurriness of her sleep.  Sunlight stood around them like a golden shadow.  A rise of steam threatened to encase them.  Was that her Father’s motorcycle?  She wondered if she was in a dream.  A roar sounded and the bike began to tumble down the path until finally sliding smoothly onto the road.  The hazy red of the break light evaporated in the distance.  Emile backed away from the window.  Her mind boggled. 

Towers of warm steam rose from each crammed plate.  Emile leant forward and let the zesty mist travel into her nostrils.  She looked around the table.  Her siblings had already tucked in, forking and cutting at the dishes of sausages and eggs.  Her Mother stood at the stove tending to a pan of crackling bacon, hot spits dashed onto the cluttered worktop.