The Second Objective

26

Reims

DECEMBER 19, 8:40 P.M.

Von Leinsdorf walked slowly to the middle of the square outside the theater, on the edge of the gathering crowd. He took out a cigarette and scanned ahead for any unusual police presence. The fog thickened near the waterfront as soldiers lined up in front of the theater box office. Two MPs stood near the entrance to the lobby, but didn’t look out of place. An American soldier materialized out of the fog, suddenly standing next to him, and offered a light for his smoke.

“Another Judy Garland picture,” the man said, nodding toward the theater. “Louis B. Mayer’s working her like a sled dog. You know she’s not even five feet tall?”

“I might have read it somewhere.”

“Just my size. A hot little number, if you like a babe with no waist and the ass of a ten-year-old boy. She do anything for you, Sarge?”

“She’s no Marlene Dietrich,” said Von Leinsdorf.

“Are you kidding me? Marlene Dietrich’d eat her like a chicken leg, spit out the bone.”

Von Leinsdorf moved forward, trying to shake the man, but he fell into step alongside, holding out a hand. Short and fidgety, the man wore a corporal’s stripes and pounded a wad of gum while he smoked.

“Eddie Bennings, Corporal Eddie Bennings, how you doing to night?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“A free night in France, fresh air, no bullets in the forecast, what could be so bad? I see you’re with the quartermaster corps.”

“That’s right.”

Looking ahead through the fog, Von Leinsdorf spotted William Sharper leading his three men into the theater lobby past the MP at the door.

“My line, too. Came in today from Belgium. Makes you appreciate the peace and quiet down here,” said Bennings. Then, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level: “My battalion does a lot of business with the quartermaster corps.”

“Is that a fact?”

“And we’re always looking for a good man to do business with-you going in to see the picture?”

“Yes.”

“Let me spring for the tickets, my treat-you shouldn’t have to stand on line, Sarge.”

The persistent little man was starting to attract Von Leinsdorf’s interest. “What sort of business?”

“I’ll get the tickets, we’ll have a chat. See if you’re interested. Meet you in two shakes.”

Von Leinsdorf moved on to the front lobby doors and waited as Bennings jumped the ticket line.

Bernie opened his eyes to a cat rubbing its face on his chin and purring. When he started awake, the animal vaulted off his chest into the kitchen. The room spun violently when he tried to stand. He lurched forward, tumbling over a table and vomiting as he hit the floor. Rolling onto his back, he took deep breaths, opening and closing his eyes, waiting for the ceiling to stabilize. As his fractured thoughts reassembled and he remembered where he was, he raised his watch into view and waited for the hands to float into position. 8:40.

“Shit.”

He pulled himself to his feet, made his way into the kitchen, stuck his head under the faucet in the sink, and ran cold water over his neck until his head began to clear. Taking a quick look around the apartment, he spotted Von Leinsdorf’s GI field greens lying in a heap on the bedroom floor. The khaki dress uniform that had been hanging in the woman’s closet was gone.

He remembered that Von Leinsdorf had mentioned the movie house was near the canal. A memory of the city map swam to the surface. He headed for the door.

Eddie Bennings handed Von Leinsdorf his ticket and they entered the lobby, blending into the crowd.

“Looking for somebody?” asked Bennings.

“Thought I saw someone I knew.”

“You want a soda, popcorn or anything, Sarge?”

“No thanks.”

“I never got your name.”

“Dick Connelly.”

“Okay, Dick. You want to talk about my proposition before the picture or after?”

“Now’s fine,” said Von Leinsdorf, scanning the lobby over the man’s shoulder.

“As I was saying, we work with a lot of guys in the quartermaster corps. It’s a first-class arrangement.”

“Can you be slightly more specific?”

Bennings lowered his voice again and talked out of the side of his mouth, like a gangster.

He’s seen too many Jimmy Cagney pictures, thought Von Leinsdorf.

“In the area of surplus supply and demand. Daily necessities. A drink, a smoke, a taste of home, whatever. We scratch their back, they scratch ours; everybody gets healthy, including the average GI who all he’s looking for is a little relief.”

Von Leinsdorf spotted Sharper standing near a door to the theater, his three men walking in just ahead of him.

“You want me to set it to music for you?” asked Bennings impatiently.

“I think I get the idea,” he said. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Eddie? I want to say hi to my friend.”

“Hope I haven’t offended you, Sarge.”

“You’ve got a little larceny in your heart, don’t you, Eddie?” said Von Leinsdorf with an admiring smile.

“Troubled times. Is that such a terrible thing?”

“On the contrary. It’s a character reference. I’ll be right back.”

Von Leinsdorf took one step toward Sharper, when Bennings grabbed him by the arm.

“Oh shit. Hang on a second. Don’t move, Sarge.”

Bennings turned away from the doors, then took another glance.

“It is him. Fuck. I had a run-in with that guy recently. He’s a cop.”

“Which one?”

Bennings nodded toward a man near the lobby doors, looking at his watch. A charge of adrenaline shot through Von Leinsdorf. It was the soldier he’d seen near Mallory’s bed in the field hospital-the one who chased them.

Von Leinsdorf surveyed the lobby with new eyes, aware of half a dozen other men, in and out of uniform, with that same hard-eyed look. He turned his back to the doors fronting the street. Although he was sure the American wouldn’t see through the alterations he’d made at a glance, that might change if their eyes happened to meet.

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s looking for me,” said Bennings.

“Why is that?”

“Don’t really have time for that story right now.”

Music blared from the auditorium and the house lights started to dim. Von Leinsdorf saw Sharper head into the theater, unaware of either his or the Allied police’s presence. On the side of the lobby nearest to them, he saw one of the uniformed MPs enter the men’s room.

“Go to the bathroom,” said Von Leinsdorf. “Wait in one of the stalls.”

“What for?”

“I think I know him, too. Scratch my back, Eddie, I’ll scratch yours.”

Eddie headed toward the bathroom, turning his face away from the lobby doors.

Outside, out of breath, Bernie Oster ran up and joined the line at the box office window.

Ole Carlson came out of the auditorium to meet Grannit just after he entered the lobby.

“Think any of ’em showed?” he asked.

Grannit looked around. “We’ll find out. You see your guy about the passes?”

“Yeah, got one here. Still doesn’t add up, let me show you-”

Grannit looked at his watch. “Talk about it later. Everyone in place?”

Carlson picked up a walkie-talkie. “I’ll double-check in back.”

He moved into the auditorium just as the music started inside and the last GIs headed for their seats.

Von Leinsdorf entered the men’s room, used the urinal, and then walked to a row of sinks to wash his hands. The MP was washing his hands in the next sink over. A muted swell of music reached into the room.

“Sounds like the show’s starting,” said Von Leinsdorf.

The only other soldier in the room finished drying his hands and exited. As the MP reached for a towel, Von Leinsdorf slid behind him and slipped a piano wire garrote around the man’s throat. Yanking hard with both hands, he lifted the man off the ground, then walked him back into one of the stalls. The MP’s heels kicked and dragged as he clawed at his throat. His helmet fell off and hit the ground. The stall door banged shut behind them. Von Leinsdorf could anticipate the letting go down to the second. He counted in his head, and as he reached ten, the man went slack.

When the door swung slowly open, Eddie Bennings stood there staring wide-eyed at Von Leinsdorf. The MP’s dead body slumped onto the toilet as Von Leinsdorf slipped off the garrote and dropped it into his pocket. He’d pulled so hard the wire had sliced the dead man’s throat, a line of blood trickling down his neck.

“Holy shit,” said Bennings.

Von Leinsdorf grabbed Bennings and pulled him into the stall. “If you want to get out of here alive, you need to do exactly as I tell you, Eddie. Do you have a problem following orders?”

“Not to night.”

Bernie Oster handed his ticket to the usher at the door and entered the lobby, one of the last men through the doors before they closed. The auditorium doors were still open; he could see the show had started and a newsreel was playing. As he hurried across the lobby, he noticed a number of MPs moving toward the doors behind him from outside, not quite in a line but organized, grouped around a tall officer in the middle of the lobby.

I know that guy, thought Bernie, trying to place him.

He moved to the concession stand and ordered a soda, keeping his back to the tall man. The line of MPs moved in to cover every door out of the lobby.

They found my note. They set a trap.

His eye caught two men walking out of the bathroom to his right toward the auditorium. A soldier followed by an MP in helmet and armbands, nudging the shorter man ahead of him with the butt of his nightstick.

“Let’s go, pal, back to your seat,” he said.

Von Leinsdorf.

The two men moved into the auditorium. Bernie followed. Entering the darkness, he was momentarily blinded by the illuminated screen, black-and-white war time footage: destroyers at sea, fighters streaming overhead. Framed against the moving images, two men’s silhouettes stood out as they walked down the aisle toward the front of the theater. Bernie waited for his eyes to adjust to the light. His fingers found the syringe in his pocket.

Get close to him. Use the syringe. Slip out in the confusion. MPs are here, they’ll take care of the rest.

William Sharper, sitting on the right aisle near the middle of the theater, noticed Erich Von Leinsdorf walk past him. A few moments later he whispered to one of his men to stay in their seats, and got up to follow him.

Grannit waited in the lobby for his MPs to reach their positions at the doors. He looked at his watch again. Three minutes until they stopped the film. His men should be in place by now. He picked up his walkie-talkie to check with Carlson when he overheard a nearby conversation.

“Where the hell’s Whitey?” one of the MPs asked another.

“Still in the can,” said another, glancing at his watch.

“What’s taking him so long?”

Grannit looked toward the bathroom door. Sudden instinct propelled him through the door. The room was empty. He bent down and saw legs in one of the toilet stalls, a man’s pants bunched around the ankles. He drew his gun and moved closer. The stall door swung open on a rusty hinge.

Ole Carlson reached the back of the theater stage, directly behind the screen, and put the beam of his gooseneck flashlight on the wall. A small rear door there had been left unlocked and unguarded, inside and out.

“Doggone it. What the heck are they thinking?”

He was about to call the lobby on his walkie-talkie and yell at them to get a body back here covering this door pronto. He turned and looked up at the huge moving images towering above him. He’d never realized you could see movies from the back side of the screen before, a reverse image, like you’d gone through the looking glass. The newsreel was still running. There was Hitler, and that runt Himmler and the fat one, what was his name, he got Göring and Bormann mixed up sometimes. The crowd booed them. The jeers turned to cheers when the newsreel ended, the MGM lion gave a roar, and the movie began rolling lush Technicolor credits for the Judy Garland picture. He hadn’t seen it before. He liked old-time pictures like this, a window back into the simple Midwestern world his parents had grown up in.

Two figures appeared from the left, black outlines against the screen, walking diagonally toward him. His hand went toward his sidearm; then he saw the MP’s helmet on the second of the men and relaxed. The MP pushed a GI along in front of him, a shorter guy in a raincoat. He couldn’t make out their faces and raised his flashlight.

“This joker was trying to sell hooch in the mezzanine,” said the MP.

Carlson pointed the flashlight in the shorter man’s face, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes.

“Well, if it ain’t Corporal Eddie Bennings,” said Carlson. “Seven-twenty-fourth Railway Battalion. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Bennings shielded his eyes against the light and didn’t answer. Another figure rose up behind the two men, ten paces away, framed against the movie screen.

“Lieutenant Miller, is that you?” asked William Sharper, moving closer. “Lieutenant Miller?”

Carlson’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. Grannit’s voice. “Ole, he’s here. Miller’s in the theater.”

Carlson reached for his sidearm, but first had to transfer the flashlight to his left hand. In that moment the MP took a quick step toward him. Carlson saw something flash in the man’s hand, moving toward him.

Grannit burst out of the restroom and through the doors into the auditorium, pulling his sidearm and shouting at the MPs in the lobby.

“Lock it down! Lock it down!”

Halfway down the aisle, Bernie felt more than saw a man rush past him, nearly knocking him over. He followed him until they’d almost reached the front of the room and the house lights started to fade up.

Behind the screen, Von Leinsdorf pulled the hunting knife out of the man’s chest; he’d gone up and under the ribs, into the heart, with the practiced stroke of a surgeon. Looking at the soldier as he dropped, he recognized the round face and close-cropped haircut. This man had been at the hospital with the other one he’d just seen in the lobby. He bent down, rifled through the man’s coat, and pulled out his badge and ID, sticking them in his pocket.

“Lieutenant Miller?”

Von Leinsdorf turned to see William Sharper standing above him, anxious and agitated, trying to make him out in the dark. They heard shouts from the auditorium; footsteps pounded toward them down the aisles. Von Leinsdorf pressed the bloodied knife into Sharper’s hand, pulled Carlson’s sidearm, and pointed it at him.

“Run,” said Von Leinsdorf. “Run!”

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Sharper.

Sharper stepped back a few paces, confused, looking from Von Leinsdorf and Bennings to the body on the floor.

“He’s a Nazi!” shouted Von Leinsdorf. “Back here, he’s a fucking Nazi! I got the bastard! I got him!”

Sharper turned and ran toward the screen, where Judy Garland was making her first appearance, singing and dancing in a hallway. Sharper stopped short, startled by the image, then used the knife to slice a gash in the screen, and as he burst through it, Von Leinsdorf fired three times.

Earl Grannit was climbing the stairs to the stage when Sharper came through the screen. When he heard the shots, Grannit turned on instinct, knelt, and fired twice at close range, spinning the man around. Sharper toppled forward and landed hard on the floor in front of the stage. He wheeled around on the floor, crying out, in death throes. MPs with guns drawn closed in around him from every direction. One kicked the knife away from his hand.

The front of the theater emptied, soldiers crawling over seats, scrambling toward the lobby exits, where MPs with riot guns stepped in and held their ground. Grannit climbed the rest of the way onto the front of the stage, fired a single shot at the ceiling, and shouted to the room.

“Nobody leaves! Get away from those exits! I want every man back in a seat!”

The projector shut down, the music died. A line of MPs and undercover men surged forward from the lobby and the exits to take control of the room. Grannit jumped down to take a close look at the face of the dead GI lying in front of the stage. There were five bullets in him, but he’d only fired twice.

Was it Miller? Maybe; he couldn’t be sure. He was the right size, the right body type. But the face? He took a look at the serrated blade of the knife the man had carried, then jumped to the stage and pushed through the slash in the screen.

Ole was lying on his back ten paces away. A young kid, a private, was cradling his head in his hands.

“We need a medic back here!” Grannit shouted back to the auditorium. “Get me a medic!”

He knelt down next to them. Ole saw he was there, felt for him with a shaking hand. Grannit gripped it hard. He glanced down at the wound, saw how bad it was, and how fast he was losing blood. Ole’s sidearm lay on the floor beside him, still smoking.

“We get him, Earl?”

“We got him. The same knife he used on the border guards.”

“That’s good. He was on me before I- He moved so fast- Hurts something awful.”

“Take it easy, don’t talk, help’s coming.”

“I can’t figure what the hell Bennings was doing with him-”

“Bennings? What do you mean? Eddie Bennings?”

“Oh God, I don’t feel good, Earl, I don’t feel good.”

The private was holding up a syringe so Grannit could see it, asking if he should use it on him. Grannit hesitated.

“Eddie Bennings was here, Ole? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I think so. I just never figured an MP…” He started to fade, eyes blanking out.

“What MP? What MP?” He shook his head at the private. No morphine. Not yet. “Stay with me, Ole. Stay with me.”

Ole’s eyes focused again. “Those passes…meant to tell you…about those passes…” Blood bubbled out onto Carlson’s lips. Grannit wiped it away with a handkerchief, holding the back of his head.

“Don’t talk now.”

“Don’t think they knew about the mistake…Krauts for you, always think they got a better idea…”

Grannit nodded at the kid to give him the shot. He leaned in to do it. Ole’s eyes met Grannit’s in a moment of clarity, his grip grew stronger for a moment, then his hand went slack and he was gone.