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for her spectacles. Flick's eye was caught by a sheet of
paper, typed on and stamped, with a small photograph of Antoinette pasted to
it, the whole thing in a little cardboard folder. It was the pass that
permitted her to enter the château. In that moment, Flick had the glimmer of an
idea.
    "I've got a car outside,"
Flick said.
    Antoinette continued to study the
wound. "He shouldn't be moved."
    "If he stays here, the Boche
will kill him." Flick casually picked up Antoinette's pass. As she did so
she asked Michel, "How do you feel?"
    "I might be able to walk
now," he said. "The pain is easing."
    Flick slipped the pass into her
shoulder bag. Antoinette did not notice. Flick said to her, "Help me get
him up."
    The two women raised Michel to his
feet. Antoinette pulled up his blue canvas trousers and fastened his worn
leather belt.
    "Stay inside," Flick said
to Antoinette. "I don't want anyone to see you with us." She had not
yet begun to work out her idea, but she already knew it would be blighted if
any suspicion were to fall on Antoinette and her cleaners.
    Michel put his arm around Flick's
shoulders and leaned heavily on her. She took his weight, and he hobbled out of
the building into the street. By the time they reached the car, he was white
with pain. Gilberte stared through the window at them, looking terrified. Flick
hissed at her, "Get out and open the fucking door, dimwit!" Gilberte
leaped out of the car and threw open the rear door. With her help, Flick
bundled Michel onto the backseat.
    The two women jumped in the front
"Let's get out of here," said Flick.

CHAPTER
    FOUR
     
    DIETER WAS DISMAYED and appalled. As
the shooting began to peter out, and his heartbeat returned to normal, he started
to reflect on what he had seen. He had not thought the Resistance capable of
such a well-planned and carefully executed attack. From everything he had
learned in the last few months, he believed their raids were normally
hit-and-run affairs. But this had been his first sight of them in action. They
had been bristling with guns and obviously not short of ammunition—unlike the
German army! Worst of all, they had been courageous. Dieter had been impressed
by the rifleman who had dashed across the square, by the girl with the Sten gun
who had given him covering fire, and most of all by the little blonde who had
picked up the wounded rifleman and had carried him—a man six inches taller than
she—out of the square to safety. Such people could not fail to be a profound
threat to the occupying military force. These were not like the criminals
Dieter had dealt with as a cop in Cologne before the war. Criminals were
stupid, lazy, cowardly, and brutish. These French Resistance people were
fighters.
    But their defeat gave him a rare
opportunity.
    When he was sure the shooting had
stopped, he got to his feet and helped Stéphanie up. Her cheeks were flushed,
and she was breathing hard. She held his hands and looked into his
face. "You protected me," she said. Tears came to her eyes. "You
made yourself a shield for me."
    He brushed dirt from her hip. He was
surprised by his own gallantry. The action had been instinctive. When he
thought about it, he was not at all sure he would really be willing to give his
life to save Stéphanie. He tried to pass over it lightly. "No harm should
come to this perfect body," he said.
    She began to cry.
    He took her hand and led her across
the square to the gates. "Let's go inside," he said. "You can
sit down for a while." They entered the grounds. Dieter saw a hole in the
wall of the church. That explained how the main force had got inside.
    The Waffen-SS troops had come out of
the building and were disarming the attackers. Dieter looked keenly at the
Resistance fighters. Most were dead, but some were only wounded, and one or two
appeared to have surrendered unhurt. There should be several for him to
interrogate.
    Until now, his work had been
defensive. The most he had been able to do was fortify key