The Paris Architect: A Novel

Lucien stifled a laugh with his hand. “I surely am, but you can learn a lot from an old building.” He was pleased that Pierre could pull his leg.

As they moved on through the silent reading room, Lucien heard a sound in the distance. It became louder and louder, and the patrons, one by one, lifted their heads to listen. Lucien recognized the sound of German jackboots on a marble floor.

“Christ,” said Lucien. He looked down into Pierre’s eyes, which were full of terror.

Panic seized him, but Lucien kept his nerve and acted quickly. Because he’d been here many times, he knew the layout of the room well. Grabbing Pierre by the arm, he led him to a niche in the perimeter wall behind a column and shoved him into it.

“Keep down. You know where to go, don’t you?”

He squeezed the boy’s hand and kissed his cheek. Pierre nodded and crouched out of sight. At that moment, the double doors of the main entry to the reading room crashed open and a half-dozen German soldiers led by an SS captain walked in briskly. The officer slowly went down the main aisle followed by his men, all of whom were carrying machine guns. He looked up and down the tables. The patrons all kept their heads down as if they were studying their tomes. Lucien walked directly toward the officer between the tables to draw attention away from Pierre. But as he got closer, the captain walked up to a middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a gray tweed coat.

“Professor Paul Mortier, you’re to come with me immediately.”

“But I’ve done nothing.”

Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out of the room.

“I’ve done nothing!” he screamed.

The Germans were out the doors, and the reading room was in total silence again. Patrons slowly returned to their books. Lucien was shaking as he walked back to Pierre. The boy had come out from behind the column and was slowly walking toward him. About three meters away he ran to Lucien and buried his face in his chest.

As Lucien hugged the boy, he knew he should get Pierre out of France, but the thought filled him with an awful sadness. He loved and needed the boy with all his heart and couldn’t bear to part with him. He didn’t want to do it.





47





“Good shabbos, Monsieur Laval,” Schlegal called out in a cheery voice as he entered the room.

Laval, whose hands were tied behind him, slumped forward in the wooden chair.

“I said good shabbos, Laval. Didn’t you hear me?” Schlegal grabbed Laval’s chin and yanked his swollen and bloody head up. “It is Saturday, so it is shabbos, isn’t it? Your people’s sabbath?”

Laval grunted, and Schlegal let his head flop down. Turning to Lieutenant Voss and Captain Bruckner, he threw up his hands in mock indignation.

“So what has Monsieur Laval told us of value?”

“I’m afraid Monsieur Laval has been most uncooperative. He hasn’t told us a thing about his business associate Mendel Janusky,” replied Voss, with deep regret in his voice.

“That’s a shame,” Schlegal said. “A real shame, Monsieur Laval. I was so counting on you. You know, I’ve been looking for you for three long months, and when I finally find you, you’re no help to me at all.” Schlegal bent over and looked directly into the old man’s blood-crusted eyes.

Schlegal placed his hands on his hips and paced back and forth in front of Laval.

“And as his banker, you must know where he deposits his fortune. He is no longer your client, so where did he take it?”

Laval raised his head and croaked out a sound.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“He…he hid it so no one would find it. I…don’t…even know where it is. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“I find that a little hard to believe. You must have some idea where he could’ve stashed his loot. Take a guess.”

“I’m telling you, I…don’t know,” groaned Laval.

“All those paintings, sculptures, gold goblets, and gems. Difficult to smuggle out of France into Switzerland. Is this stuff hidden in the countryside somewhere?”