The Paris Architect: A Novel

“No, sir,” said Schlegal, knowing that a lecture was on the way. When the head of the entire Gestapo of the Reich was breathing down the neck of a regional commandant, that meant trouble.

“To Mueller, Janusky isn’t just another Jew destroying the Fatherland, but a repository of wealth—an estimated one hundred million francs—that can help Germany finance the total victory that our Fuehrer desires. Like a gold filling in the mouth of the lowliest Jew, Janusky’s wealth belongs to the Reich, but we can’t find it. And that’s not the worst of it. Do you know how many Jews this bastard has helped escaped over the years? Probably thousands—and not just in France. He has a whole network of agents—even in Germany—working for him. He’s bribed dozens of officials in Spain, Portugal, and Turkey to provide forged papers for these people. This Jew has paid out thousands for passage on ships in a half-dozen ports to help them escape. Now, we’ve heard Janusky has bought his own ships to do the job. On top of that, G?ring wants his art collection. Almost every goddamn day, he calls Mueller about it. So you, Schlegal, must find Janusky.”

“Every day, we search for him, sir. There is an entire network of Frenchmen who are helping this piece of scum to hide. Each day, we chip away at this conspiracy and we get a little closer.”

“I don’t want Mueller coming here and personally supervising the search. You don’t want that, do you?” Lischka sat down on a chair across the room and lit a cigarette. Schlegal noticed he didn’t offer him one, which was a bad sign.

“No, that won’t be necessary. In just a matter of days, we’ll find him,” lied Schlegal. He knew if Mueller came to Paris, Lischka would make his life a living hell.

“I hope so, for your sake, Colonel. Your career has been quite impressive. People in Berlin have taken notice. This is your chance to shine. Find this Jew and his money, and the world will be yours on a platter. We’re talking promotion to general.”

These words heartened Schlegal. His father and mother would be overjoyed—their son a general. It gave him a new resolve. Lischka picked up a bunch of black-and-white photographs off the desk and shuffled through them. He chose one and showed it to Schlegal, the formal portrait of Janusky with his hand resting on a book.

“Look at the ring on this Jewish pig’s hand. That emerald is the size of a golf ball. That one gold ring could pay for an entire Panzer tank. Don’t you think?” said Lischka.

“Probably two Panzer tanks,” Schlegal blurted out, even though he had no idea what one tank would cost.

“You can stand at ease, Colonel,” ordered Lischka, who took a final drag on his cigarette and stood up. “Now tell me about this poor devil here.”

Lischka walked casually over to a man lying in the corner of the room and kicked him in the head. “Wake up, monsieur,” he said in the cheerful tone a mother would use waking up her six-year-old.

“Aubert is a master carpenter who does the best cabinet work in Paris,” Schlegal said. “Everyone we’ve talked to agrees he’s the very best.”

“And what does this have to do with the problem at hand?”

“I believe that some Jews are being hidden in ingeniously conceived hiding places throughout the city. To do this, master craftsmen like Aubert are needed to disguise these hiding places so we can’t find them.”

“That’s a fascinating theory, Schlegal. Have you uncovered such a secret place?”

“Two.”

“Has Aubert shed any light on this problem for us?”

“He’s been most uncooperative, but I’m confident that he’ll change his attitude,” said Schlegal. He motioned to Voss, who had been standing in the other corner of the room. The lieutenant took out a pair of wire cutters one would use to cut electrical cable from his tunic pocket and knelt beside Aubert.

“Wake up,” roared Voss into Aubert’s ear. The old man stirred and tried to raise his head, but it dropped back down on the wooden floor.