The Paris Architect: A Novel

Out in the street, he closely examined the building, counting out where the third floor was. With an architect’s eye, he knew that the apartment looked over the street. He walked across the rue des Saussaies to get a better view of the building, but stood back in a doorway just in case Lucien looked out the windows, which were all tightly shuttered.

Alain started to imagine where Lucien would hide the Jew, but without being in the apartment, it was impossible to guess. Was it another fireplace recess? Or under a floor? The Jew probably wasn’t in there yet. Lucien had gone there today to check out the hiding place and give his approval before the Jew was brought in, which most likely would happen at night. There was no way Alain would be able to get into the apartment after everyone left. Bribing the concierge was a possibility, but whoever arranged all these things would have made sure he or she was honest. Showing up there and pretending to be on an errand from Lucien’s office wouldn’t work—all the workmen would know something was amiss. If this was a film, Alain would pick the lock and let himself in at night, but he didn’t know how to do that.

He decided to wait until Lucien and the others came out. Because the Gestapo had spies all over the city, he was sure that the men would leave one by one, so as not to call attention to themselves. It was quite clever of them to do this just ten meters from Gestapo headquarters. Who would even imagine such a thing? At least Alain could see who else was involved. But there could be a rear entrance—these big buildings all had one—so it was possible he wouldn’t see anyone come out. Stepping out from the doorway, Alain searched up and down the street for a café where he could sit and watch, but there wasn’t any. He had to stay where he was and wait. The dusk had now turned to night so he could stay better hidden in the doorway.

Then, after only fifteen minutes, Alain saw Lucien open the door slowly and quickly walk down the street. After another fifteen minutes, Alain was impatient to leave, no longer interested in discovering the conspirators. He was hungry and thirsty and had to go to the bathroom. As long as Lucien was arrested by the Gestapo, that would be satisfaction enough. He’d disappear into thin air like thousands of others in Paris.

He stamped out his cigarette and was about to leave when he saw Monsieur Manet come out of the building. The businessman was evidently the brains of the outfit, as they would say in an American film. Manet walked slowly down the rue des Saussaies, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. This fool was throwing away his life and fortune on such a dangerous, foolhardy scheme, Alain mused. To coordinate all these hiding places must be quite an undertaking. Alain had met and talked to Manet many times in the office about the details of his factories. He was a true gentleman from the upper classes, so it mystified Alain why such a person would help a bunch of Jews. It couldn’t be for the money, as he was already one of the richest men in Paris. Maybe he was being blackmailed into doing it. He knew damn well that Lucien, who got paid nothing for his work for the Germans, was in it for the money.