The Paris Architect: A Novel

When they pulled up in front of the Majestic, Herzog took Lucien by the arm and led him through the grand entrance of the hotel. Inside the lobby, he growled a few words to a lieutenant, who immediately led them both to an elevator flanked by two well-armed soldiers.

At the sixth floor, Lucien and Herzog were escorted to a set of double doors, which the officer opened without knocking. He announced the visitors and slipped away. A tall, imposing man with heavy, dark eyebrows came out from a room with his hand extended.

“Colonel Herzog, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Herzog bowed his head, clicked his heels, and shook his hand. “Reich Minister Speer, I’m honored to see you. May I introduce Lucien Bernard, an architect whom the Reich has employed?”

“And with very good results. I saw your factory in Chaville yesterday, a most interesting and robust structure.”

“You’re most kind, Reich Minister,” replied Lucien.

“A wonderfully functional piece of work as all utilitarian architecture should be. Those concrete arches are quite beautiful.”

Lucien smiled and nodded a silent thank you to Speer.

They followed Speer into a suite of spacious rooms. Lucien, who had never been in the Majestic, was in awe of the opulent surroundings. Rolls of maps and drawings were scattered on tables and the sofas.

“Have a seat, gentlemen. I have coffee and croissants ready for you,” said Speer, snapping his fingers. A soldier servant materialized out of nowhere.

Lucien looked at Speer closely as the Reich Minister sipped his coffee and chatted with Herzog about what factories were most critical for armaments production in 1943 and how much they would cost. Speer didn’t look evil at all. He was an architect, a respectable-looking, professional man like himself. A man of great intelligence and charm who was responsible for the implementation of the death and destruction of tens of thousands of people in the past six months. He was a cold-blooded murderer, but he didn’t personally use a gun or a knife. Instead, he ordered others to use the weapons he planned and produced. And to what end? The pure evil of dominating other nations merely because the Nazis deemed them inferior?

Lucien wondered why such an upstanding man like Speer would serve a madman like Hitler. Were there others like him? As intelligent and capable? If so, Germany would win the war. Lucien began to feel nauseous and wanted to get out of there.

Speer rose to signal the meeting was over.

“Monsieur Bernard is a most creative man. He takes his architecture very seriously,” said Herzog, gesturing toward Lucien.

“We all do, Colonel,” replied Speer. “It is the most difficult of all the creative arts.”

“Far more difficult than the painter’s craft, I think,” said Herzog.

“Much more difficult than painting,” exclaimed Speer. “No comparison.”

Herzog had a hard time holding back a smile.

“Colonel, I want to congratulate you on your fine work in France. The facilities you have built are producing a great deal of war matériel for the Reich. We have plans for more plants, and I know you will continue to demonstrate your superior skills and planning. The Fuehrer is counting on you.”

“I’m honored to serve the Fuehrer, Reich Minister.”

“Did you tell Monsieur Bernard about the Fresnes facility?”

“No, Reich Minister, I was waiting for final confirmation of the plan.”

“Well, now you have it. This is a most important building for the Reich,” said Speer. “It will produce torpedoes for our U-boat fleet. This must be especially strong to withstand an Allied attack. They’ll do everything humanly possible to take it out. It’s absolutely critical to strengthen our submarine fleet. It must continue to destroy American ships. The Americans work day and night to produce armaments on a scale Germany can never approach. It seems never-ending.”

Lucien looked down at the rug.