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Bauer threw on a second, even thicker sweater. “I’m going back.”
“Now?” Von der Haas’s head whipped around. “No. No, Bauer. The station is nearly empty right now. You’re out in the open. Let’s go back tomorrow morning, when there’s a large crowd. We’ll plot something up, some diversion—”
“We can’t wait until tomorrow,” said Bauer. “The rally at Nazi headquarters is tonight. Hitler will be there tonight. And if that kid won’t deliver those explosives, I will.”
“Then I’ll go with you. Let’s think of something—”
“You stay here, Erich. If something does happen, better one of us goes down than both.”
Bauer didn’t give von der Haas a chance to counter. He left, closing the door behind him. Wearing his two sweaters and winter cap, Bauer jogged the two blocks back to the train station. Though he kept his head facing straight ahead, his eyes moved from side to side, looking for anything suggesting that Gestapo officers were lying in wait. He saw nothing to set off internal alarms.
He arrived at the station and hustled through the concourse, with its arched ceiling and tile floors. The place was relatively empty. Employees in uniform, individuals, and families milled about. It was nearing six o’clock in the evening, after most of the trains had come and gone, but Bauer still passed at least thirty people. Any of them could be Gestapo.
He found the checked luggage, still sitting near the train platform outside. The same four pieces of luggage.
Bauer scooped up one of the bags from Paris, turned, and started down the concourse.
A door burst open near the ticket counter. “Stop! Stop there!” A man in a trench coat and fedora trained a gun on Bauer.
Undercover officers converged from all sides. Four men in plainclothes, all pointing guns at him.
“Staatspolizei!” they shouted.
The Gestapo.
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BAUER SET DOWN HIS piece of luggage and showed the Gestapo agents his palms.
“Don’t move! Keep your hands up!”
They were good, he had to hand them that. They didn’t show themselves immediately. But as soon as they saw him grab one of the checked pieces of luggage from the Paris train, they leapt into action, quick on their feet and with their guns drawn. Bauer never had a chance.
“Je ne comprends pas,” said Bauer.
“This is your bag?” asked one of the Gestapo, presumably the lead officer, with a thin face and even thinner mustache.
“Monsieur, parlez-vous français?” asked Bauer.
“We are in Germany. So we speak German.”
“Ah… yes. May I help you?” Bauer asked tentatively, as if German were not his first language, leaning hard on a French accent.
“Is this your bag?” the man asked again.
“Mais oui. Of course, yes.”
“Let me see your papers,” said the agent.
“My papers?”
“Your passport.”
“I do not have passport with me,” Bauer said, as if struggling with the language. “I come from… hotel.”
“Do you have a claim ticket for this luggage?”
“Ticket? Ah, yes.” Bauer produced the claim ticket for the leather bag. “I saw nobody here to give ticket to. Was that… mistake?”
