Paris: The Novel

cheerful resilience, Max was still concerned that Thomas might be too slow. But he’d surprised Max by running down the street and back quite swiftly, and since Max hadn’t time to find more men, he’d said a prayer and retained Thomas where he was. Since his station was right beside the park, he should be able to vanish into the trees before any pursuers even reached that street.
    Each of these men had a whistle that made a piercing sound. If they saw anything that looked like an ambush, they were to blow hard on their whistle, and vanish.
    The Dalous and the other three men had also prepared some rather interesting distractions that might keep the enemy busy.
    But all the same, Max was worried. There were several things about this business that he did not like. The short notice. The high risk—for he told Charlie that he thought there was a good chance they’d both be shot when they made the attack—and the complete uncertainty about how Müller would be guarded.
    “If at the last moment Charlie and I see that the thing can’t be done,” he told the team, “then we stand down. You hear no shots, and you all vanish.”
    One big question had been whether to make the attempt as Müller arrived at the theater, or when he left. Since it would still be broad daylight when he came, it was decided to try as he departed.
    “He’ll probably come out before the rest of the audience. That means that we’ll be visible, but have a clear shot. If not, then we’ll just have to mingle with the crowd and take a shot if we can,” Max said to Charlie. “It’ll be more complex. Frankly,” he confessed, “if this were for a lesser target than Müller himself, I wouldn’t attempt it.”
    Charlie carried a small pistol, Max a large Welrod with a silencer. Between them, they also had a Sten gun.
    As the time of the theater opening approached, the audience began to gather on the cobbles among the trees. Gradually they filtered through the doors. There was no sign of any official presence until, just as the last of the audience went through the doors, a police truck rolled up and halted at the end of the cobbles. A dozen police got out, but remainedsurveying the scene by the bus. A couple of minutes later, three cars drew swiftly into the street on the other side of the theater. Two Gestapo men got out of the first, another two from the last. The middle vehicle was a larger staff car. Three obviously high-ranking Gestapo officers stepped out. The general in the center was a dark-haired, middle-aged man with a clear-cut, rather sour-looking face.
    “That certainly looks like Müller,” Max whispered. The first two Gestapo men swiftly entered the theater, presumably to make sure the way was clear. Then the others, moving in a posse with the general in the center, walked straight in through the doors. The police stayed where they were. After this, there was silence.
    Charlie and Max waited over an hour. Charlie wondered if there would be an interval, but as nobody came out through the doors, he assumed not. Dusk fell. The policemen remained by their bus.
    “There’s only one thing to do,” Max said. “You’ll have to open up on the police with the Sten gun. That’ll give me cover, and the noise will alert the others. Give me your pistol. I’ll make a dash for the general with that and the Welrod. If I get back, we leave as planned. If I go down, you leave alone. Don’t hang about.”
    Another half hour passed. It was getting quite dark. They inched the door of the building just ajar and listened carefully for any whistle from the surrounding streets. There was nothing.
    And then it all started to happen.
    The first two Gestapo men appeared at the theater doors. Moving swiftly, they went over to the staff car while the driver leaped to open the door. The policemen gazed placidly from in front of their bus. The two Gestapo men looked around to make sure the streets were clear.
    And then Müller and his two companions stepped out.
    “Now,” said Max.
    It happened so fast that the men in front of the theater hardly knew what hit them. Charlie raked the policemen with the Sten gun and the air filled with noise. He saw half a dozen of them go down. Others were trying to take cover and return his fire. They hardly even noticed Max, his hat pulled down over his face, sprinting toward the Gestapo general.
    Before Charlie’s first burst of fire was completed, an uproar arose from the streets all around. There were shots,