Hogan strolled across the compound to join LeBeau and Newkirk, who were watching the encounter on the road with keen interest.
"What do you think, mon Colonel?" asked LeBeau.
Hogan pursed his lips in thought. "Not sure. It seems an unlikely place for her to run off the road."
"Nah, it's a dodgy curve, that one," said Newkirk. "Little bit of understeer, and you're right in the ditch before you know what's happened."
"Maybe. What gets me is what she's doing on this particular road. It doesn't really go anywhere except past here." Hogan folded his arms and tilted his head a little. "I'm wondering if perhaps the lady is actually our man."
"Seems a bit pally with Staremberg." Newkirk pursed his lips in distaste at the general's attention to the new arrival. The next moment his eyes widened with astonishment.
LeBeau uttered a startled laugh: "Well, what do you know about that?"
The driver had given her hand to Klink, then kissed him on both cheeks.
"Gee," said Carter, who had arrived just in time to witness this. "She seems like such a nice lady, too. Guess you can never tell, just by looking."
"Staremberg looks about ready to explode," observed LeBeau. The prospect appeared to give him a great deal of pleasure.
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Hogan's eyes narrowed. "It'd be swell if we could make it happen for real. Preferably before he gets his little scheme for the POW camps up and running."
"Colonel, I got an idea," said Carter seriously. "Back in the barracks, I've got the sweetest little grenade you ever saw. I've been saving it for a special occasion. Say we attach a really long piece of string to the firing pin, and slip it into the trunk of Staremberg's car, then tie the other end of the string to the flagpole. He'll drive off, get out on the road, the string will pull out the pin, and five seconds later..."
"Carter!" Hogan's voice sharpened with irritation. Carter fell silent.
After a brief pause, Hogan added, "Keep it handy."
"You've been holding out on us, André," remarked LeBeau. "You never mentioned you had a grenade in reserve."
"Well, my dad told me I should always have something to fall back on. It's a really nice grenade," Carter went on, in a wistful tone. "I hate to part with it, but if ever anyone deserved the best..."
"You know, that's very sweet, Carter," murmured Newkirk. "Slightly disturbing, but sweet. Where you been keeping it?"
"It's in my mattress," replied Carter.
It took several seconds for Newkirk to get his breath back. "You mean I've been sleeping four feet above a live grenade?"
"Well, where else am I going to keep it, Newkirk? You want the goons to find it?"
"I swear, Carter, one of these days..."
The discussion terminated at the approach of a flustered Schultz. "Colonel Hogan," he said breathlessly, "Kommandant Klink wants the prisoners to come and help lift the car out of the ditch, and take it to the motor pool at once."
Hogan shook his head. "Nope."
"Please, Colonel Hogan." Schultz's voice dropped a semitone into a pleading whine. "The lady is an old friend of the Kommandant. He will be very upset if you don't help her."
"Sorry, Schultz. We're not here to provide roadside assistance."
Schultz tried again. "Colonel Hogan, General Staremberg has offered to drive the lady to Hammelburg. I don't think such a nice lady should be going anywhere with him. She says she wants to stay with her little car and see if it is okay. If you won't do it for the Kommandant, please, do it for the lady."
Hogan considered the situation. If the woman was in fact their expected courier, allowing her to leave with Staremberg wasn't so smart. He shrugged, and nodded. "Okay, guys, go and get the car out of the ditch. But it's only because you asked nicely, Schultz."
He followed his men out on to the road, and sauntered up to the Kommandant and his visitors. Neither Klink nor Staremberg appeared to welcome his arrival, but the lady - she was indeed a lady, dainty and immaculate - regarded him with bright interest. She waited for a moment, to see if Klink intended to make the introductions, then as he remained silent, she took the initiative herself.
"It's very kind of you to help," she said.
"Our pleasure, ma'am," replied Hogan pleasantly, with a provocative glance at the Kommandant.
Klink still didn't speak. She glanced at him, and a mischievous dimple appeared. "Willi...?"
Willi? She called him Willi? Hogan's eyebrows ascended, and his lips curved into an incredulous smile.
Klink, brought to heel, tried to compose his features. "Of course. Mar...Madame Rochaud, allow me to introduce Colonel Hogan, senior prisoner of war officer."
Hogan gave a very correct bow, and gazed keenly at Madame Rochaud. She nodded back, studying him with equal interest.
Staremberg was getting restless. "Madame, you shouldn't be standing out on the road like this. Klink, where are your manners? Why haven't you invited Madame Rochaud to wait in your office?"
"Oh, please, General," interjected the lady. "I want to see my car out of the ditch first." She waved a delicate hand towards the Citroën.
Although Schultz was supposed to be supervising, it was obvious Newkirk had taken charge of the job, which meant he gave the orders and kept his hands clean. How he'd managed to get Langenscheidt into the ditch, labouring next to Carter, was anyone's guess.
LeBeau left the work party, and with Schultz following, approached the lady with a deferent attitude. "Excusez-moi, madame," he said. "I found this in the ditch just now. I think it must be yours." He held out a soft silken porte-monnaie, rather stained by the mud in which it had fallen.
She accepted it with an expression of pleased gratitude. "Merci bien. Vous êtes français, oui?"
"Oui, madame. Et vous?"
Madame Rochaud responded with a quick shake of the head, and a rapid flow of French which Hogan couldn't follow. Except for one word, which he'd been waiting three days to hear.
The conversation looked like extending for some time. Staremberg interrupted again. "Shouldn't this man be searched, in case he found anything else that he hasn't mentioned? Do you trust these enemy soldiers so much, Klink?"
"Whatever would you search him for?" asked Madame, with an expression of gentle bewilderment. "He seems perfectly honest to me." And again, a sideways glance at the Kommandant, and the hint of a smile.
Klink wavered, obviously torn between the desire to please the lady, and fear of what the general would think. "It's...it's what we do here, Marie," he murmured finally. "Schultz, search the prisoner."
LeBeau rolled his eyes, and held out his arms for the search, which produced nothing. He took the opportunity, while Schultz was between him and the two German officers, to send a quick, almost imperceptible nod in Hogan's direction. It confirmed that Hogan had not been mistaken. Madame Rochaud had definitely spoken the code word: Perpignon.
There was a crunching of gravel as the car cleared the edge of the ditch and rolled back on to the road. Carter, still in the ditch, peered underneath, then turned to consult with Langenscheidt. It appeared they were in agreement, and a brief duet followed as they conveyed their mutual opinion to Newkirk. He in turn came to report to the owner of the Citroën.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said, with a vague half-salute, half-tug of the forelock.
Don't overdo it, Newkirk! thought Hogan.
"It don't look too bad," Newkirk continued, "but we'd better take it to the motor pool and have a look at that front axle. Just to be on the safe side."
"Certainly, Newkirk. Please do so at once," said Klink.
Staremberg didn't bother to hide his disapproval. "Klink, your confidence in these men is...touching. But it would be foolish to trust Madame Rochaud's safety to..."
"General, I take exception to that," interrupted Hogan, while Newkirk looked hurt. "I mean, just because we're at war, doesn't mean we can't be nice to each other, right? Anyway, we've been servicing the Kommandant's staff car for months, and he's never had anything to complain about."
Apart from the fact that it's always in the shop and never on the road. As his eyes met Klink's, he knew the same thought was in both their minds.
"That sounds perfectly satisfactory." Madame didn't give Staremberg time to renew his protest. "Will it take long?"
"Could be a couple of hours, ma'am," replied Newkirk. "Depending on what we find when we get in underneath."
"In that case, my dear lady, surely you will accept my offer and allow me to drive you to town." Staremberg wasn't giving up.
The lady didn't reply, but turned her eyes towards Klink. He responded almost instantly, though his manner, to say the least, was lacking in confidence. "Perhaps Madame Rochaud would prefer to wait in my quarters until the car is ready."
"Thank you, Willi," said Madame, with an almost sisterly air of approval. "I'd like that. We have so much catching up to do."
So far, so good. Unfortunately, Klink's susceptibility to pressure extended to generals as well as to attractive females. He turned to Staremberg. "If you would care to join us, General..."
Hogan's expression didn't shift; but he noticed the slight movement in LeBeau's shoulder, as the Frenchman suppressed a sigh of exasperation. The last thing they needed was Staremberg hanging around while they were trying to get the microfilm. This was getting trickier by the minute; but it was still salvageable. Hogan raised his eyebrows, and gave a subtle twitch of the head, and LeBeau, interpreting the message correctly, sidled over to the colonel's side.
Staremberg considered the invitation, then smiled. "Very kind of you, Klink. I accept."
Time to go into action. "Okay, LeBeau," muttered Hogan, just loudly enough to be heard by everyone. "I know you don't want to. Don't worry, nobody will make you do it."
"Do what? Hogan, what are you mumbling about?" demanded Klink.
"Nothing, Colonel, nothing at all," said Hogan hastily. LeBeau, picking up his cue, scowled, and scuffed his feet in the dust.
"Hogan, there is something going on. Now, you know you can't hide anything from me. What is it LeBeau doesn't want to do?"
"Aw, geez, Kommandant, don't make me tell you." Hogan's shoulders twitched, and he turned his face away. LeBeau glowered at him, while Newkirk folded his arms, and shook his head. Hogan hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, bit it back, then burst out with a rush: "He doesn't want to cook dinner for your guests."
He noted the sparkle of laughter in Madame's eyes, but she didn't say a word.
Klink, sensing Staremberg's silent astonishment, hastened to explain. "LeBeau is a master chef.. Sometimes, when I have visitors..." His voice trailed off miserably at the look Staremberg turned on him; then, realising Madame Rochaud was also gazing at him, with her head tilted on one side and a smile playing across her face, he took a brace. "Hogan, if I were to request LeBeau's services, it would be in his best interest...LeBeau, if you don't mind..."
"What's in it for me?" asked LeBeau sullenly.
Klink vacillated; Staremberg fulminated; but it was Madame who replied.
"The gratitude of a lady, mon ami."
Her eyes were gleaming with mischief. LeBeau, meeting that look, gave a little bow. "In that case, madame, it will be my pleasure," he said.
"Klink, this is outrageous," Staremberg broke out. "How can you be sure this man won't poison us?"
The smile on LeBeau's face vanished as if a switch had been thrown. But before he could respond, Madame intervened. "My dear General, don't be so insulting. No French chef would spoil his work by adding ingredients that aren't meant to be there. It's just not done. But if you're really worried about it, why not invite Colonel Hogan as well? That wouldn't be a problem, would it, Willi?"
Oh, she's good! thought Hogan appreciatively.
Staremberg considered the proposition, then smiled. "An excellent suggestion, dear lady. I'm sure that would be sufficient - shall we call it insurance?" He turned to Hogan, his pleasant civility returning. "Would you care to join us, Hogan? With the Kommandant's permission, of course."
Klink muttered something which might have been agreement, and scowled at Hogan, who grinned back at him. "Why, I'll be honoured, Kommandant," he said cheerfully.
She'd done the trick; she'd picked up the ball, run with it and scored a perfect touchdown. Now all they had to do was find an opportunity at dinner for the handover, without being detected by either Staremberg or Klink.
How hard could it be?