Early in the evening, Schultz walked through the camp, trouble on his mind; he didn't know what to do. The conundrum presented was making his head hurt. The chocolate cake was absolutely delicious, but the price he had to pay for it might be too steep. There was only one person with which he could discuss the situation.
"Hey Schultzie," LeBeau greeted the guard as he entered the barracks. "Have you been seeing another chef behind my back?" LeBeau stood with his hands on his hips.
"What do you mean?" Schultz looked confused and a tad guilty.
"There's a chocolate stain on the front of your coat," LeBeau pointed to the offending spot.
"Oh, one of the guards shared some cake with me and it was good. Not as good as yours of course," he backtracked watching LeBeau's face. "Colonel Hogan, may I speak with you?"
"What's up?" Hogan had one leg on the bench hands resting on his leg. Kinch, Olsen, and Newkirk were sitting at the table. Olsen closed the folder they'd been looking through.
"I need some advice on a personnel issue," Schultz requested.
"That sounds like something you need to discuss with Klink," Hogan put his leg down standing straight. He had enough going on and didn't want to get involved in an inner Kraut issue.
"For me to discuss it with the Kommandant, then I'd have to tell him about the tunnels and the monkey business. So I thought that perhaps you could help me instead. Please," Schultz pleaded.
Hogan took a deep breath, his body language changing immediately. "Step into my office." He closed the door behind them, leaning against the bedframe, while Schultz paced the small room. "What can I help you with?"
"I'm very careful with which guards I allow near certain barracks, this one in particular. One of my guards, he seems to be a good man, but I've never completely trusted him. Sometimes he's a little rough in his language about the prisoners, but no prisoner has ever made a complaint. Personally, I think, we're all the same, and people should be treated with respect. I make sure the guards know that no disrespect will be tolerated," Schultz said obviously in distress.
"I'm grateful for everything you do for the prisoners," Hogan replied watching the guard. "Why are you so concerned about this guard?"
"There's nothing that I can point to and say that proves what my gut tells me. Today he brought me a big piece of cake. It was wunderbar! After we ate it, he asked for a favor. He wants to be made a night guard for this hut. I told him I have to think about it and look at the schedule, but it's the way he's pushing. I don't know what to do, Colonel," Schultz held his hands up then let them fall to his side.
"Which guard are we talking about?"
"Sergeant Pfeffer."
Hogan crossed his arms thinking as he paced in front of his bunk. "You should agree to his request, but instead of a night guard make him a day guard. Tell him you'll see how it goes for a few days."
"You want him here?" Schultz looked very confused. "If he saw the tunnel entrance, he wouldn't hesitate to tell the Kommandant. Then look at what would happen. No, no, no, I think I should tell him no."
"Let him be the day guard and we'll check him out. If there's something for you to be worried about, we'll find it out. If not and he's not the right type of guard for this area, then you can move him back in a week or so."
"Are you sure?" Schultz asked again.
"Positive," Hogan gave him a reassuring smile.
"Okay, I'll have him start here tomorrow," Schultz wasn't completely convinced but was willing to trust Hogan.
Hogan walked him out the barracks with a hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of it." Once the guard had left, Hogan turned back to his men. "What did you find in the personnel file?"
"It seems the Pfeffer was stationed on the Western Front before here, so maybe it's not unusual that he picked up a few French words," Olsen said pushing the file towards his commanding officer.
Hogan reviewed the information before speaking, "I think you hit the nail on the head. Pfeffer is most likely Gestapo. He's been pushing Schultz to be assigned here as a guard, even bribing him today with chocolate. Schultz will move him here tomorrow, and while Kinch and Newkirk are going through his room, the rest of us will keep him busy. Tonight we need to ensure nothing is around he can find, and no tunnel access while he's on duty. We treat him as Gestapo until we know more. Any questions?" Hogan commanded looking around at the men.
"Sir, if you can get him in here, I'll keep him talking until they have a chance to go through his room. I mean, I can talk about anything for a really long time," Carter grinned.
Hogan hadn't realized he was listening to the conversation. "If you're up to it tomorrow, feel free to keep him talking." Hogan smiled inwardly that Carter wanted to participate. "You have your assignments, get busy."
François had a reprieve from constantly being under surveillance since Tiger had left camp for a few days. Even though someone was always close by, no one was blatantly staring at him. He asked where Tiger had gone but wasn't told, keeping what he'd seen and overheard concealed. He was even more determined that the type of work she was doing would come to an abrupt end once he got her to London. Marie still insisted she wouldn't go with him, but he wasn't giving up. At least she wouldn't be able to get a divorce without his permission, and that meant at some point she'd have to come to him. All he had to do was separate Marie and Hogan then she'd have no one and nowhere else to turn, which is exactly what he planned to happen, when he killed the arrogant American. Hogan's men had shown him how easy it was to place misdirection when killing a man, and he had just found the perfect place to find that misdirection.
Walking around the uniform room, he found both Gestapo and SS uniforms and either would work for his purpose. Hogan's operation was more extensive than he'd realized as he perused the uniform rack covering the entire span of the German military.
"Can I help you with something?" Murrell asked coming up behind him.
"I've lost a button on my shirt, and was hoping to find something to replace it with," François said with a smile.
"The extras are over here," he led the way to the corner with supplies. "Can you sew?" his tone was condescending.
"Yes, I can," François answered pompously looking through the box of buttons; not voicing his belief the Corporal was another arrogant American. Murrell stared icily at him. "Is there a problem?"
"I have no use for anyone who hits a woman," he stood arms crossed. François started to say something, but Murrell cut him off. "Don't give me that crap that cultures are different. My family is French, and there's no way any man in my family would ever treat a woman in such a manner. That includes my family living in France. Take what you need then get the hell out of my domain!"
François glared back snapping, "What makes this your domain?"
"It's none of your business, but I'm the head tailor in camp. My family has made men's clothing in France for nearly three hundred years for kings and statesmen. And they'd be appalled by your behavior too. Here," Murrell tore off an appropriate amount of thread, threading it through a needle then handing it to François. He turned walking away in disgust.
François took the needle and thread along with a button out of the box, then he pocketed an extra button that Murrell didn't see. The more he learned about the Allied soldiers in camp the less he cared for them. When he got to England, it couldn't be any harder to make contact with the German underground than it was the Allied underground, and expose this whole miserable operation. He left the sewing room smirking and thinking through the possibilities.
The next morning as Schultz oriented Pfeffer to the occupants of Barracks Two, Newkirk and Kinch made their way to Pfeffer's room in the guard's barracks.
"Where do you think we should start?" Kinch asked as Newkirk unlocked the door.
"I doubt he'd keep anything incriminating somewhere obvious," Newkirk answered as he opened the door and both men went inside. Newkirk started going through the closet while Kinch took the desk.
Kinch pulled out the desk drawer, on top of a writing tablet was a picture of Waechter and his wife. "Now why would he keep this?"
"They were roommates. Perhaps as a memorial?" Newkirk shrugged then started feeling around the inside of the closet for hiding spots.
Kinch opened the tablet trying to detect left over depressions of anything that had been written on the missing paper to no avail. He put it aside going through the other contents of the drawer finding nothing of interest. Next, he looked for secret hiding places with no luck.
"If he's got something, it ain't in 'ere," Newkirk made sure the closet was in the same condition he found it then moved over to the nightstand.
"Or here," Kinch answered then lay down on the floor to inspect under the bed. Not finding anything, he checked under the mattress.
"That only leaves the footlocker," Newkirk made quick work of the lock going through its contents. "Not a bloody thing. Could we be wrong about him?"
"I don't think so," Kinch held up two silver Gestapo warrant discs* and identification cards**, the only credentials undercover Gestapo were required to carry. As he read the names aloud, both eyebrows shot upward.
"They were bloody brothers?" Newkirk gasped, realization dawning on both men about how dangerous the situation really was.
* http:/home dot comcast dot net/~donbible/
** http:/germanmilitariacollectibles dot com/blog/2009/04/gestapo-id-other-half-of-story dot html