Miss Thibodeaux leaned into his office. “Excuse me, Mr. Aubrey. Colonel Schiller is here to see you.”
“Thank you. Please send him in.” Paul did a quick survey. He’d tucked away his notes on this morning’s inspiration for his tank design, his report to Duffy had already been delivered to the embassy officials, and he never committed his work in sabotage and aiding the RAF to writing. All was fine.
Colonel Schiller entered in his gray uniform.
After the men shook hands, the colonel sat across from Paul. “I wish I came under happier circumstances. I’m afraid one of your employees was arrested yesterday.”
“Arrested?” A chill raced up his arms. No one had escorted airmen away from the factory yesterday, but someone had beencaught doing something—that pointed to Aubrey Automobiles. “Who was it?”
“Gilbert Foulon.” The faint lines in the colonel’s face grew starker. “He was working with a prostitute in the Pigalle district. She lured a German soldier to her room, and Foulon stole his pistol and money.”
Paul accentuated his frown even as relief surged. Foulon knew nothing of the resistance work in the factory. Moreau had vetoed his involvement because Foulon was reckless. “I’m surprised. Foulon is a good worker.”
“Is he?” Schiller pulled a notepad from his pocket. “We received a letter of denunciation from an employee—René Lafarge. He witnessed Foulon throwing a wrench into a machine.”
Paul let out a dry chuckle. “Lafarge is the troublemaker, not Foulon. If I didn’t have a shortage of skilled laborers, I would have fired Lafarge long ago. He’s always getting in fights and lodging complaints over trivial matters.”
Schiller’s square jaw shifted to the side. “Sabotage is hardly trivial.”
“There was no sabotage. I’ll have my secretary find the paperwork.” Paul stood and went to his office door. “My best mechanic investigated. He didn’t find a wrench, only a broken belt.”
“I’d like to see that paperwork.”
Paul leaned out the door. “Miss Thibodeaux, would you pull the files on employees René Lafarge and Gilbert Foulon?”
“Yes, sir.” She wrote down their names.
Paul returned to his seat, eyeing the colonel. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but may I ask why you’re here? Isn’t this a police matter?”
“Ordinarily, yes.” Schiller’s gaze followed Paul’s every step. “But as you know, terrorist acts like this have been spreading. The terrorists usually meet through school or work. We need to know who Foulon’s friends are.”
Paul lowered himself into his chair. “Once again a matter for the police, not an industrial commissioner.”
Schiller spread his hands wide and raised an eyebrow. “You must admit you’ve had problems here recently. A series of problems, all seemingly unrelated and all readily explained.”
“And yet...” Paul kept his hands relaxed on his armrests although every muscle tensed.
“Because of Foulon, I can’t help but wonder if terrorists are here. My commission knows how factories run, so we’ll work with the police.”
“You’re investigating my factory.” His voice came out clipped.
“It’ll only be a few days. We’ll try not to interfere with operations.”
“Good.” He sharpened his voice. “If one of these men betrayed my trust, damaged my property, smeared the name of Aubrey Automobiles—well, you’d better catch him.”
“I wouldn’t worry. This investigation is a formality. I’m sure we won’t find anything.”
“I certainly hope not.” He especially hoped they wouldn’t find the five British flyboys in the storage room.
Schiller stood and sighed. “I’m afraid my commanding officer no longer sees your nation’s status as an advantage but a liability. Did you see the newspaper article this morning about Roosevelt’s Fireside Chat?”
“I did.” Paul spoke in a grim voice and stood to walk the colonel to the door. After German U-boats had sunk three American merchant ships and had tangled with a US destroyer, the president had ordered the Navy to shoot on sight any German ships in American waters or attacking American ships. He also announced the Navy would escort Allied convoys to Iceland.
The Parisian papers only printed what the Germans allowed—and they called the president’s order an act of war.
Schiller’s mouth buckled on one side. “I have fond memoriesof my time at Harvard and of my American friends—including you. I hope our nations never go to war.”
“As do I.”
