Chapter 1 – Chapter 1

August 27, 1944

Paul jerked and shuddered at the sound of the salvo of gunfire that penetrated through to his cell from across the courtyard.

He looked around the small cell. Stone floor, walls, and ceiling. a cot suspended down from chains on the wall at one side. A drain in the corner with a chamber pot next to it. The Ritz it was not. This was anything but putting on the Ritz. He'd come down far and quite suddenly in the world, and he was somewhat bewildered at the judgment of "collaborator." He'd lived in a dream world, floating above Paris in the occupation. The others living in the Paris Ritz had been the same. And most of the others were still doing the same, going on with a carefree life of excess and denial in the lap of luxury that was the Ritz.

He really had little idea why he had come to this. He was completely apolitical. But then maybe that was the problem. But he'd had his run at it, hadn't he?

He heard the key turn in his cell door and the scrape of the metal as the door opened.

"It's time," his jailer, who was standing in the door, said. Just that. That was all that could be said at this end of Paul's life. A Catholic priest stood behind the jailer, pretending to look sad and concerned.

Another salvo of gunfire sounded from the courtyard, and Paul winced.