The German staff car screeched to a halt at the Lille terminal. “Hurry,” Ziegler said as he flung open the door.
Bayer was right behind him, leaving the car door open. “The train hasn’t left yet.”
“Let’s hope it’s the right train,” Ziegler called.
They raced to the terminal. Bayer opened the first door they reached. They ran inside and paused. The building was spacious, ticket windows spread throughout. German soldiers filled the terminal, waiting for trains, recently arriving, or crowding cafés and newsstands.
Ziegler and Bayer scanned the building, searching for the quickest way to get to the boarding platform. With so many soldiers milling about the station, it was difficult to see.
“This way, sir,” Bayer said, pointing to an overhead sign at the corner of the building.
They cross
