by Warren Court
“And my wallet?”
He handed that over too, and she checked it.
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would. Did I pass?”
“Pretty close. A pro would have been able to walk out the front door with a wave goodbye from the waiter.”
“I have one more day of training.”
“We have too much to cover. You ready? I don’t think the police are out there.”
“After you. Lead the way, Coach.”
“Quite.”
8
The shop window, angled at forty-five degrees from the pavement, gave Aubrey an excellent view of the street behind her. There were elegant ladies’ shoes on display in the window. Normally, Aubrey would have ogled all of them and then entered the store for a purchase. But in this case, she was searching the glass, looking for him. Hewitt Purnsley of His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service. He was out there somewhere. Watching her. Following her.
It was early morning, and the street was alive with activity. After a few additional minor exercises in counter-surveillance the night before, Hewitt had seen her to her hotel. It had been a long day and she was fatigued, but she’d found it difficult at first to go to sleep. Her mind swirled with possibilities. She had been switched on, as Hewitt called it. An inner awareness of everything around her was growing, and she was overwhelmed by it.
And it wasn’t just the memorizing of license plate numbers, something she was getting good at by the end of that first day, but the whole idea of it, of playing at spying.
“No,” she scolded herself again. “Stop calling it that. And certainly, don’t call it that in front of Mr. Purnsley.” He might get on the transatlantic phone to John Walton and have her pulled from this assignment.
No, she was going into a foreign, hostile land, intent on engaging in espionage. There was no playing about it. If that attitude crept in one iota during her stay in Nazi Germany, it might very well mean the end of her. The Germans had tried to kill her once already.
She was up with the dawn, bathed and dressed before the city started to come alive. She could see the upper half of the Eiffel Tower from the slim window in her modest hotel room. She could smell the smells and hear the sounds of a city coming alive.
Hewitt was in the lobby, looking like he hadn’t even gone to bed. She had no idea where he was staying, whether he too was in a hotel or whether he had a flat. She knew better, now, than to ask these questions outright. Even if he did answer her, they would probably be all lies. Knowing that gave her some confidence. The man sent to train her for her first mission was a professional. She had no way of knowing whether he was the best or not, but she would wager money he was very, very good.
They’d gone over what they’d discussed the day before and discussed the practical exercises, and then she was off. Her assignment: to move about the city and “lose him.” He was going to tail her, at first openly, then more discreetly. She was to lose him without seeming to lose him.
He had explained more than once in the short time they’d been together that she was not to let surveillance know she was on to them. To run away, make a mad dash from a tail in a hostile land, was the worst thing she could do. It would confirm their suspicions that she was up to something. And it would only lead to her arrest. It would give them grounds to pick her up and start extracting information from her. She didn’t need to be a grizzled grunt of the intelligence world to know that meant torture. She shuddered at the thought. She suspected that the Gestapo, the German secret police, had very effective means of extracting information.
She started off simply enough, trying to catch a glimpse of him without turning around. Once, she turned one hundred and eighty degrees and marched off in the direction she’d just come like she’d forgotten something or changed her mind about something she’d seen in a store window. The first time she pulled that sudden move, she’d caught a glimpse of Hewitt behind her, a half block away. He didn’t seem to notice her at all and was doing his own pantomime of window shopping. Then afterwards, when she did the same quick one-eighty again, Hewitt seemed to vanish at will. He was there and then he wasn’t.
After a while, she caught glimpses of him again in store windows or the rear glass of taxicabs.
She went into a dress shop, lingered and saw him. The shop’s window had its venetian blinds drawn down halfway to block the sun. She could see the lower half of him across the street. The bored-looking shop girls snapped to attention when she spoke to them in French. They’d assumed she was a tourist, but now they gave her some serious attention. It was all for show; in reality she was determining where the rear exit was.
She rebuffed the girls. They took up new customers. Aubrey made her way to the back. When none of the employees were looking, she dashed down the hallway and ran out the back door. She found herself in a narrow passageway that zig-zagged between buildings. She ran past a couple of passed-out drunks, stepping over their scabby ankles and pools of vomit. She finally emerged onto the street that ran parallel to the one she’d just been on.
She looked left and right, but Hewitt Purnsley was nowhere to be seen. She headed off to the Arc de Triomphe. Before the exercise began, Purnsley had designated that famous spot as her rendezvous. Her goal was to make it there without her SIS coach trailing her. She couldn’t help but smile. Here she was, two blocks from the Arc, and Hewitt was nowhere in sight. She picked up the pace, glancing only occasionally in windows to try and spot him. She could see the bulk of the Arc in the distance, hear the roar of traffic that ran around it. If she was good, maybe he’d give her a bit of time to herself and she could do some real shopping.
Then she spotted him. Her heart sank. She’d just rounded a corner; the Arc was in full view, two hundred yards away. But there was no mistaking it: he was behind her. He caught up with her just as she reached the monument to the unknown soldier.
“You’re one cool customer,” she told him grudgingly. “How did you do it?”
“Practice. Going into the store was a bad move. I watched you look at dresses and then move to the rear; knew what you were up to. Running out the back was a dead giveaway to me that my surveillance was blown. Try that trick in Berlin and you’ll wind up in 1195 Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. The basement of Gestapo headquarters.”
Aubrey looked dejected.
“There is an art to this. Listen, try and put a crowd between yourself and the tail. Bog them down. Then, at the last moment, hop into a taxi or, better yet, a crowded streetcar that is just pulling away. If you cannot lose a tail, then the meet or drop should be aborted. No question. That’s why you always have multiple rendezvous times and places. If you rush this sort of thing, you’ll only louse it up, and it’ll be your neck.
“You’re good, Aubrey. You have some natural instinct. I only wish we had more time for training. But now, I’m afraid we have to start talking about the actual mission.”
“I’ve been briefed.”
“Things have changed. There’s an added task we’ll need you to perform. Come along. I’ll tell you all about it.”
9
They found a quiet spot in a parkette in the Latin quarter. They took a bench; the only other person was an old man across the way feeding pigeons.
“There is an agent in place, within the Nazi apparatus. It is urgent that you make contact with him. He has information that is vital to peace in Europe.”
“How will I—”
“Please, just listen. He will approach you at the exhibition. Here are the challenge-and-response phrases. I need you to memorize them now.”
She read the note, committed the words to memory. Two sets of phrases, impossible for anyone to guess.
“Remember, he will approach you and give the challenge. You take it from there.”
“Who is he?”
“I can’t say. I don’t want you going into Germany with that knowledge in your head.”
“I see.” She handed the note back. He
set fire to it with a lighter and it vaporized instantly.
“Nitrocellulose. Flash paper, the kind magicians use,” Hewitt said, noting her look of surprise. “My grandfather was a magician.”
Aubrey said nothing, just filed this little tidbit about Mr. Purnsley away. It was the first inkling of his true personality that he’d offered. Or had it been a slip?
“Just remember: do not use a phrase before spoken to. Is that understood? There’s no guessing in this.”
“Yes, you already said that.”
“If they’re on to Starlight and then extract that info and send someone in as a false flag, they’ll have you as a spy too.”
“Starlight?”
“Code name for our man on the inside.”
“And if no one comes up to me and whispers in my ear?”
“Then you attend the exhibition, learn what you can and leave as planned. Here.” He handed her a silver compact. “Let me have the one you have.”
She retrieved her own compact from her purse and handed it over.
“This way, I know you won’t have the wrong one on you. That one I just gave you has a false bottom. Starlight will give you something to bring back. Slip the note in there. It should fit. He hands you the note; you retire to the ladies’ and put it into the compact. I’m telling you this so you’ll take it seriously. Never forget how dangerous the package you’re carrying is. Once you have it, then comes the tough part.”
“Escaping?”
“Negative. You carry on. Put on a brave face, smile, make small talk with the dignitaries and other exhibition attendees. You’ll go to dinner with them, out for drinks if they want. Anything but run out of there. That’s where character comes into play. I know you have it. You’ve done things I wouldn’t dare try in a million years.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Purnsley.”
That seemed to set him straight, and he stiffened up. “Just make sure you get the package across the border after the exhibition. No hanging about. You’re going to be tailed—just assume it.”
“Why’s that? I’m just going in as a journalist.”
“A journalist is perfect cover for a spy. We use them, but so do the opposition. The Gestapo and Abwehr have plenty of people to keep you under close watch. They’ve torn the rule book up when it comes to civilized behaviour. Never forget that for a second, no matter how charming they might appear.”
“I won’t. I’ve already been on the receiving end of their anger. Saw a man get shot for it.” She shuddered inwardly.
“I know. Now, one last meal and then you’ll be on your way. My shout.”
They did enjoy one last meal together, and this time there was no monkey business. It was just small talk and comments on the wonderful French cuisine. At first, Aubrey was alert to any of Purnsley’s espionage tricks. She kept her purse close at hand and protected it anytime a waiter or busboy came by. Purnsley picked up on this and put his hands up.
“We’re off duty.”
“Are we—I mean you… Are you ever off duty, really?”
“No, never. But I’ll suspend training for the evening. Besides, what’s the point. You’re either ready to fly solo or you aren’t.”
“And if I’m not, it’s curtains for me.”
“Possibly. Listen, don’t worry. It’ll go off without a hitch.”
Aubrey nodded, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Hewitt, when that man I took out of Germany was dying in that field, he said something to me.”
“I think I remember you telling me something.”
“He said that Lazarus must get out. Does that mean anything to you?”
Purnsley sipped his wine.
“Hew?”
“Don’t call me that. My sister calls me that. Little Huey. I hate the name.”
“Okay, Hewitt. Lazarus—ring a bell?”
“He’s a scientist, I believe. Brilliant. They’re starting to flee Germany in droves. Someone called it a brain drain in the paper the other day. Seems appropriate.”
“Why wouldn’t Germany, Hitler, want to keep these brilliant minds in the country?”
“Because most of them are Jews. Either that or they’re Reds. This Lazarus does something with molecules, some sort of physics. I was never one for hard science.”
“Me neither, except when it came to flying, of course.”
“What goes up must come down, that sort of thing?”
She smiled. “So, what about him? Can he be gotten out?”
“Doubtful. If he can, he’ll have to do it on his own.”
“What about picking him up, like I did with the other guy? I could fly in…”
“Nonsense. Besides, that was all arranged. That was one of ours. We were in contact with him. Do you think he could have evaded the Gestapo without having sufficient training?”
“But they were on to him—they shot at us. Was he betrayed?”
“Probably. We’ll never know. Anyway, enough about this Lazarus. Just concentrate on the job at hand. Your train leaves in two hours.”
Aubrey was booked on the overnight to Berlin. The trip would take eight hours. They finished their meal, and Hewitt Purnsley said his goodbyes as he hailed a taxi for her. Aubrey thought he would return with her to the hotel but evidently, he wanted to make a clean break right there. She took no offense.
She had not fully unpacked for her short stay in Paris. As she put the few things back into her suitcase, she noticed something at the bottom of it. Something she had forgotten she had. She pulled the Colt .45 out of her bag and held it in her hands. It had been a last-minute decision, nicking her father’s pistol. She had decided it was the only way she would have peace of mind, knowing that her father didn’t have access to a loaded handgun. She stared at it speculatively. Or had there been another reason?
She was, after all, going into hostile territory. Had she felt some subconscious need to take it? She hadn’t mentioned it to Hewitt. Although they’d only spent two days together, she could tell what his reaction would be. He would have called her a damn fool for trying to bring a weapon into the Reich. He might have even confiscated it, or, worse, called the whole thing off.
She didn’t even have a holster for it. Only her tan flying coat had pockets big enough for it. She could hardly wear that to an elegant ball. But then again, what need would she have to bring a loaded pistol to an elegant fancy-dress ball? The pistol went back into the bag, stuffed down into the bottom.
The compact Hewitt had given her was packed last, after she’d sat down on the bed and fiddled with it for a while. The false bottom was hard to undo but eventually, by sticking her thumbnail in it, she got it open. She practised it a few more times; the last thing she wanted to do was be caught fiddling with it in the washroom of the Air Ministry of Nazi Germany.
She boarded the train to Berlin and a fat man in a wrinkled grey suit shifted his seat to allow her a window view. She thanked him, speaking in what little German she had. She’d taken it at Rockingham Girls’ Collegiate. She’d had no need of the French classes, of course; she spoke that better than the instructor.
She gazed out at the busy platform in Paris and noticed Hewitt Purnsley standing a hundred feet back from the train, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. For a moment they locked eyes. Then the train hooted and started to chug forward. Hewitt faded into the crowd and was gone.
As the train rolled across the French countryside, falling asleep proved an impossible task at first. Finally, the rhythmic clicking of the wheels over the tracks lulled her and she dreamt of Michigan and Ferguson and her father. The dream was abruptly ended by the slamming open of the compartment doors. A thin man no older than she was entered, carrying two battered suitcases. He was wearing a faded grey suit two sizes too large for him. The suitcases went on the rack over his head and he plunked down opposite her. The man who’d given up his seat had been awakened by the newcomer as well. Aubrey saw him cast a disapproving eye at the young man.
The thin man
unwrapped something strong-smelling from some waxed paper and the compartment was instantly filled with the odour. The man looked sheepishly up at Aubrey from his meal and offered it across to her. It looked like pâté. Her stomach grumbled; she was tempted to try it, but shook her head and smiled at the man. He was charming; his smile back showed a mouthful of pearly white teeth, and he had an infectious grin. There was a mole on his cheek below his right eye, and his hair, tucked up under a cap, looked very dark and oily. The man offered the delicacy to the German man, who ruffled his newspaper and held it higher to rebuff the offer. Aubrey changed her mind; she reached her hand out and snatched a small bit of beef pâté on a cracker. That delighted the newcomer to no end. She thanked him in English.