The Secret Agent

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  ‘I fell running to catch the train and did my ankle in. I’ve hurt my knee too. I didn’t think I would make it to the station.’

  ‘Why were you running?’ Sylvie asked in English.

  ‘I’d been making my way from the safe house and got the feeling I was being tracked. I took a few detours to throw them off, then got lost. I made the train by the skin of my teeth and fell on the platform.’

  He exhaled and rolled his eyes, as if he was describing a minor inconvenience, and gave a smile. Sylvie repressed her urge to shout at him, but he must have sensed her mood because his smile dropped.

  ‘I made a hash of it, didn’t I? Then made a spectacle of myself getting onto the train! People will remember.’

  ‘Let’s hope you lost them, otherwise the authorities will be looking in every town the train stopped at.’

  Sylvie put the suitcase in the bicycle basket. It stuck out awkwardly in a manner she knew would draw attention to it.

  ‘You can sit on the saddle and push with your good leg,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll walk beside you. We’ll move quicker that way.’

  He climbed on and pushed with his good foot and freewheeled down the road for a few yards. Moving at that pace, they would be lucky to cross the city before curfew.

  ‘There’s a checkpoint at the end of the next street as we are nearing the Nazi headquarters. Do you have your papers to hand?’

  ‘Yes. I’m now Christophe Bartine, a seller of cosmetics from Bordeaux. I think I’m too old to be your brother if anyone asks.’

  It was true. He was nearer to forty than thirty.

  ‘You’re my second cousin in that case.’

  The checkpoint was busy, with a long line of people who had come from the station and were returning home. Sylvie and Henri joined the line, adopting the same neutral expressions as everyone else. It was strange how easily oppression had become a minor, daily inconvenience rather than something to dread. As they grew nearer to the front, someone spoke loudly behind Sylvie.

  ‘The dancer who is definitely not a prostitute!’

  It was Nikki.

  Sylvie’s heart sank. He was the last person she would have liked to encounter. He was not part of the checkpoint staff but was standing at the opposite side of the road in a doorway, watching the line of people have their identity cards checked and bags searched.

  ‘Hello, Nikki,’ she said, giving him a weak smile.

  ‘Unteroffizier Sattler, not Nikki!’ he snapped.

  He marched across to Sylvie. With each step he took, she felt a jolt of anxiety.

  ‘My friend Verwaltungs-Sekretar Baumann is very upset. He told me that he believes you no longer wish to see him.’

  Sylvie sagged in relief. His attention was personal, not official.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she protested. ‘I just said I could not go to Paris with him. It was too soon. And I’m not that kind of girl. I’m sorry he’s unhappy.’

  Nikki sniffed, disbelievingly. His lip curled into a sneer.

  ‘Not that kind of girl? After he kissed you the way I told him to, I wonder if you are any kind of woman at all!’

  He stepped closer to Sylvie, looking over her so she had to look up into his face.

  ‘Why are you here instead of at home? Who is this with you? A lover? Is this the reason you are rejecting Verwaltungs-Sekretar Baumann?’

  ‘I’m not rejecting Dieter,’ Sylvie protested. The lie made her flinch inside. Marcel had still not told her what London had said, but she would have to tell Dieter something soon.

  ‘This is my cousin. I met him from the train. He’s staying the night here before carrying on.’

  Nikki held his hand out. ‘Your papers, fräulein.’

  Sylvie passed over her many-times folded identification paper. She had no worries they would be spotted as false, but even so her hand shook a little. Nikki held it up, turned it over, peered at the photograph.

  ‘You do not take care of this as you should. Look how the edges are ragged! Perhaps I should fine you for your lack of care.’

  A spark of contempt flickered inside Sylvie. This was bullying. He was trying to intimidate her. Nikki passed them back over, and she put them away. He turned to Henri, who had stood silently throughout the exchange, showing no interest and holding the bicycle handle.

  ‘Now, your papers.’

  Henri drew them from his inner jacket pocket and handed them over. Unlike Sylvie’s it was folded only once and was clean. It looked too fresh. Sylvie braced herself. Discovery was surely moments away.

  ‘A cosmetics salesman?’

  ‘Yes. I have the finest quality products. Things any woman would be pleased to receive as a gift. Would you care to see some samples?’ Henri patted the suitcase and smiled eagerly at Nikki.

  ‘Another time.’ Nikki held the paper out in front of Sylvie. ‘You should learn from your cousin, fräulein. This is how you should take care of your identity card. He has more pride in his belongings than you do.’

  He passed it back over to Henri and gave Sylvie another cold stare.

  ‘My friend has been waiting for your answer for far too long. I suggest you give it to him soon. You may proceed.’

  Sylvie and Henri rejoined the line for the checkpoint. Neither spoke until they were through and safely on the other side. At the corner, Sylvie looked back, glancing over her shoulder, then immediately chastised herself. Never look as if you are worried about anything. Don’t give people a reason to suspect you. However, she was relieved that Nikki was no longer looking in their direction but still watching the line of people.

  Henri grimaced. ‘There is a story there, I feel. Is this bad?’

  Sylvie bit her thumbnail. ‘I hope it isn’t bad. I think he was just being vindictive towards me. I’ve been working on a man in the administration system, but he started to get a little too fond of me and wants me to take a trip to Paris. I’ve been delaying answering, but I can’t put it off for much longer.’

  ‘Let’s get moving. I’m as much of a danger to you as you are to me, and it’s a long way to the safe house.’

  She set off, Henri freewheeling at her side. They had not gone more than a couple of streets before Henri called her to stop a moment. His complexion was sallow and he was starting to sweat. He climbed off the bicycle and limped to a wall and sat down. He rolled up his trouser leg and swore. Sylvie peered over and did the same. His ankle was swollen, but that was nothing compared to his kneecap, which was bulging sideways through his skin at an angle it was never meant to take. Sylvie felt vomit rise in the back of her throat, and she clasped her hand across her mouth urgently. A wound gushing blood would have been better than this.

  ‘I think it is dislocated,’ he groaned. ‘How far is it to the safe house?’

  His voice was taut. He must be in considerable pain.

  ‘A little over two miles, and the final part of it uphill. You can’t freewheel that,’ Sylvie said. ‘You’ll never make it there on that leg.’

  She sat on the wall beside him, running the options through her mind. Her own apartment was almost as far in the opposite direction. Tomas’s shop was closer, but he would be out on the factory attack and explaining to his son would be too complicated. There were not many places in the centre of Nantes where she could hide him.

  A detachment of soldiers marched past, boots drumming in unison, and Sylvie winced. The encounter with Nikki had shaken her, and she felt hunted. There was one obvious place, but she was reluctant to take him there after she had already brought too much attention to it. However, this would only be for one night.

  ‘I work at a club a short walk from here. I’ll have to take you there.’

  It took almost half an hour to reach Mirabelle, and, fortunately, the street was almost empty. The door to the club was locked, but the window on the second floor was wide open. Sylvie instructed Henri to wait in the alley while she threw a handful of gravel overarm and called Antoine’s name. His head appeared.

  ‘
I left my purse here,’ she called. ‘Can you come down and let me in? I won’t take long.’

  He disappeared, and shortly afterwards, she heard the bolts scraping back. She whistled beneath her breath to Henri and he lurched around the corner and through the door. He slumped forwards to his knees, gave a cry of agony and slumped face down. Sylvie rolled him over. He had fainted. While they waited for him to recover, she explained the situation to Antoine.

  ‘I didn’t know where else to bring him. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Never be sorry for doing the right thing, child.’

  Henri began to stir. Antoine brought him a glass of water mixed with brandy. ‘I should start billing you for this brandy,’ he said with a smile to Sylvie as she held the glass to Henri’s lips.

  ‘My case,’ Henri murmured. ‘It can’t be left outside.’

  Sylvie fetched it and when she returned, Henri was leaning up against a table, holding the glass. She was relieved to see he had more colour in his cheeks. With Henri going up backward, seated on his bottom, Sylvie and Antoine managed to get him up to Antoine’s apartment and onto a sofa where they removed his shoes, socks and trousers. All three of them regarded the swollen ankle and knee. The leg was a mess of swellings and the beginnings of bruising. Antoine wrapped Henri’s knee and ankle in wet towels and raised the leg on a stool.

  ‘It is testament to your courage that you endured walking this far,’ he said, shaking Henri’s hand.

  ‘Without Sylvie and her bicycle, I wouldn’t have. Which reminds me, please give me my case.’

  Sylvie handed it over. Henri opened the case and produced a smaller case of lipsticks and powder compacts, a jar of cold cream and other assorted cosmetics.

  ‘When I started to suspect I was being watched, I began to get a few things together. I’ve got a few important pieces in here I wouldn’t like to fall into the wrong hands. Disguised to look completely innocent, of course.’

  He unscrewed the lid of the cold cream and offered it to Sylvie. She dipped a finger in and discovered that while the cream was real, the jar did not go deeper than her fingertip. It had a fake bottom. Henri laughed at her astonishment and prised the inner jar free to reveal green putty. The scent of almonds filled the air. The cavity was filled with plastic explosive.

  ‘This might be useful to someone. I had to abandon my wireless set, but I have the crystals safely concealed. I’ve got some damned good painkillers in here somewhere as well. I’m going to take a handful, and then I want you two to have a bash at putting my knee back in shape. I know you’ll have done some medical training down in Kent, Sylvie.’

  ‘I’ve never had to try on a real person,’ Sylvie said doubtfully. ‘I’d rather leave it until tomorrow and ask Marcel for advice or you could end up crippled for life.’

  ‘Good thinking, girl,’ Henri said. ‘In that case, I’ll trouble you for another brandy and try to get some rest.’

  ‘Leave him with me,’ Antoine said. ‘Go home and go to bed, child. Tomorrow, get word to Marcel about what has happened, and we will put the matter into his hands. There is nothing more you can do tonight.’

  He was right that she could do nothing to help Henri. She rode home, keeping to the back streets with her mind full of worries. Henri had been ready to leave when the time came. Thanks to careful planning, he had managed to evade arrest. Perhaps it was time for Sylvie to make plans herself.

  As soon as she arrived home, she pulled open the window and dragged her tin from its hiding place. She had enough money saved to buy food and accommodation for two or three days, as well as the rest of the sleeping pills she had dosed Céline with, alongside the amphetamines. She unpicked the seam at the base of her handbag and put the money and pills inside the lining.

  As she sewed the seams back together, there was an abrupt rumble in the distance, like a roll of thunder. Shortly afterwards came the wail of sirens screaming across the city. She ran to the bathroom and leant out of the window, craning her head to look out over the city. She laughed with delight. The sky beyond the river glowed with fire. The men had done their task and the factory had been blown up.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sylvie visited the Barbe residence shortly after eight the following morning. She suspected that even if Marcel did not spend his nights there, Louise would know how to locate him. As it happened, he emerged from a bedroom looking a little guilty at being found out. Sylvie wondered whether admitting to sleeping with Felix would ease his conscience at all. He had dark bags beneath his eyes and looked exhausted. He plodded around the kitchen brewing ersatz coffee in a pot.

  ‘I’ve only been in bed for a couple of hours. I waited at a rendezvous point by the bakery, hoping to see that everyone was accounted for. I had to leave at five when the workers arrived or I’d still be there now,’ he explained.

  He hadn’t said safe, and the fact he had left unwillingly was sinister.

  ‘Did everything go according to plan? I saw the fire from the explosion lighting the sky.’

  ‘The attack itself was a success. I have no complaints there. A lot of machinery will be out of use indefinitely.’ He dropped into the armchair and his expression changed from satisfaction to despair.

  ‘Two of the men who detonated the explosives were shot as they left the factory grounds. They ran almost straight into a patrol. Felix took out the gunman before he could shoot the third, and another three of the soldiers for good measure, but the alert was raised.’

  He broke off. A hand gripped Sylvie’s heart, squeezing it until she felt it had stopped beating and would never start again.

  ‘Is Felix…’ Sylvie sank onto the empty chair, hardly able to ask. ‘Did he escape?’

  Marcel looked grave.

  ‘By the time the remaining soldiers had worked out where he was based, he had fled the scene. There was no trace of him when Tomas went to look hours later.’

  All sound and colour leached out from the world. ‘And since then?’

  ‘No word yet, but don’t give up hope.’

  She nodded. She’d keep clinging on to the belief that he was safe until there was proof that he wasn’t.

  ‘You didn’t come here just to ask about last night, did you?’ Marcel asked.

  Sylvie rubbed her eyes. She’d almost forgotten her purpose. More bad news to impart. Marcel filled two coffee cups and gave her one. She sipped it automatically, for once not minding the weak, bitter taste of chicory.

  ‘Last night did not go according to plan for me either, I’m afraid.’

  Marcel greeted the news of Henri’s injuries and failure to reach the safe house with predictable frustration.

  ‘I’m not angry at you,’ he reassured her. ‘You did your best, Sylvie, and on balance you made the right decision to take him to Mirabelle rather than trying to get to the safe house. The couple who own it are older and wouldn’t be able to cope with having an invalid on their hands.’

  He sipped his cup of coffee, staring into the cup as if it held the answer. ‘I shall have to arrange for messages to be passed along the networks who will be waiting for him that there has been a delay. It makes things so much more complicated, especially after last night’s mixed success.’

  Sylvie nodded, but her heart was leaden. The partial destruction of a factory hardly seemed to balance the death of two men and Felix’s disappearance.

  ‘There seemed to be more soldiers on the streets when I cycled over.’ A direct result of the bombing or her imagination? The authorities would be looking for the culprits. Any movements would be difficult.

  ‘Henri won’t be able to ride a bicycle until his knee heals,’ she pointed out, trying to find the best of the matter. ‘He’ll have to stay put for a while, which will give things time to settle down. Do you know a doctor who we can trust to treat his leg?’

  ‘Yes, I think I know a man who can be trusted to keep his silence, as long as Henri can convincingly play a Frenchman while he is being treated. Go home for now, Sylvie. I’ll send wo
rd if we need you.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I go to Mirabelle?’ she asked.

  Marcel gave her a penetrating look. ‘What would you do there?’

  ‘I don’t know. See how Henry is? See if Felix has returned home?’

  ‘No, I think I’d rather you went home for the morning,’ Marcel said. ‘I have nothing for you to do right now, and the fewer people on the street the better.’

  Sitting in her bedroom and waiting for news would be unbearable.

  She gripped her coffee cup. ‘There’s something else you need to know. Henri and I had an encounter with one of Baumann’s friends at the checkpoint. He told me Baumann is waiting for my answer. Have you received any word from England concerning my situation with Baumann?’

  Marcel pursed his lips. ‘Major Swift thinks you should end it. You should definitely not agree to visit Paris with him. The Gestapo are much more adept at identifying fake papers than a spiteful jobsworth like Baumann’s friend, and there is nothing to be gained from you putting yourself closer to them. We have enough agents in the capital already risking exposure.’

  A weight lifted from Sylvie’s shoulders. She had not realised how much she had been dreading the opposite verdict.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘London suggests if Baumann continues to place us under threat, we remove you from the situation.’

  A pit opened in Sylvie’s stomach. ‘Remove me? I don’t want to go anywhere.’

  Marcel frowned. ‘I know there are compelling reasons for you to stay, but that is irrelevant.’

  ‘What compelling reasons do you mean?’ Sylvie asked. She already knew the answer.

  ‘You know what I mean. Or rather, who.’

  She couldn’t admit it, but her face must have been enough because Marcel sighed.

  ‘I’ve known Felix Lambert for over two years, and in the past month or two, he has become a changed man. What I’ve seen recently is enough to tell me you’ve become close.’

  He walked to the window and looked out. Sylvie leaned on the windowsill beside him. Louise Barbe and Claire were standing in the street chatting with a neighbour. He turned back to Sylvie and gave her a sad smile.