Shadow of Treason

by Tricia N. Goyer

  She sat on the chapel’s back pew and glanced up at the crucifix on the wall, whispering a silent prayer for strength to hear what would follow. Before sitting down next to her, Walt checked the side rooms and even the confessional to ensure they were completely alone.

  Sophie inched away from him, distancing herself from the bad news she felt was coming.

  He began with a heavy sigh. “Over the last fifteen or so years, Russia’s presence in Spain has increased. In September, just a few months into the war, Madrid turned to Russia for help. Spain asked for arms above all else.”

  “That ’s not news. I’ve seen the Russian commanders and arms at the front lines. But are all the weapons from Russia?”

  “Mostly. They immediately committed a hundred T26 tanks and fifty fighter planes—no small number. Yet most are of poor quality. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the field guns came from the days of Catherine the Great.”

  “Still, that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” Sophie brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She could see in his gaze that Walt didn’t agree.

  “I’m not sure it is. The Reds place very strict conditions on their generous assistance. Some Spanish regimental commanders have been refused ammunition and medical supplies unless they join the Communist Party. And when it comes to the air war, the Soviets have control. They don’t even consult with Spanish advisors. They have a very definite plan when it comes to Spain— mainly ensuring that their party is the next one in control.”

  Sophie tried to hide her frown, again thinking of Michael’s chiding. How many times had he shown his disapproval when she had so quickly chosen sides without understanding the politics behind the war? The more she found out, the more complicated it became. She ’d liked it much better when it was simply a fight between good and evil without any gray areas.

  Walt cleared his throat and continued, running his hand across the smooth wood of the pew in front of them. “Spain paid for the Soviet aid with the gold reserves of Banco de Espana. A few months ago, Spain had the fourth largest gold reserves in the world, mainly due to the commercial boom during the Great War.”

  “Had?”

  “I doubt if you’ve heard the name before, but the Russian economist Stashevsky suggested that the Spanish government ‘keep a current account in gold’ in Moscow. The Republicans listened to him, mainly because they were worried that Franco’s troops would occupy Madrid and capture the gold.”

  “So they shipped it to Russia for safekeeping?” Sophie folded her hands on her lap, listening intently.

  “Safekeeping isn’t the word I would choose. They moved it to protect it from the Army of Africa—the hired Moors—that threatened Madrid, but they also used the gold to help buy arms and raw materials.”

  “So these weapons that you mentioned, these planes and tanks, they were not given freely?”

  Walt smirked. “Nothing, my dear, is free in this world. Everything has a price tag, including the generosity of those who have a vested interest in Spain. And although I do not like the way the Communists are handling the matter, we need their help.”

  “The gold was supposed to be converted into foreign exchange through Eurobank in Paris,” Walt continued. “In July the first dispatch of gold went to Paris, to pay for armament purchases in France. But 178 tons of gold were sent . . . and only 174 tons arrived.”

  “The rest was stolen?”

  “Yes, except no one knows where or by whom. The government is calling the whole thing a clerical error, but personally, I think they’re hiding something.”

  “But why hasn’t any of this been in the newspapers? Surely the people have a right to know what is happening with their own gold reserves.”

  “Think about it, Sophie.” Walt spoke with an intensity she hadn’t heard before. “What do you think would happen if word leaked out that four tons of gold were stolen and hidden somewhere between Madrid and Paris?”

  “The people would stop fighting and start searching,” she whispered.

  “That is exactly why word of this cannot get out. The people will put down their arms for false hope of riches, and in the end, all they love about Spain will be lost. In the end, their cause will be abandoned.” Walt cleared his throat. “Besides, only higher officials even know about the reserves and the purchases from Russia . . . the people have more important things to think about. Like surviving until tomorrow.”

  “And if the gold is found . . . then what?”

  “Then the shipment will be sent to Russia, as planned. Russia has already limited their amount of aid because of the theft. More gold means more help. And more help . . . well, that can make the difference in a war lost or won for the people of Spain.”

  Sophie replayed the words in her mind. The people of Spain. When she ’d first arrived, they were a curiosity to her—she enjoyed learning about their customs and way of life. But the more time she spent with them, the more she understood their hearts. She thought of José and his friendship, and Benita and Luis, who welcomed her into their home. She thought about those who used to walk by the side street window, and their simple lives. They were a passionate people, a caring people. They lived each day to the fullest, yet generously offered a hand to those in need. In the months she ’d been here, she realized it was the people who had captured her heart.

  Sophie stood and walked to the stained glass window. Her finger traced the lead that secured the multicolored pieces. The shape and color of each piece made no sense on its own, but together they formed an exquisite picture. So too were the events of her time in Spain. Piece by piece, the story’s colors and shapes came together. She discovered that, amazingly, the mysterious stranger she ’d met on the French border, the one who had seemed to be of no consequence, was actually the lead binding all the individual pieces of her experience in Spain together into one image—an image she honestly wished she didn’t have to see.

  She thought about Philip. He was putting his life on the line to give the people what they desired most—a chance to govern themselves and rise above their lowly station. If she could tell him, what would he say? Would he urge her to help in any way she could, just as he was doing?

  Sophie took a deep breath. “But I don’t understand. What about me? What about Michael? How does he fit into this whole mess?”

  “Before I tell you that, Sophie, I need to warn you. The observer’s eye is useless unless it can tell what it sees. Many have already lost their lives—not in getting the information, but in getting it back to us. I have only shared the basics. Nothing you know now is of any consequence. If you wish, I can put you on the next train to Paris, and you can walk away from all this mess.”

  “And from people who need my help and from the man I love.”

  “Yes, I am afraid so.” Walt briskly rubbed his forehead and looked at her with mournful eyes, as if apologizing without words.

  “Then I have no choice. It seems I’m here for a purpose, that some grand schemer brought me here.”

  Walt blew out a heavy sigh and folded his hands on his lap. “Exactly, Sophie. That’s exactly right.”

  For the next half hour, Walt carefully explained the story of the Spanish gold.

  “In September the council of ministers agreed to transfer the gold and silver from the Banco de Espana to Moscow. Ten thousand crates traveled through various ports, watched over by the Soviet secret police and guarded by a detachment of carabineros. It’s estimated the 510 tons were worth at least 518 million. But all the gold did not arrive as planned.”

  “Five hundred and eighteen million dollars?” It was a number Sophie couldn’t even comprehend.

  “That’s just the worth based on its weight. The shipment was filled with ancient artifacts, such as Aztec gold and rare coins. In truth, the shipments are valued even more.”

  “So first the gold is sold for much less than its value, and then some of it is lost as well?”

  “That’s right,” Walt said. “The amazin
g thing is that someone took an interest in the gold long before the civil war even broke out. And, though a foreigner, he just happened to be in town when the shipment was made. Not only that, he disappeared around the same time the gold did.”

  “Michael,” Sophie said flatly, thinking of all those days he was in Madrid. She faced bombings and helped care for refugee children, while he stole the very funds sent to help their cause? Not only that. Could it be possible he faked his death so that no one would raise questions when he disappeared the same time as the gold?

  Anger stirred within her, and she thought again of Maria Donita, wondering what part she played in all this.

  “How could he do such a thing?” she blurted out. “How could he take the funds that could help so many?”

  “That’s not the only trouble for the Spanish people,” Walt continued. “As soon as news of the gold reserves leaked, the value of the Republican peseta collapsed on the foreign exchanges, falling by half, which means that there is no other country willing to help—because they have no way of ensuring they will receive payment for any troops or arms provided.”

  Sophie felt the impact of this news like a heavy burden weighing on her shoulders.

  “I know what this means. You want me to return to Michael and see what information I can discover. But what about Philip? I told him just yesterday how much I care.”

  “Yes, I know, but consider this. Now that Philip realizes how you feel, he can return to the front lines with renewed energy and desire to fight the battle he came for. What did you think? That he would be able to follow you around as you move from battle scene to battle scene painting for the cause? That you would continue your romance in the midst of a war? I promised Philip’s commander that I’d return him within a week’s time.”

  “So you think that I can do this without telling him?”

  “Yes. Once you get the information—which will take a month at most—you can continue on with Philip as if nothing ever happened. And because of your help, the people will have the arms and men to win their fight.”

  “And Michael? Just where is he now?”

  “He ’s in Bilbao, but . . . well, I’ve arranged for your meeting.”

  “I was already planning on traveling there, with the priest. He asked me to go with him.”

  “The priest is already gone.”

  Sophie cocked her head and gazed at Walt. She didn’t even want to ask how he knew that, or how he was involved with the priest. She didn’t need any more to think about than what he ’d already told her.

  “When Michael sees you, he will try to make things right. He will confess his love and ask for your forgiveness. And you are to do what he asks.”

  “Forgive him?” Just saying those words caused a heaviness to weigh on her chest.

  “Yes. I can see that look in your eyes; you don’t think you can pull it off. But you can do this, Sophie. You must, to be sure your side wins. And remember, Philip will not need to know. I just need your help for a few weeks, a month at the most. No one else can get close enough to Michael. You are our only hope.”

  “This cannot be happening.” She lowered her face into her hands. “I came here because I met this wonderful guy and wanted to get married. I didn’t get that, but I found something more. I found my heart through these paintings. I found Philip. More than that, I found God here. I’ve discovered that He is real.”

  “Well, if that is the case, what if God has something more for you?” Walt gazed at her with intensity in his eyes. “I know a bit about the Bible, too. What if you have arrived ‘for such a time as this’? Maybe God brought you here knowing your one life could bring hope to so many.”

  “That’s easy to say—but not so easy to do. I don’t think I can pull it off. I can’t imagine seeing Michael again.” She grew lightheaded just imagining seeing him facetoface. The image of his dead body invaded her thoughts, and she felt both sorrow and anger realizing what he had put her through for . . . for wealth. “What if I can’t convince him of my sincerity?”

  “You have to pull it off—or at least try. I wouldn’t ask if there weren’t so much at stake. We ’re talking about lives. Thousands and thousands of lives. Just walk out these doors. Look around at the destruction. What you see outside is a minor thing compared to what could happen next if these people can’t get the arms and support they so desperately need. The lost gold can be used to obtain it.”

  Sophie walked to the open door and scanned the flattened city. She knew that if she had had the power, she ’d have sacrificed anything to prevent the bombing. To save the lives of these people. And it could happen again . . . unless she stepped in.

  “I’ll do it.” She folded her arms over her chest. “What must happen first?”

  “I have two assignments for you. First, destroy the paintings . . . and then give me the film with the photographs of the bombing. I will develop them for you. I’ll leave some with you, but I’ll take the best ones and have them published . . . under a different name.” He pulled a small knife and a sheaf out of his pocket. “To gain Michael’s confidence, you cannot be involved with those photographs at all. If Michael found out, you would lose all his trust.”

  “And second?”

  “And second, say goodbye to Philip.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Half an hour. But whatever you do, don’t mention me or anything of this assignment. As far as Philip is concerned, you’re traveling to Bilbao for safety, and you’ll keep in touch through letters. Tell him nothing else.”

  “I demand an hour. And you have to give it to me.” She lifted her eyebrows and met his gaze. “After all, you need me.”

  Walt ’s eyes sparkled. “You never cease to amaze me, Miss Grace. You are right, but you also need me. There are a few more things you’ll need to know, and I’ll talk quickly, for your one hour is ticking down, starting now.”

  Walt then told her exactly what type of information she needed to keep her ears open for, concerning the gold and the people Michael was involved with.

  “And what do you want me to do after I get the information?”

  Walt’s beady eyes focused on hers. “After you get it, I need you to leave the country. It’s not safe—any of this. In fact, that is why I’m assigning someone to shadow you.”

  She cocked one eyebrow. “Maybe you? You’re the one who got me into this mess, after all.”

  “I cannot do it; it would be too obvious. And Philip must return to his regiment.”

  “What about Deion? He ’s injured, and surely if he wasn’t with me, he ’d be sent back to the States.”

  “That’s out of the question. A black man in Spain will bring more attention than you need. The person I’m thinking about will be invisible, even to you.”

  “You mean I’ll be going alone?”

  “I mean it will seem like you’re going alone, but don’t worry. Someone will be watching over you.”

  “Like a guardian angel?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d rather have someone I can see . . . and talk to.” The two aches, of facing Michael and of leaving Philip, joined as one large pain in her heart.

  “Yes, but isn’t that what faith is all about? Trusting in what you cannot see?”

  “Sí, I suppose it is.”

  “And unfortunately, faith requires us to take giant leaps into the unknown. . . .” And with that, Walt led her out of the chapel door into the new life that waited outside.

  Chapter Seven

  Tears wet Sophie ’s cheeks, and she hugged her legs to her chest and let her forehead fall to her knees. She ’d told Walt she needed a few minutes to compose herself, but that was an understatement. She needed a lifetime.

  Michael had lied to her—planned his own death, knowing the pain it would cause. Or did he truly know? How could he understand the pain of having her heart ripped from her chest? How could he comprehend her fear of being left alone in a wartorn cou
ntry?

  She doubted now if he had ever loved her. Had pursuing her just been a distraction—something to add some excitement to his time in Boston? Sure, he ’d proposed, but obviously he ’d never counted on following through . . . or on her following him.

  From the moment she entered Spain, she ’d experienced hurt upon hurt. Death, destruction, loss. A sob caught in her throat. Sophie had never felt so out of control. She lived each day at the mercy of others. To feed her, care for her, keep her safe—tell her where to go. There ’d been those who did their best to help her in Spain, and yet they couldn’t meet all her needs—no one could.

  Oh, God . . . The emotion of her helplessness choked her. I am so lost and confused. I try to follow my heart, and it keeps getting broken again and again. I try to be strong, but my own longings pull me down. I can’t do this alone.

  And as she sat there on the small cot, with the scent of ashes saturating her skin, she realized just doing her part wasn’t enough. She loved with all her heart, but that in no way guaranteed love ’s return. With good intentions she helped those in need, only to be misused and lied to. Only one love was guaranteed to be returned. Only by offering to God her talents, her energy—herself—would she get out of this mess with her soul intact.

  She thought of Philip. Sweet, gentle Philip. Even he could never love her perfectly. Yet she was okay with that. She knew he ’d try to give her all the love he possessed. And she wanted to try in return. But now . . . Sophie pressed her face into the pillow once again and let the tears flow.

  Minutes were ticking by, and Sophie knew she didn’t have time to wallow in her sadness. Every minute spent vacillating between dogged certainty and tears of regret were minutes she wasn’t spending with Philip.

  She rose from her bed and took the knife from her pants pocket. She had created the paintings at Deion’s urging as soon as the city was bombed. He told her that these captured images would matter. That she would be able to tell the world what really happened. She had already given Walt the film . . . he said he ’d find a way to get it to the press at the right time without there being any connection to her. But she still had two other assignments from him that she ’d promised to finish within the hour.