She nodded. “But I will do it. When I escaped, I wanted nothing more than to get back to Papa and Le Flâneur. I am involved now and I must finish it. You are Papa’s dear friend. You were my mother’s.” She placed her hand on top of his. “And you are mine as well.”
Nye blushed and looked at the ground, suddenly uncomfortable.
Katrinka studied him with affection. Of course she would do this for him. She would do anything the man asked her to do. She would love him, if only he would let her.
Since the age of four, she’d spent her life being shuttled between both fathers. Her mother was restless, leaving one man to join the other and then going back again. When she was nine years old her mother had run away once more, leaving Emerson at his site near Malaga. They’d boarded a ferry to Algiers and on arrival, Katrinka was surprised to find her papa and a young man waiting for them. He was very big, with sad-looking eyes. He was holding a leash, with a dilapidated sack of fur and bones at the end of it. He already knew her parents and had worked with Papa before. His name was Willoughby Nye, but everyone called him Wills.
With a schoolgirl crush, she had quite simply fallen in love with him from the very beginning. Her young-girl adoration had embarrassed him terribly, and he’d wanted nothing to do with her. She had learned to hide her feelings for him.
Nye suddenly looked up as if reading her thoughts, and she dropped her gaze.
He cleared his throat and continued, “Nonetheless, I need Farr here. We’ve received his radio parts, and he’s back in business. It was just a fluke he was there on patrol yesterday. And I was only able to spare him to go and look for you because his radio was broken.”
“A good fluke for me.”
“A damn good fluke, Katrinka.”
They stared at each other for some moments.
Nye broke the silence. “Sébastien will go with you. He has had quite a bit of experience with these things.”
“I think if I cannot have Farr, I would prefer to go alone. You said yourself I would be under no suspicion. I would not want to worry about another.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “There is truth in what you say.”
“When shall I leave?”
Nye stood and stuffed the map into his jacket. “We’re walking back now. You should go as soon as we can get you ready.”
“Wills?”
“Yes?”
“Has my father heard? Does he know?”
The major shook his head. “No, Katrinka.”
She gave a sharp sigh. “I do not know how these things are managed here, but you will locate Emerson’s body in the village near where he was killed, and A-mah’s. I want them to be cremated. I will return to collect their ashes. You must do this for me.”
“Of course. I’ve already made inquiries. The village’s burial detail has taken the bodies back to town. They found papers in Emerson’s jacket. I’ll give these to you when you return.” His voice shook. “I would not have left her in this godforsaken place.”
* * *
Pascal had found them a new place to camp after the drop. They were now situated behind the farm belonging to a postmaster and his wife. The team moved into a few wooden structures used for the animals. Farr had already set up his radio and aerial a few hundred meters from the camp. With Farr’s radio working, the SAS team left the area that morning. Nye sent Katrinka with the young wife. She had a pretty face and smiled at the girl.
“Go along with her now. She has the correct clothing, papers, and money. We will kit you up properly. I’m afraid she’ll have to cut your hair to the local style,” said Nye.
The major saw her out, and called for Valentine and Sébastien. They’d been working on the Norton’s engine and were covered in grease. Nye gave them a short briefing, dismissed them, and then called for Farr, who showed up so quickly that the major realized he must have been waiting.
He turned to Farr, his features composed. The sergeant’s own face was unreadable.
The major began, “I am sure you are curious as to what this is about.”
“Yes, sir.”
The men sat across a small folding table from each other as Nye quickly summarized everything concerning the ship, the plastique, and the missing agent. He included a brief connection between Amparo, Katrinka, and himself. “I’ll need you working the radio. Contacts must be notified, plans modified, and the safe house on the coast alerted. Sébastien will help you with your message deliveries.”
Farr nodded, but when told of the major’s plans, his face hardened. “You’re using her as a floater?”
Nye shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The SOE had always used floaters—a person used one time, occasionally, or even unknowingly, for an intelligence operation. Usually they were successful. Sometimes they were not. “You could call it that.”
“You can’t do that, sir. She’s had no training. It will be suicide to send her out not knowing how to defend herself, or what to do.”
“That’s a chance we have to take. She appears to know how to use a knife adequately, and she managed to escape from you. The SOE has been using women agents for years. They’re smart, fearless, and extremely capable.”
“But she’s not conscripted and has no proper identification. If she’s caught, she’ll be tortured or executed.” He paused. “Have you forgotten the female agent they arrested just last month?”
Nye flinched. He had not forgotten. “She won’t be caught if she’s careful. She has papers.”
“Have you even told her, or is she going in blind?”
“I’ve told her, and she’s agreed.”
Farr looked away.
The major continued, his voice rising, “Don’t be an ass, Farr. There’s no one else. She’s young, female, and fluent in French. She could easily pass for a schoolgirl. Her disguise is perfect. She has no knowledge of other agents or operations, and could tell them nothing if caught.”
Farr stared.
Nye flushed. “Yes, I’m telling you the facts. Bloody hell, man, you know how much we need this.”
Farr’s voice was tight. “Don’t send her out on this without protection; let me go with her. I know how to blend in. My French is—”
The major roared, “Sergeant, I’m not asking your permission on the matter. This is an order, and I expect you to follow it.”
The men locked eyes, and Nye experienced a stab of doubt. If his own conscience was torturing him, how could he convince Farr? Damn these American agents. They were all loose cannons as far as he was concerned.
“Yes, sir, of course,” Farr said. “How will she communicate? We need to know when she’s got the plastique.”
Nye’s shoulders relaxed. “Amparo’s radio has been out for two days, but it doesn’t matter. His agent on the coast will let us know when she’s returning. She must not be caught with any equipment.”
Farr’s eyes narrowed.
The major amended, “She must not be caught at all.”
“When will she leave? The schedule’s pretty tight.”
Nye stood and pulled his map out, explaining the plans. “After retrieving the plastique she’ll return, and go to Bouchard’s farmhouse—”
“Bouchard? Why Bouchard?”
“Degare was apprehended and arrested two days ago.”
Farr sat back, looking stunned. “There’ve been too damn many arrests lately. We’ve heard rumors of an informant.”
“Yes. All the more important we do this thing and leave. Bouchard’s been working with the local Maquis for some time. He’ll deliver the plastique to the demolition team. Now I’ll let you get back to your radio. Report to me when you are finished.” He sat down, returning to his papers.
“Sir.”
The major glanced up.
“You know she was hurt.”
“Yes, she seems to be mending pr
operly. Nothing broken.”
Farr stood, embarrassed. “I think… that is, Val and I think she was—”
“You think she was raped.”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Farr’s voice flicked in anger. “She should see a doctor in the village. Make up some story. She could be hurt, sir.”
Nye had already considered the possibility and had put it out of his mind. She seemed steady, she hadn’t requested anything. He clung to that slim fact. “Let me talk to her before she leaves. I’ll sound her out on it.”
Snapping a quick salute Farr exited the enclosure, swearing under his breath.
* * *
In less than an hour Katrinka had been given proper clothing, a haircut, and various documents, including some papers from her knapsack. A copy of her photo had been superimposed onto a new ID. Nye watched as she pirouetted in front of him in her new clothes.
“What do you think?” she asked.
She was wearing a dark-brown farm skirt with a tucked-in blouse, jumper, and a beret. She looked like a schoolgirl. Makeup covered most of her bruising, and the clothing did the rest. He knew her knife, the one Emerson had given her long ago, was sheathed and hidden in the waistband of her skirt.
Worry gnawed at the man’s gut. There was so much more she needed. Agents trained for months in the art of field work. The slightest mistake would give her away. He counted on her going unnoticed. And deep in his heart, he knew this young woman standing before him. Had watched her grow up on the decks of Le Flâneur, and its rough-and-tumble sort of life. Her schooling had been an assortment of tutors and teachers, old deck hands, her French grandmother, and both fathers. Her morals and values had been formed by close observations, and her heart. And the thread running through it all had been her fierce, unequivocal need for independence. Although not formally trained, she had an instinct for survival, naïve bravery, and a rather wild, almost savage unpredictability that was perfectly suited for the job.
He smiled at her. “You’ll do fine, Katrinka.”
She picked up her bag.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
“I just want to make sure you’re set for this.”
“I’m fine, Wills.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of days.”
She paled.
He took a deep breath. “I think you should see a doctor or a clinic in the village. It can be arranged when you return.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I really must insist. There are… the men might have given you something. A simple test could clear it all up.”
She was sweating. “I don’t like doctors.”
Nye knew of her deep-seated, almost irrational fear, but this could not be ignored, and she knew it.
“So, you would put Farr at risk?”
She colored to the top of her hairline and her face clenched with anger. Swinging her arm, she swept the papers from his table. They fluttered in the air like disturbed birds, scattering to the ground. “So, it is not over. It was not enough—now I must worry about disease as well. Or how about pregnancy? Have you thought of that one?”
Nye was silent.
“Make the appointment! Let the doctor prod and poke, to see what he may find. I’ve never—” She stopped suddenly, catching sight of his expression.
God knows what she saw there, the misery he was feeling must have shown.
When she spoke again her voice was quiet, her anger gone. “I’m sorry, Wills. I am being stupid. And you are right. I’ll go. If you could tell me where…?”
“Sweetheart, don’t worry about it. Raphael will arrange the appointment for you when you return. I’ll go with you if you like.”
“And who would save France while you were holding my hand?” She shook her head, giving him the ghost of a smile. “Thank you, Wills, but I’ll be all right.”
He felt a great sense of relief. “Well then, that’s settled. Now I think you’d best be on your way.”
They walked outside, to where Farr stood waiting beside the bicycle. Nye handed her a piece of silk with a map and various directions written on it.
“Conceal this in the handlebars of your bike. They unscrew easily. Remember, all you need to do is contact your father, get the plastique, and bring it to Bouchard’s farm. He’s been told to expect a delivery by an agent sometime tomorrow evening. He’ll take the plastique from there.”
“I’ll give Papa your love.”
“Do that.” Nye pulled her close for a moment. “Katrinka, I have no right to ask you this, but if you should be stopped, if you can manage to hold out even for a day, it would give us time to move the team. It would give them a chance.”
She replied, her eyes somber. “I would hope they would get nothing from me. I know so very little as it is.”
He turned her around, her back to Farr. He did not want the man to see what he was about to do.
“In case you are detained, if it gets bad, I want you to have this.” He slipped a miniature vial into her hand, containing a small tablet.
“What is it?”
“It gets you out of it all.”
She stared at the vial, and then him.
He whispered softly, “If it gets too bad.”
She nodded wordlessly, tucking it deep into her pocket.
Farr stood beside the bike, arms crossed, staring pointedly into the distance, trying not to watch the major with Katrinka. How closely they stood together. How he looked down at her, and how she gazed up at him. He half-turned his head as she approached. Almost angrily, he hooked out an arm and pulled her to him, placing his mouth just next to her ear.
“You come back safely, you understand? Don’t let yourself be caught.”
He had to let her go then. He did not want to let her go. He watched as she mounted the bike, adjusted her beret, and with a wave, pedaled off down the road.
The major turned back to the shed, and Farr returned to his radio. There was nothing to do now but wait.
Chapter 3
France, 1944
After the market, Katrinka wheeled along, pacing herself for the long ride ahead, reflecting on her conversation with Wills. Another examination. She’d not been to a doctor since the one at Emerson’s dig in Spain. It was just after the incident. She was nine years old, and nothing had prepared her for the experience.
The doctor had touched her like she was unclean. Prodding and intruding with his cold instruments while she lay back on the hard metal table, the garish overhead light blinding her, increasing her sense of helplessness. She’d cried and struggled to get away, but the nurse’s cold hands held her down. They’d made her mother leave the room. No. It was useless to think of that.
Her thoughts turned to the previous night with the man Farr, and she experienced a frisson of sexual electricity. She did not want him mixed up in her rage. He was a good man. He was not to blame for what others had done, that was something else. It belonged in a box, locked up tight inside her heart.
Katrinka pedaled along the village lanes, crossing over creeks and through pasturelands smelling of freshly cut grasses. The air felt soft and slightly damp, its moisture beading like tears on her cheek. The houses were shrouded in a fine yellow mist, giving everything a faraway look, as if she were traveling through the illustrations of an old storybook.
She passed a few German soldiers on the road and occasionally, farm laborers, dressed in the same type of clothing Farr and his team wore. But everyone seemed too occupied to notice a young woman on her bicycle. There were so many of them out: daughters and mothers without their men, scavenging what they could.
She came to a large town with an abandoned playground at the edge of it. One of the swings was broken and hung by its rusted chain. Its clanging made a discordant sound that carried on the wind. Where were all the children? Shouldn�
�t they be out in the streets, playing their games and chasing one another? Maybe they were in school. But she had not seen any school buildings.
Wills had warned her that the Wehrmacht carried out sporadic checks at the entrances to villages and towns, and she was stopped more than once. But the soldiers just glanced at her papers, sometimes not even checking her basket. One young soldier gave her a wink and a smile as she rode away.
Her hands grew tired of gripping the handlebars and she raised them, one at a time, flexing. A branch lay across the road and she swerved, almost falling from her bike. She passed another checkpoint and entered a small village. Few shops were open, and a line of women waiting with numbed patience, snaked around one entrance. She guided her bike carefully, weaving between young children and mangy-looking dogs playing in the dusty street. Sometimes German soldiers appeared in automobiles, or motorcycles with sidecars. Their engines disturbed the quiet air, and the clean-looking uniforms were a sharp contrast to the shabby clothing of the French.
Tired and needing to eat, she found shelter under a tree on the outskirts of town. She opened the small packet of food. It contained hard cheese and a harder piece of black bread, but it was better than the food Farr had shared with her this morning. She frowned as she chewed. Hunger was becoming a constant problem.
The sun was setting when Katrinka stopped for another rest. Rubbing her sore muscles, she studied the map. She was very close to her destination. She must remember what to say and use the properly coded phrases. She wondered what would happen if they refused to help her. What if they called the Gestapo?
The air was cooler and soon it would be dark. Putting the packet and canteen back in the basket, she continued pedaling and soon arrived in a small coastal village. There was just one main road going through the town, lined with an assortment of stone houses and shops, all shouldered together with their shutters drawn tight. The streets were empty.
She pedaled through the silent town until she reached her destination, a run-down farmhouse just on the outskirts, at the end of a narrow bramble-bordered road. An evening mist was settling, and Katrinka shivered despite her sweater. The tangy smell of salt and seaweed rose up from a nearby beach, mingled with wood smoke. A thin cow stood in the pasture, staring at her with round eyes. She parked her bike and approached the house.
Just Another Girl on the Road Page 4