by Kate Breslin
“I was just coming up to deliver this.”
The innkeeper held up a yellow telegram envelope, and Colin’s heart raced. Finally word from Lacourt! Grabbing for the sealed missive, he was about to tear it open with his teeth when Vilar took it and extracted the contents for him, placing the telegram into Colin’s eager hand.
Smiling his thanks, Colin quickly read the brief message:
One white dove arrives. Need another with golden key. Lost girl on La Rambla.
His heart pounded as he reread the note. Colin recalled Johanna’s fairy tale from the train. The story of the white dove, a lost girl, and golden keys.
She was in trouble. His mouth formed a grim line as he shoved the telegram into his pocket. “Have you heard of a place called La Rambla in Barcelona?”
“Sí!” The innkeeper bobbed his head. “Everyone in Catalonia knows La Rambla is the busiest street in Barcelona. It’s near the city’s waterfront.”
Colin eased out a breath and checked his watch. Just after 0800. “I need to go pack, senyor. I’ll catch the nine o’clock train south.” He fished for the wad of francs in his pocket. “I owe you for another night’s lodging—”
“No money is necessary, Lieutenant.” Vilar reached to stay his hand. “Go to La Rambla and find her, and may God be with you.”
Colin gazed into the kindly man’s face. “Gràcies, senyor, and give my thanks to your lovely wife as well.”
Back in his room, Colin hurried to pack his belongings. Johanna’s words continued to haunt his thoughts. Had Petit done her some kind of harm?
His insides did flip-flops as he imagined various macabre scenarios—Johanna wounded, or held captive in some dark place, or even imprisoned!
He was still fumbling to fasten the straps on his portmanteau when a knock sounded. “Come in, senyor.” Colin would ask Vilar to call him a taxi.
Another rap sounded, much sharper than the first.
“One moment!” He rushed to fasten the second leather strap when the metal tongue on the buckle broke loose. Titan’s teeth! Glaring at the door, he abandoned his task to answer the summons. “I am sorry, senyor, I must have locked it—”
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Colin stood gaping at the man in the brown felt hat with its wide gold band. The dark trench coat was the same one he’d seen before. “Captain Weatherford . . . it is you.”
The captain smiled beneath his dark moustache. “You’re looking a bit dazed, Mabry. Are you feeling all right?”
Colin struggled to collect himself. “Yes, sir, I’m fine.”
He remembered to salute then, and the captain returned the gesture. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Bemused, he stepped back to let him enter. “It was you I saw at Le Bibent in Toulouse. And yesterday on the beach, near the quay.” He closed the door. “Why are you here, sir?”
“I could ask you the same question, Lieutenant. Why are you here?”
The captain’s amiable tone was gone, and Colin shifted. “Well, sir, it’s a long story. I left Britain over a week ago, when I received a message from a woman I knew during the war—”
“I know all of that.” The captain cut in. “George Petit briefed me. What I want to know is why you haven’t taken the train back to Paris. Your being here puts our operation at great risk.”
Colin caught up with his statement. “You’re working . . . with George Petit?”
The captain nodded, and Colin gazed at him in wonder. Petit never mentioned it. “May I ask, sir, why you’ve been avoiding me? First in France, and then yesterday?”
“My assignment is secret, Lieutenant. I’d hoped to remain unknown to you, but when you didn’t take the train north yesterday, it became necessary to confront you.” His expression was stern. “You need to return to Britain and say nothing of our meeting.”
Colin straightened. “Sir, if Petit told you my story, then you know the importance of my being here. I owe it to Jewel and to her sister, Johanna, to fulfill my promise. I cannot go home.”
He cast another glance at his watch. 0815. “In fact, I need to be on the train to Barcelona in forty-five minutes.”
The captain’s tone eased. “I admire your chivalry, Lieutenant. However, there is much you are not aware of, and our success with this mission is crucial. You need to return home.”
Colin’s chest grew tight. He couldn’t leave Johanna. “Let me stay and help you, sir. I’ve already been cleared by MI6, and I recently completed an important assignment in Toulouse for the Paris office.”
A corner of the captain’s mouth lifted. Colin’s stomach knotted. Was he mocking him?
He withdrew the telegram from his pocket and handed it to him. “Johanna Reyer is in Barcelona, and she’s in danger. I must go to her.”
The captain scanned the few lines. He handed back the note. “This tells me nothing.”
“It’s . . . a sort of code that we came up with.” Colin wasn’t about to tell him about Johanna’s fairy tale. “I know she needs me, or she would not have sent Little Corporal back to France.”
The captain gave him a guarded look. “Who is this corporal?”
Colin’s collar suddenly felt tight. “A carrier pigeon, sir. Johanna brought him along on our trip. She thought we might need the bird if we had a run-in with Kepler.”
“For the love of . . .” Captain Weatherford gave him a hard stare. “Johanna Reyer is with George Petit in Barcelona on my orders, Lieutenant.”
Again Colin was taken completely by surprise. “Your orders, sir? How . . .”
“Like I said, there is much you do not know.” The captain flexed his jaw. “Go home, Lieutenant. Do not force me to give you a direct order.”
Despite being intimidated, Colin stood his ground, his shoulders back. “With all due respect, sir, I must go south. Not only for Johanna’s sake, but for Jewel. I owe the woman more than I can say.”
“She’s dead, Lieutenant.”
Colin’s stance faltered. “What did you say?”
“Jewel Reyer passed away a few months ago.” The captain sighed as he removed his hat. “She contracted pneumonia just days before the battle at Cambrai. During the German retreat, an American G-2 agent did manage to get her out of Havrincourt in a Red Cross truck, but her condition had worsened. She succumbed shortly after arriving in Paris.” His brown eyes held compassion. “I am sorry, Lieutenant.”
Colin reached for the bedpost and sat down, staring at the floor. Jewel had died after all. His throat grew tight, remembering the last time he’d seen her beautiful, laughing face and heard her songs that had brought his weary soul such consolation. She had given him so much, even offering her love.
His heart grieved anew, aching for Johanna as well. She’d lost someone else in her life, a sister she had come to know in the written pages of a diary.
Colin lifted his gaze to the captain. “If Jewel is gone, who is the woman with Kepler?”
“A French actress that Petit hired. The woman occasionally does work with the Americans over here.”
She had seemed so real, so believable to him. Colin shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why does someone need to pretend to be Jewel?”
“That is confidential information, Lieutenant. Suffice it to say that if our ruse with the decoy is discovered, it will prove disastrous to the mission.”
Colin thought about the veil and woman dressed all in black. “So she must remain hidden. The mourning clothes?”
“Yes, attire which is sadly seen all too often in these times.”
He was still confused. “How did this actress end up with Kepler?”
The captain hesitated. “Jewel had an aunt—”
“Madame Rochette.” Colin nodded. “She helped Jewel with my care when I was in Havrincourt. I understand she died late last year.”
“And that’s why Kepler was sent in. His orders were to infiltrate the enemy and protect the girl. He was to get her out of Havrincourt at the first opportunity.” Th
e captain grimaced. “When Jewel died in Paris, G-2 came up with the idea of using a decoy.”
“Wait. Kepler . . . works with the Allies?” Colin’s thoughts were spinning. “But I thought the French Bureau listed him on the enemy watch list as a spy.”
The captain moved to lean against the wall. “The man posing as Werner Kepler is a German-American agent working with G-2 in France. His name is on that list you speak of because it strengthens his cover.
“Unfortunately, when the French Bureau in Toulouse received the inquiry from Paris, Kepler had also been seen in the city. G-2 hadn’t yet let the local Bureau in on the details of their assignment, so some clerk gave Lacourt the information and a photograph, which”—the captain scowled—“he turned over to you.”
Colin could only stare in wonder. Kepler was engaged in a highly secret operation for the Allies? A thought struck. “At Le Bibent . . . you must have left Kepler some sort of message on the bottom of the vase. Afterward, he exchanged the flower in his buttonhole. Was it to signal his receipt of the message? Is that why he took Jewel—the actress—to Barcelona?”
“You’ve become quite the detective, Lieutenant.” The captain’s eyes glinted as he straightened and withdrew a pocket watch from inside the trench coat. “But your part in this is finished.” He checked the time. “I need to be on a train, and you need to return home.”
Colin launched to his feet. “It’s hardly finished, sir. Johanna still needs me.”
“I told you, she is safe with Petit in Barcelona.”
Seeing his flat expression, Colin had a moment of uncertainty. The captain was right—there was much he hadn’t been aware of. Like Kepler working for the Allies, or the fact that Jewel was gone and a complete stranger had taken her place.
Questions pressed at him. Why was G-2 so interested in Jewel Reyer? Enough to get her out of Havrincourt and, after her death, to create a double, a woman who must be seen . . . but not seen? Was nothing as it appeared?
Except for Johanna. She was real enough, and the only person in this entire farce he could trust. Colin was going after her. “I’m leaving too, Captain.”
He stood eye to eye with his superior, the man who was also his future brother-in-law’s best friend. “That train for Barcelona leaves in twenty minutes, and I plan to be on it. Johanna is somewhere on La Rambla, and I will search out every inch of space until I find her.”
The captain’s dark eyes glittered. “I could give you that direct order, Lieutenant.”
“Respectfully, sir, I would rather you didn’t. I intend to see this through, and I was given leave by Jack—Lord Walenford—to come to Paris.”
“Then return to Paris!”
Colin refused to be daunted by the captain’s wrath. “Sir, I will go to prison if necessary. If that happens, you will need to return to London before next week.” He angled his head. “The wedding, sir.”
“Blast.”
Abruptly the captain’s anger abated, and he averted his gaze to the window.
Had he forgotten his commitment? “Please, Captain.” Colin didn’t care if he sounded desperate. He had to see Johanna. “I need to do this.”
The captain’s eyes slanted back to him with a trace of humor. “I recall once upon a time that Jack made a similar plea.” He drew in a deep breath and expelled it. “I suppose if I let you run off on your own, you’ll only get yourself killed. If that happens, Jack will never forgive me, because your sister will never forgive Jack.”
The captain’s features sobered. “You may accompany me on one condition: obey my instructions without question.” A slight frown curved beneath the moustache. “Think you can manage that, Mabry?”
Relieved, Colin offered a salute. “Yes, sir!”
“And you can leave off with saluting and using my title. Spain is teeming with spies, so during our time together, you will simply call me Marcus and I’ll call you Colin. Have you any other clothes besides the uniform?”
“I have a waiter’s livery. White jacket, dark pants.”
Marcus looked doubtful. “I suppose it will have to do. Are you already packed?”
Colin responded by grabbing up his portmanteau. At least one of the straps was secure.
“You can change as soon as we reach Barcelona. I’ll loan you my trench coat in place of the white jacket.”
He donned his hat and headed for the door. Colin followed. “One more thing, sir . . . uh, Marcus.”
Marcus turned, looking impatient. “What?”
“I did send word to Jack yesterday, with an update. I suspected something, you see.” He paused. “He knows you are here.”
“Well, that’s jolly news.” Marcus scowled. “I guess we’d better hope this mission winds up soon, before the whole of Europe knows what’s going on.”
———
The train was crowded once the two men finally boarded. Noting the full compartments, they found two seats together near the back in coach.
Once they settled in, Colin whispered to the captain. “Sir . . . Marcus, I was wondering if Jewel—”
“Not here.” Marcus raised a hand to halt him. “Save your questions for Barcelona.”
Colin nodded and pressed his head back against the seat, his mind working over theories he wanted to test but couldn’t. The trip south would take at least two hours. Perhaps by the end of it, he would have figured out a few things for himself.
The plan the Americans had hatched in liberating Jewel and then using an actress to pose in her place also seemed to involve Johanna. Why? The two women had never met before, and Johanna, at least, had claimed no prior knowledge of her sister before the diary.
She and Jewel were each raised in a different country, with different mothers. In fact, the only commonality between the two was their father, Jacob Reyer.
Colin sat forward. J. Reyer. The name Jack read from the watch list before Colin’s departure to Paris.
Jack had thought it belonged to Jewel, and Colin had scoffed. Yet later, he’d mistakenly attached it to Johanna.
Could it be Jacob Reyer?
He was impatient to confirm his suspicion, but he’d agreed to obey the captain’s orders. He tried to quash his impatience, forcing his attention toward the window and the passing landscape of northern Spain.
In the distance, craggy hills of bronzed rock were dotted with pine, hornbeam, and maple. Below the hills and along the valley floor spread verdant farms, fields of purple lavender, and the green of budding vineyards. Occasionally, clusters of stone cottages with ochre rooftops and the prominent rise of a church steeple marked another village along the way.
As they neared their destination, Colin glanced across the aisle to the opposite window and glimpsed the coastline and the glittering blue of the Mediterranean. The white sand beaches triggered a pang of longing, and he thought of Johanna, standing close in the circle of his arms, her flowery scent mingled with the salty air of the sea.
He recalled her words about love and the beauty of the soul, and more than ever, he was determined to find her.
The train arrived at Barcelona’s França Station, and by the time he and the captain disembarked, collected their luggage, and hailed a cab, it was close to noon.
Minutes later, they arrived on La Rambla, in front of a mammoth building several stories high and constructed of beige-colored stone. Colin stared up at the white lettering, Gran Hotel de Oriente, above an arcade façade, its arches and pillars decorating the lower floors. Each room appeared to have its own wrought-iron balcony. “This is quite the place.”
“I’ve been staying here for weeks. Wait until you see the inside.”
Once Marcus paid the driver, the two men entered the hotel. Indeed, the interior was equally elaborate, with polished white-marbled floors and more pillars supporting bright framework ceilings.
At the front desk, Colin was relieved to get a room on the same floor, not far from the captain. The clerk also informed them that, due to the current shortage of staff because of il
lness, they would need to porter their own bags.
“Perhaps you should seek employment at the hotel while we’re here.”
Marcus made the comment as the two lumbered up the stairs, and Colin turned to see if he was serious. At the captain’s amused expression, he smiled, grateful the man wasn’t growling at him anymore. “I’ll wager it pays a sight better than what I’m earning at Hastings.”
Marcus chuckled. “You’re probably right.”
They reached their floor and halted at Colin’s room first.
Marcus set down his suitcase. “Take this.” He removed his trench coat and draped it across Colin’s arm. “I’m in 211. We’ll talk when you get there. About an hour?”
Colin nodded. “Thanks.”
The captain touched his brim, then grabbed up his bag and continued down the hall.
Colin unlocked the door to his room and noted the elegant furnishings, which differed greatly from the simple fixtures in Portbou. Soft yellow walls complemented the wide brass bed, while a green brocade divan sat in front of the set of floor-length windows that likely led out onto one of the balconies he’d spied from below.
His injured wrist throbbed with pain from wearing the prosthetic, and Colin longed to remove the sleeve. There wasn’t much time before his meeting with Marcus, however, so instead he contented himself with washing his face and hand in cool water before stepping outside onto the balcony, praying for a glimpse of Johanna.
He surveyed the majestic line of leafy green trees and the cobbled promenade buzzing with humanity. Farmers sold fresh milk from shiny metal urns, there were booths with baskets of citrus, and a woman was selling balloons in the red and yellow colors of Catalonia.
Colin breathed in the delicious smell of food wafting up from an open terrace café across the street. As he observed the masses strolling back and forth, Colin wondered if Johanna was among them. Was she staying somewhere along this street? Perhaps here in his hotel?
Marcus had sent her here with Petit. Surely he knew Johanna’s whereabouts.
Determined to get answers, Colin returned inside to change into the waiter’s garb, exchanging the white jacket for the trench coat Marcus had loaned him.