Scent of Triumph

by Jan Moran

  Hélène could only nod; her heart was breaking.

  “Oh no, believe me, Hélène.” Marie’s voice sounded thick. “His passion is not another woman.”

  Hélène looked up and saw a strange expression cross Marie’s face, a fleeting combination of pride and sadness. She grasped Hélène’s face in her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Why Marie, you’re shaking,” Hélène said.

  Marie drew back, her eyes meeting Hélène’s. “That’s because there’s a chill in the air,” she said.

  * * *

  Jean-Claude scurried through the darkened alley on silent feet, glancing furtively behind him. The full moon cast eerie shadows on the cobblestone way. A sharp noise rang out above. Instinctively, he flattened himself against a rough brick wall, hardly breathing. Was it a door, or a gunshot? His heart pounded as he waited, listening.

  After a moment, satisfied that he was unobserved, he slipped into a shadowed doorway and knocked two times, paused, then repeated the sequence. The door swung open.

  “Enter,” whispered a hoarse male voice.

  Jean-Claude went inside and the door closed behind him. He descended the stairs, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit, smoke-filled cellar. A rough-hewn table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by seven men and two women.

  A well-dressed, barrel-chested man greeted him. “We’re just beginning.”

  Jean-Claude acknowledged the others, pulled a wooden milk crate to the table, and sat down. He listened intently as their leader outlined a complex plan on a chalkboard.

  “If we can cripple the flow of money into Hitler’s coffers,” the man said, “the result will be unpaid salaries, low morale and dissent, scarce ammunition, and eventually, the demise of his expansionary activities. Rats flee a sinking ship. Ultimately, we will prevail.” The man went on to explain details of the operation, then turned to the group.

  “These are the assignments,” the man announced, holding up three envelopes. “Any volunteers?”

  A slender blond woman raised her hand. “For which targets?”

  “Vienna, Berlin.” He paused. “And Paris.”

  She whispered to her male companion beside her. “We’ll take Vienna,” they said.

  “Good. Each of the three operations must occur at precisely the same time. Berlin?”

  Three men raised their hands.

  “Paris?”

  Jean-Claude swallowed the bile in his throat and met the steady gaze of the red-haired woman who sat opposite him.

  “We’ll handle Paris,” she said, nodding to Jean-Claude.

  The leader stared at him. “Jean-Claude?”

  “Oui, Paris.” Jean-Claude returned his partner’s nod. “With Françoise.”

  The leader paused and observed the teams. “Divide into groups and work out the details as usual.” He walked among them and placed an envelope before each team.

  Jean-Claude looked at Françoise. At twenty-eight, she sported a cap short of henna-red hair, a firm buxom body, and an iron will to match. She was an attractive woman, though hardly his type. His hand trembled as he reached across the table and slid a cigarette from her open pack.

  Françoise grinned. “Thought you didn’t smoke, doctor.”

  “I don’t.” He tore open the envelope and scanned the page. He smoked half the cigarette, then ground it out. Tossing the note to Françoise, he stood and paced the length of the cellar while she read.

  When she finished, she looked up, her mouth agape. “This man works with your father’s bank. Do you know Louis LeBlanc?”

  “I do. He sits on the bank’s board of directors.” Jean-Claude placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “He’s been my father’s best friend for thirty years.”

  Françoise lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have a problem with this assignment, but can you do this?”

  “Who better than I?” Jean-Claude balled a fist and hit his palm. “It’s for the good of France and of Europe. And of my people.” He thought of the disastrous situation with Danielle and thousands, no, millions of other innocent people just like her. His gut wrenched, but his eyes didn’t flinch. “LeBlanc is a Nazi sympathizer. One of the worst,” he snapped with contempt. “Of course I can do it.”

  He sat down with Françoise to discuss the details. They coordinated the date and time with the two other groups, then talked about the placement of the bomb.

  Jean-Claude stroked his stubbled chin. “Last summer, Hitler’s Swiss spy, Didier Steiger, who also serves on the bank’s board, gave LeBlanc a new Bentley motor car.”

  “Good, go on.”

  “LeBlanc’s chauffeur drives the limousine, but LeBlanc drives the Bentley himself. It’s meant to be owner driven. He’s sure to use it when Steiger visits for the next board meeting, in order to show his appreciation.”

  A sly smile spread across Françoise’s lightly freckled face. “So, we plant the explosives in the Bentley.”

  Jean-Claude nodded. “But we have to get onto the property. The Bentley will be parked at the bank, and they’ll probably use it to go to the club for lunch. LeBlanc likes to show off at the club. We’ll get them together.”

  Françoise shook a cigarette from her pack, struck a match, and lit it. “How do you propose we plant the bomb?”

  Jean-Claude leaned back and thought a moment. “I could pose as a mechanic making an emergency repair.”

  “Like what?” Françoise blew smoke toward the ceiling. “A flat tire?”

  “Sure.” Jean-Claude narrowed his eyes, thinking out loud. “You can distract the parking attendant while I tend to business, then alert him to the flat once I’m gone. He’ll call LeBlanc, who will have his secretary phone the garage down the street for an immediate repair.”

  “And you’ll get there first.”

  “Precisely. You’ll back me up?”

  Françoise leaned forward and flicked an ash. “I’ll take care of the secretary and the parking attendant. There will be a mix-up. Confusion. You’ll have plenty of time.”

  “Bon. With Steiger in his office, LeBlanc won’t care who makes the repair, just so long as it’s done.” He looked down at his hands. Surgeon’s hands, precise and exacting, were ideally suited for intricate explosives work. As he thought about the mission, his hands shook slightly. But he knew that once he started the delicate maneuvers, his adrenaline would flow, and he’d be cool and precise. He always was.

  And this time would be no different, he told himself.

  12

  A blur of images flashed past the window as Danielle’s train sped toward its destination. Thus far, her convoluted journey had taken her from the graceful civility of France, across neutral Switzerland, and through occupied Austria and Czechoslovakia.

  Danielle passed through several checkpoints without incident, though her pulse raced during every encounter. Each time officials checked her identity papers her heart thudded so loudly that she was certain it would give her away. Yet, the documents Jean-Claude provided withstood scrutiny. For this, Danielle gave silent thanks. She had no doubt what fate awaited her if she were found to be an impostor.

  As Jean-Claude predicted, the soldiers who inspected her papers treated her with deference. A couple tried to strike up a conversation with the pretty officer’s wife. But Danielle waved them all away, feigning a sore throat.

  One person who didn’t speak to her was a woman who now sat across from her in the compartment. An odd looking woman, close to forty years old, Danielle guessed, she had jet black hair slicked into a bun and piercing blue eyes behind heavy tortoise-shell glasses. Other passengers came and went, but this woman stayed. She held an open book in her lap, but Danielle caught her snatching glances her way.

  Who was she? Danielle remembered Jean-Claude’s words. Trust no one. Was this woman following her? If so, was she an unknown comrade? Or a Nazi informer?

  A hush fell over the train car as they crossed into the ravaged landscape of occupied Poland. Danielle pressed her
fingers against the cold pane, horrified at the sights. Outside were remains abandoned in September’s path of destruction. Dirty faces peered from bushes as they sped past ghostly villages strewn with skeletons of charred homes, the acrid smell of smoke still in the air. She had entered another world, a world gone mad.

  Poland had been her adopted home, and Danielle shared the palpable grief of its people. A chill gripped her as she realized with sudden clarity the magnitude of her perilous mission. She lowered her eyes, and as she did, she caught the eye of her compartment companion.

  “What a pretty yellow flower on your hat,” the woman said in perfect German.

  “Danke,” Danielle replied softly. Her brother’s words echoed in her mind: Don’t offer any information, don’t say anymore than you have to.

  The raven-haired woman started to say something when the compartment door opened and an old man with an unwieldy package shuffled in. The woman stood to make room, then sat down again. The sound of steel wheels clacking in staccato rhythm on the rails was the only thing that kept the deafening silence at bay.

  Danielle stared out the window, her thoughts centered on her son. Images danced in her mind’s eye. She tried to imagine what Nicky looked like now, almost a year older, and surely taller. Her mouth went dry. We have missed a year of our lives.

  She sniffed. A sour smell assaulted her nose. Clearly, the old man across from her was desperately in need of a good bath. Yet, the black-haired woman next to him sat perfectly still. Danielle considered this. If she were the woman, she might have moved. The woman had no baggage, not like Danielle, who had her handbag, a suitcase, and the all-important cosmetic tote. Curious, Danielle thought. She pretended not to notice the odor.

  The rhythm of the train slowed. She held her breath while her documents were reviewed once again before the station came into view.

  A small clutch of people waited on the platform. She gathered her bags, stalling until the strange woman left. The old man gave Danielle a broad, toothless smile. Despite his odor, Danielle returned his smile.

  As she left the compartment, she checked the yellow silk flower pinned to her hat and adjusted her matching scarf. The crowd moved at a snail’s pace, impeded by a pregnant woman with four small children. Nervously, Danielle glanced outside. The cloudy day was grey for June.

  She stepped from the train. Had Max walked here, in my very steps? She shivered from the thought, and from the dampness that hung in the chill air. With trepidation, she scanned the blur of faces, but no one motioned to her. She hesitated, then made her way into the terminal.

  From behind, someone tugged her jacket sleeve. Danielle nearly leapt through the roof. “Excuse me, Fräulein,” she heard a man say behind her.

  She turned expectantly. An efficient-looking young man asked, “You need transportation?”

  She waited for him to deliver the coded line.

  He said nothing.

  Danielle stared at him, urging him to speak. Was this part of the plan?

  He turned his cap in his hands. “I can take you anywhere you like.”

  She glanced around. There didn’t seem to be anyone else looking for her. The small crowd was thinning.

  The young blond man shifted from one foot to another. “Where do you want to go?”

  Danielle swallowed. “Hotel?”

  He shrugged and picked up her bag. He led her outside to his car, deposited her bag in the trunk, and turned to her. “Which hotel?”

  At that, Danielle’s heart raced so fast she thought it would explode. Something is terribly wrong. An almost uncontrollable urge to flee seized her. She fought the feeling, realizing that she was acting strangely, then noticed a Nazi soldier standing guard to her left. I’ve made a horrible mistake, this man is not my driver.

  “Which hotel, Fräulein?” By now, the man was growing impatient, and the soldier had glanced in her direction, taking interest in her. “Which hotel?” he said louder.

  Danielle felt perspiration on her face and dabbed her upper lip before starting to speak. As she opened her mouth to speak, she heard a commotion behind her.

  A woman’s voice rang out. “Frau Werner, Frau Werner.”

  Werner. That’s me, Danielle realized with a jolt. She dared not turn around.

  “That lady your friend?” the soldier asked.

  A woman’s heels clicked toward her. Danielle froze. “Mon Dieu, I’ve been discovered! The mission was over, and she would surely die. Another flash of perspiration singed her scalp and enveloped her torso. Danielle felt as if she might pass out, and she fought the feeling.

  The woman grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Danielle wavered and recognized the strange woman from the train. Her steely blue eyes bored into Danielle’s, mere inches away.

  “Frau Werner, we almost missed you.” The woman had a smile plastered on her face. She motioned to a short stocky man hunched behind her. “Here is my driver.”

  Sweat trickled through Danielle’s hairline. Which way to go? With whom? Her heart pounded so hard she thought it could be seen beneath her jacket. She glanced from one person to another, unable to speak, hardly able to think, her head spinning.

  The short man behind the odd woman from the train stepped forward. After a furtive glance at Danielle, he bowed his head and tugged his cap over his face. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” he said, “the flower on your hat is very pretty. Your flower is the color of the daffodils in my grandmother’s garden.”

  Such relief flooded Danielle that she almost cried and hugged the curious man. She did neither, but struggled to retain her composure. Instead, she choked her words to the woman, “Thank you for meeting me,” then turned to the first driver. “I won’t need your services.”

  The soldier watched for a moment, then turned away, apparently satisfied.

  The second driver scurried past her to retrieve her bag, and led them to his car. Her train companion grabbed her arm and they walked to the car, arm in arm, saying nothing. “It’s been so good to see you,” the woman said. She kissed Danielle on the cheek. “Good-bye!” A moment later, she disappeared into the crowd.

  Danielle sank into the threadbare back seat of the rusted car. Though the day was cool, she was drenched with perspiration. The driver stashed her bag, slammed the trunk, and slid behind the wheel.

  They drove for what seemed an eternity before he spoke again. “I must stop the car. Something under the hood sounds bad.” He veered onto a dusty country lane. He got out, raised the hood, looked around, then walked to her side of the car. Pressing his finger to his lips, he motioned for her to follow him. She complied, trailing him to the front of the car, where he stooped to peer under the hood.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” He had switched from German to Polish now, and suddenly his voice sounded quite familiar. He stood straight, pushed his hat back, and cocked his head. “I didn’t recognize you at first with brown hair.”

  “Oscar?”

  He grinned. “Jacob’s brother.”

  “Mon Dieu, it’s you! Why, you’ve lost so much weight, I wouldn’t have known you.” Oscar had often worked on their property as a handyman. Danielle shook her head in astonishment. He looked years older, too.

  “At your service, once again.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really you.” She started to hug him, but he stopped her with his hand.

  “You never know who is watching.” He motioned for her to lean over the engine. “I didn’t know it would be you until Raba found you at the station. You were so slow to leave the train, I had gone elsewhere to look for the yellow flower lady.”

  “It’s so good to see you. You’re going to help me find Nicky and Sofia.” She touched his hand. “Have you heard anything about them?”

  “This is my assignment?” He shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know where they might be.”

  Danielle’s heart sank. “You didn’t know about this?”

  “I’ll receive my instructions after I
deliver you to the hotel. It’s better that way.”

  She nodded as if she understood. “You will help me, won’t you? I’ve got to get them out of Poland.”

  “We’ll try. Is Max meeting you?”

  Danielle sucked in her breath. “No. He died two months ago.” She couldn’t tell him how.

  His face fell. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry to hear it. He was a fine man.”

  Danielle had to know more. “Did you see him here, or hear of his visit?”

  “No, but I wish I had.”

  “So do I.” A flash of anguish gripped her. “Have you heard what might have happened to Sofia and our son?”

  Oscar glanced over at her. “You don’t know?” She shook her head and he leaned heavily against the car. “This is what I know: Sofia saved us all. Right after the invasion, Jacob came for us—Irma and the children—in her car. Sofia refused to leave until we joined her. We managed to stay out of sight for a while, then the Nazis caught us.”

  “Oh, no.” Grief ripped through her, and Danielle touched the hood for balance. It was worse than she had realized. Why didn’t I come sooner?

  The muscles in Oscar’s jaw tightened. “We got out though. Sofia’s jewels bought our escape. We traveled together for a short time, then I went on to see what lay ahead. Sofia wasn’t well, and Nicky and the other children were tired.” He touched her hand. “I’m very sorry, I never saw any of them again.”

  Sorrow seized her as silent tears slid down her cheeks.

  Holding her hand, Oscar went on. “The underground got me to safety, after which I swore allegiance to the Nazi party in order to aid the underground from the inside.”

  Danielle struggled to find her voice. “Do you have any idea where Nicky and Sofia are now?”

  He shook his head. “People just disappear now. It’s not like it used to be.”

  “I can see that.” She shivered suddenly, cold in the gathering dusk.

  “But we’ll try to find them.” Oscar glanced nervously around. “We should leave. We can’t be too careful, can’t do anything to raise suspicion. Shouldn’t even talk in the car.”