Bouncing Betty

by Liliana Hart

Ada nodded. “Who’d you kill?”

  “Well, that’s a little more complicated,” she said, pulling the knife from the worn leather sheath. The blade was old, but just as sharp and capable as it had been the day she’d gotten it. “It’s probably best if I start from the beginning…”

  Chapter 1

  Marseille, 1940

  I’d always considered growing up on the bayou to be somewhat of an obstacle regarding my ability to climb up the social ladder. Polite society didn’t have much use for a woman who could shoot a wild hog at a hundred paces, and they certainly didn’t have much use for a woman who spoke her mind and was creative with her vocabulary.

  I’m not sure what I expected after being relocated across the ocean, but it turned out all the things that were an obstacle back home came in handy on foreign soil. I was a real asset. At least to the Resistance. The other guys had a price on my head.

  I’d only had one goal when I’d gotten off the ship in Marseille, and that was to find a husband. A woman on her own would always face obstacles, which was ridiculous to my mind, so I had a strategy. I needed to find a wealthy, older man who was set in his ways and had his own interests. That way, I could live the life I’d become accustomed to and do whatever I wanted at the same time. It was a win-win in my book. He didn’t even have to be good looking. I’d just make sure to turn the light off before we made love and have a separate bedroom the rest of the time. It was a real sacrifice, but one I was willing to make.

  I think there’s a saying about best laid plans…because by the time I’d gotten settled with my hosts—a George and Esther Smithers, who were British citizens living half the year in France—they’d decided I was exactly what was needed to fight the Nazis.

  I couldn’t say for sure if I was the best weapon against the Nazis, but it was the first time in seventeen years I’d felt like I was in a place where I belonged. They didn’t care about my age or that I was a woman. They didn’t make me feel guilty for being able to memorize documents and numbers and information better than the men, and they didn’t make me feel like I had to cover up my natural beauty. And it turned out I had a real gift for languages.

  As luck would have it, there were a lot of older men in the Resistance, so I figured finding a husband would be like shooting fish in a barrel. What I hadn’t expected was to hit a potential husband with my car. But in my defense, he was in my territory.

  The Smitherses thought my best cover was selling makeup. A little lipstick could go a long way in getting a man to fall to his knees or a woman to share her secrets. My job was to do both of those things. And let me tell you, it wasn’t an easy task because the women in the Gestapo weren’t exactly Cover Girl material.

  When the Nazis had occupied Marseille at the beginning of June, the Alliance had already been in place for some time at Number 1 Dorset Square, and in two short months I’d seen things I’d never have imagined. But they’d needed more boots on the ground, and my American status enabled them to trust me more than some of their European counterparts. Double agents and Nazi sympathizers had already been rooted out and executed in London and Paris. So I was fast-tracked into the spy game.

  I had to say, I was born for it.

  The Smitherses were wealthy, and they’d loaned me a car for my makeup business. I carried cases in the trunk and made my way down the avenue, stopping at everything from the perfumery to the sewing factory to the offices with bored secretaries. And then I made my way to the strategically placed locations all over the city where the Gestapo had commandeered the homes of people they’d taken into custody.

  In all honesty, I might have been busy looking at the sky and the position of the sun rather than the road in front of me, but I wanted to make sure I was back to the Smithers’ house before curfew. I would be cutting it close.

  It’s not like I was driving fast, but in my experience, men could overexaggerate things like this. And really, he came out of nowhere.

  There was a blur of gray and a loud grunt, and the car jerked as it made contact. I looked to the end of the long hood and I slammed my foot on the brake, but whatever I’d hit was no longer standing.

  “Shoot,” I mumbled, throwing open the car door. “Who could possibly be this stupid?”

  We were right in front of the Gestapo headquarters, and drawing attention to ourselves wasn’t the wisest course of action. They knew me and were used to having me stop by once a week. I’d made relationships with several of the women, and I flirted with all of the guards, but I’d especially made my availability known to a man named Friedrich Wagner, who was the head of the secret police that had been sent in to occupy Marseille.

  My hard-soled shoes made scraping sounds across the cobblestone roads, and I hurried to the front of the car, hoping I could get whatever it was up and on its way with little fanfare. But I was like a beacon in my new red dress, a dress I’d purposely chosen because I knew I’d cross paths with Friedrich today and his favorite color was red. I didn’t want to toot my own horn, but people tended to notice me even without the red dress. There was a reason I’d been shipped to another country, and I couldn’t help it if men lost their faculties around me. We all have gifts. I just know how to use mine.

  I saw the back of him first. He was dressed in a long gray overcoat, and his hat was black and cocked crookedly on his head. His shoulders were broad and hunched as he hugged his leg, and I looked back and forth down the avenue, noting the curious looks of one of the officers stationed on the sidewalk.

  I gave him a full wattage smile and saw his posture relax a bit, and I knew we’d only have seconds before he made his way over to us. I was positive I could get myself out of the situation, but I wasn’t so confident for my new friend.

  “Monsieur,” I said, leaning down and grabbing his arm. My French was more than adequate after two months in Marseille. “You must get up and walk away.” And then I gasped softly as his gaze met mine.

  I recognized him, though we’d never been formally introduced. It was impossible not to know Henry Graham. He’d moved between England and France since the war started, collecting intelligence, and he had so many aliases the Germans weren’t sure what his real name was. I wasn’t even sure that Henry Graham was his real name. What I did know was that his work was too important for him to be looked at too closely.

  He was handsome in a unique way. His features were sharp and angled, and I wasn’t sure of his true nationality, though the British claimed him, but his crystalline blue eyes and dark blond hair could have placed his origins in many European countries.

  He must have noticed the recognition in my eyes, because he took my hand and squeezed, and then said, “It will be okay.”

  I scanned his body quickly for any obvious signs of injury and winced as I saw the tear in his trousers and the blood seeping from a long scrape down his shin. He was dressed like many of the businessmen in the district—in a jacket and tie—his shoes polished and a thin scarf hanging jauntily from around his neck.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, my voice elevated for our audience. “Can I take you somewhere? To the doctor?”

  “Oui,” he said. “I would appreciate your assistance.” I moved to put my hand under his arm and get him to his feet, but the officer I’d smiled at had made his way to us. I could see my reflection in the polished shine of his boots.

  He spoke in clipped German, and I only caught part of what he was saying. I didn’t recognize the dialect, and I wasn’t as proficient in my German as I was French, but I caught the gist and the tone.

  He reached down and grabbed Graham by the arm and pulled him to his feet, causing him to stumble and keep his weight off his leg.

  “I’d hate for you to trouble yourself,” I said, before the officer could damage Graham any further. “This was my fault, and I’m happy to take him to the doctor.”

  “Do you know this man?” the officer asked.

  “Oh, no,” I said, fluttering my lashes and blushing prettily. “We’ve never met. I�
�m just such a klutz and I couldn’t help but admire the blue of the sky and the sun shining over the water. I wasn’t paying attention to the road at all, and I ran right into this poor man. I’ve not seen you here before. Major Wagner and Helene are expecting me.”

  I’d learned from an early age that if you acted helpless around men it made them feel like the king of the world, so they’d usually try to swoop in and take over. I smiled coyly and let the smallest bit of interest linger in my eyes.

  “I’m fine,” Graham cut in. “No need for a doctor. It’s just a cut. Please.”

  Graham’s smile was grim but insistent. I could tell he was ready to be on his way though I was curious as to why he would chance cutting through to his destination so close to headquarters when there was a price on his head.

  “We have a doctor inside,” the officer said, giving Graham a hard stare. “Come.”

  My insides were frozen, but there was no choice but to play it out, so I got back behind the wheel and moved the car closer to the sidewalk, and then I got my cases out of the trunk.

  “That’s very kind of you,” I told the officer, giving him an oblivious smile. “And now I get to keep my appointment. I just hate getting behind schedule.”

  The officer was ushering a limping Graham toward the door of Gestapo headquarters, and I resisted the urge to blow out a sigh of impatience. We were in a fix that I didn’t know how to get out of, and I was hoping that Graham had a plan I hadn’t thought of.

  Major Wagner had commandeered the residence of the Schwartz family after they’d transported all of the Jews out of the city. Their home was considered upper middle-class, as Mr. Schwartz had been a jeweler, but it was the location that held the appeal for the Germans. It was on the corner of the Quai de Rive Neuve and it had perfect visibility of the port and the main avenue in Marseille.

  I noticed passersby on the street were hurrying along, keeping their heads down, but I could feel them watching us. Another officer came out the front door and gave Graham a narrowed stare, taking in the gash in his leg and his disheveled attire.

  “Lovely to see you, Heinz,” I told him in German, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile. For Heinz, that was as good as him declaring his undying devotion.

  He came and took my cases, sparing a glance for my bosom before ushering me into the building. There was something about the shell of the home that sent prickles of unease across my skin. It was a ghost of a house, the remnants of its former owners a memory that hadn’t quite faded.

  Most of the furniture had been removed, and there were faded patches on the wall where paintings had once hung. The rugs had been rolled up and the floors exposed. I knew from my intel that only Major Wagner and Dr. Meissner used headquarters as their temporary home, along with the guards who were on duty during the night.

  The excitement from outside had brought Major Wagner downstairs and away from his office. I had yet to be able to access his office, but I had high hopes in that regard as long as I was able to keep him romantically interested.

  Wagner stood at attention, his uniform starched and stiff, the red band vibrant around his left sleeve.

  “Friedrich,” I said, cutting through the quiet tension. He’d given me permission to use his first name weeks ago, but I’d been careful in using it too soon. I wanted to keep his interest and make him curious about me at the same time. I wanted to exude seduction, but also display a youthful naïveté a man like Wagner would consider a challenge.

  I put a low purr in my voice when I said his name, and his attention was drawn to me instead of Graham. “I apologize for my tardiness. I know I could’ve waited until tomorrow to come, but I was looking forward to seeing you and thought it was worth risking curfew.” I fluttered my lashes prettily, and the stone expression on his face softened.

  He was an attractive man, tall and thin, his skin pale and his blond hair cut short beneath his officer’s cap. He was somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, and his eyes were the color of the cognac Mr. Smithers had after dinner every night.

  He stepped forward and took my hand, bending down sharply to kiss it. When he stood back up, he didn’t release me.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said. “I propose you go upstairs and tend to your business with Helene. She is waiting for you. And while you attend to business, I will arrange a supper for the two of us.” His smile was cunning and made my skin crawl, but I lowered my eyes bashfully and he seemed to appreciate that. “No need to worry about curfew.” He gave me a conspirator’s wink as if he’d told a hilarious joke. “And then I will make sure you are returned home safely. My word of honor.”

  My smile was genuine because it was exactly the kind of invitation I’d been hoping to get for weeks.

  “I’d like that very much,” I said. “And I do apologize for the chaos I’ve caused. And now your doctor will have to be put out by tending to this man’s wounds. I know how busy he is, but I’m sure Dr. Meissner will do an excellent job and have him on his way quickly.”

  It was common knowledge that Dr. Meissner spent his time doing horrid experiments on those who’d been captured, and the rumor was that there was a small handful of prisoners locked somewhere in the building. I’d yet to narrow down what floor they were being held on, or if they were even here at all.

  I was hoping the power of persuasion would be enough to make Friedrich think twice about doing harm to Graham, but his expression hardened as he took in the Alliance’s number one operative.

  “Of course, my dear,” Wagner said, patting me on the hand dismissively. And then he turned to the officer who’d met us on the street. “Josef, let’s not make him wait any longer for treatment. Take him to my office and send for the doctor. You know where he is.”

  Josef nodded and pushed against Graham’s back, moving him toward the stairs and Wagner’s office. I snuck one last glance at Graham as he was led away, but his face was impassive. I couldn’t help but think that I’d just sentenced the most wanted spy in Europe to his death.

  Chapter 2

  George and Esther Smithers’ home was along the bustling Quai des Belges, facing the water and the ships and boats that were no longer allowed to leave or enter port. It was only two blocks from Gestapo headquarters, though much more opulent than the modest home they’d commandeered from the Schwartz family.

  They’d given me the guest quarters on the third floor, and I was mostly left to my own devices, with the occasional interruption from my maid, Margueritte, who was barely a year or two older than I was. We got on well enough, but I was used to doing for myself, and I could tell we hadn’t shared the same life experiences.

  The Smitherses’ home was four stories and as ornate and lavish as the other homes on the street. The walls were covered in beautiful silk wallpapers in vibrant colors, and gold leaf embellished everything. I wasn’t exactly sure what George Smithers did for a living, but I figured if he knew my father then he probably hadn’t made all his money on the up-and-up.

  Not that I spent much time in George’s company. He was busy with the Alliance, his secret meetings, and his day-to-day business dealings. Esther, on the other hand, had become a kindred sister. She was only a decade older than I was, and she and George had never had children. That was by design, as Esther had the same outlook on marriage and being a modern woman that I did. She’d found an older wealthy husband, and she’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted—freedom. According to her, she had security and she had her choice of lovers in two countries who didn’t immediately fall asleep after dessert. You couldn’t ask much more than that.

  Esther had waited up for me, even though I’d sent a note letting her know not to worry. She was a tall woman, several inches taller than I was, and her build was delicate and wistful. She was beautiful, with skin so pale it was almost translucent, soft gray eyes, and white-blond hair that had the slightest touch of silver so it shimmered when she wore it down.

  “Your dress is still on straight,” she said good-naturedly, cros
sing her legs so the silk of her dressing gown caught the flicker of candlelight from the oil lamp beside her. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, and then exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

  “Well?” she asked, arching a brow.

  “He was a perfect gentleman,” I said, running a hand down the side of my waist and resting it on my hip. Unlike Esther, I had curves to spare and I used them to my advantage. “But I haven’t put on the full charm yet. He wanted to assure me that the people of Marseille wouldn’t be harmed as long as they comply, but that anyone housing refugees would be punished severely. He hinted at the experiments Dr. Meissner was conducting, but he didn’t specify who they’d selected.”

  “Intelligence tells us that they’ve taken the entire Cordier family. Their home was raided on the night of the twelfth, and there is no record they were taken to any of the camps. And no bodies have been found. The Cordiers have two sets of twins. A set of boys and a set of girls. Meissner would find that fascinating, though we don’t expect him to keep the parents alive. If they still are it would be a miracle, but we hope to be able to save the children. The Cordiers are a prominent family, politically connected, but someone turned them in to the Gestapo for helping Jews and other refugees escape. They were smuggling them out on their ships.”

  I felt the bubble of anger I had to keep tamped down at the injustices I’d seen and heard about over the last couple of months. We were so removed from life back home, and I was ashamed how ignorant I’d been. But the rage had a permanent home inside me now, and I worked hard to keep it leashed. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if it ever broke free.

  “Wagner spoke of the internment camp we’ve been looking for,” I told her.

  Esther sat forward in her chair, her attention caught. “Did he tell you where?”

  “On the border, outside of Vitrolles. It’s small, so they’re moving them out to the larger camps as quickly as they can get the trains to run. Most of them go to Bergen-Belsen and then are shipped out again.