by Kacey Ezell
Suspicion. Fear. The sinking knowledge that if she were taken, others would likely lose their lives. The girl in the blue coat didn’t think she could withstand the torture she’d heard the Nazis used to elicit information.
You can trust us, Evelyn said. We’re American airmen, and we were sent here by Deedee. Please, we’re not going to betray you. We can’t!
The girl’s eyes got very wide, and she looked up at Evelyn.
What...you?
Yes, Evelyn said. Please, will you help us?
How are you doing this? It is like I can hear you in my mind!
It is a talent I have. It is why you feel my sincerity when I tell you that we will not harm you.
You and your husband?
And two other men. There, by the fountain.
Yes, you are right. I can feel your sincerity. I am sorry I was suspicious at first. Others have been taken not far from here. But...there is an escape planned soon.
We are to be part of it, according to Deedee. She said to look for a girl in a blue coat selling pears.
Yes, well, the Nazis have taken them all. I have none to sell. But I will help you.
“Perhaps you can help me, after all,” the girl said. “My name is Nanette. And I need this booth torn down. Do you and your husband have any friends you can call? I would like it if we could tear it down this afternoon. My uncle will come with a truck, and he can help us haul the pieces away.”
“Yes, of course,” Evelyn said, and gave Nanette a tremulous smile. Sean nodded at the girl and turned to walk back to where Paul and Abram waited by the fountain. The three men spoke in hushed tones, in case anyone might be watching, and then came back to the booth.
“Nanette, Sean, my husband. And these are our friends Paul and Abram.”
“Good. You can begin by disassembling this table and these boards. I must go send a message to my uncle. If you are interested, he may have further work for you, but only if you are efficient and do not waste time socializing.” The Frenchwoman spoke briskly, as if to someone she neither knew nor truly trusted. Through her connection, Evelyn could tell that Nanette worried a great deal about being overheard.
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” Abram said, and touched the brim of the cap he’d been given by Monsieur Garreau. Nanette gave him a nod and an impatient gesture that said “get to it,” then turned to Evelyn.
“You can sweep,” she said, using that same tone. She reached behind the soon-to-be disassembled booth and pulled out a broom. And if anyone approaches, speak for the men. You seem to have some French, yes?
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, taking the broom by the handle. I do, yes. It is not perfect, though.
It is better than nothing. It is well you are with them. The group looks far less suspicious with a woman. I will go see my uncle and ask him to hurry. The faster we get you out of here, the better. Nanette gave her one more nod, then turned her back and continued to gather up the remaining small items she had at the booth. A few moments later, she turned and left them without another word. Evelyn let the connection drop with a sigh of relief.
Do we trust her? Paul asked down the net as he used a clawed hammer to pry nails from boards.
I think we must, Evelyn said. In any case, she felt genuine to me. She is very, very frightened, however. I think the Gestapo has been pushing hard in this area.
Hopefully we won’t have to worry about it much longer, Abram said. Evelyn could feel a note of determined optimism in his mind. Abram was their senior officer, and he seemed to feel it necessary to keep them from descending into a gloom of negative thought. In truth, it balanced well with Paul’s often bleak realism and tendency towards suspicion. Perhaps, with their individual temperaments complementing one another, the four of them might make it out of this alive, after all.
They worked steadily for an hour or two. By the time Nanette returned, the men had the booth completely disassembled and the lumber stacked in neat piles, ready for pickup. Evelyn was just sweeping out the last of the detritus that had accumulated under the structure when a truck roared up and the Frenchwoman hopped out of the front seat.
“Hmm,” she said, in a non-committal tone, and rattled off instructions to the truck’s driver in a stream of rapid-fire French. He grunted a response that Evelyn didn’t hear and climbed down out of his seat in the truck.
This is your uncle? Evelyn asked, as she reached out to Nanette’s mind once more. Though her psyche was slippery, and not at all as delicious and comfortable as the minds of her men, it was easier to establish contact this second time. The thought gave Evelyn a tiny spike of hope. Perhaps she wasn’t completely damaged, after all.
Yes. His name is Ned Cosca. He will take you all to Plouha. Your friends work quickly and well. I cannot say so out loud, but please relay my thanks when you can.
I will.
I thank you. Good luck to you all, Evelyn.
Thank you, Nanette, for everything.
With that, Evelyn severed the connection again, and they got to work loading the boards and things up onto the back of Monsieur Cosca’s truck. It didn’t take a terribly long time. Once they were done, Monsieur Cosca grunted and waved his hand at the bed and then opened the passenger side door and gave a little half-bow in Evelyn’s direction.
I suppose we’re ready to go, Evelyn said to the men on the net. She gave Cosca a small smile and climbed into the cab of the truck while the men clambered into the bed and situated themselves amidst the piles of booth debris.
Cosca shut the door of the truck and walked around to enter on the driver’s side. As he started up the engine, Evelyn ventured another smile in his direction.
“Thank you, Monsieur,” she said quietly.
He grunted and gave her a nod, then put the truck in gear with a slight grinding noise. Evelyn felt her teeth start to rattle as they pulled out onto the cobblestone streets, and she sent a wave of sympathy back to the men riding in the truck bed.
Thankfully, they didn’t have far to go, at least not at first. Cosca brought them to a slightly dilapidated barn outfitted with a number of mechanical contraptions. Evelyn didn’t know what they were for, but she recognized them as the tools of a mechanic’s trade and realized that Cosca had brought them to his business.
“We will unload the truck, wait for dark,” the older man said abruptly. “Easier to move about then.”
“Even with the curfew?” Evelyn asked softly. Cosca grunted a vague affirmative.
“I carry supplies for the Boches,” he said. “Special pass. They let me drive at night. Less cart traffic on the roads.”
“All right,” Evelyn said.
Evie, any idea why we’re stopping? Abram asked as Cosca cut the engine and opened the door.
Monsieur Cosca says that we’re going to unload the truck and wait until after curfew. Apparently he’s got a special pass to move around at night.
How did he manage that?
He runs supplies for the German army.
Abram’s only reply was a startled burst of mental laughter, echoed by a foreboding feeling from Paul. Sean said nothing, merely radiated support for Evelyn and the officers.
Well, let’s get this stuff unloaded, then, Abram said after a minute. Evelyn opened up her door and followed Cosca out, but when she tried to lift a hand to help, he frowned at her and made a shooing gesture.
“This is men’s work, Mademoiselle,” he said in French. “Go inside and rest. There is bread and cheese, a little wine. We will join you shortly.”
Evelyn shot a look toward Abram and relayed Cosca’s instructions. Abram gave her a nod.
But be careful, Evie, he cautioned her. If anything feels wrong, get out of there or call us immediately!
I will, she promised.
But nothing did. As Cosca had said, there was a bottle of wine and half a round of a sharp, orange cheese sitting on the table next to two wide loaves. They looked freshly baked, but Evelyn could see no sign of anyone who might have baked them. When her quick, explo
ratory “hello” went unanswered, she shrugged and seated herself at the table. Once again, she had cause to be grateful to the men for giving her the knife she carried, as it came in quite handy for slicing the bread and the cheese.
About thirty minutes later, the sun slanted in through the grimy windows, and Evelyn felt the men finishing up their task. A quick look around the kitchen area where she sat showed her a rack of small but clean glass tumblers and a few mismatched plates. She took these items and arranged four simple meals of bread and cheese around the table.
Cosca was the first one in. He took a look at the table, and his face flushed. He nodded wordlessly to her and took his seat. Abram, Paul, and Sean followed. While the men ate, Evelyn busied herself by tidying up the kitchen as best she could. No need not to be a good houseguest, as far as she was concerned.
In truth, she wished she could do more. These people—Cosca, his niece Nanette, Nicole Garreau and her father Marc...and especially Deedee and Doctor van Duren—were doing so much for them. Evelyn thought of the medical care, the food, and clothing they’d provided. She thought of Nanette and the looming dread she’d be caught...but also her courage in helping them anyway. Evelyn’s eyes filled with tears, and she ducked her head to keep them as secret as possible.
Not that it was very possible. Sean, of course, was the first to notice her emotionally charged state. He sat up straight in his chair and looked over at her, not caring if Cosca noticed.
Evie! What’s wrong? Did he say something to you?
No! No, nothing like that, Evelyn hastily sent over the net. He’s been so kind. They’ve all been so kind...
And that thought did it. Her breath broke out of her on an audible sob that had all of the men, including Cosca, looking up at her with alarm.
“I’m s-sorry,” Evelyn said, her voice cracking and tears overflowing her eyes. “I’m so sorry! You’ve been so kind, Monsieur. So kind...all of you have. We owe you so much, and I fear we shall never be able to repay any of you...”
Another sob shook her thin frame, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from making too much noise. Sean got up from the table and wrapped Evelyn in an embrace. She put her head on his shoulder and let herself cry.
Cosca looked at her for a long moment, then turned and looked at all of them.
“Yes,” he said in thickly accented English. “You will. Go home. Return to fight. Kill the Boches. That will repay us all. That is what you owe to France.”
“Monsieur,” Abram said slowly. “You have my word.”
“And mine,” Paul added.
“All of ours,” Sean said, as Evelyn nodded into his chest. She forced herself to take several deep breaths and drew upon the seemingly endless strength of her men. It helped, as it always did, and she began to calm.
“Good,” Cosca said, switching back to French. “Then no more tears, yes? We leave as soon as it is dark.”
* * *
The heels of Lina’s boots made a satisfyingly aggressive clatter as she strode across the street toward Herr Sendler’s office. She hadn’t had to read the emotions of the messenger he’d sent to know something dramatic had occurred. Whether for good or ill, she didn’t know, but when Neils Sendler told her to “come right away,” Lina knew things were about to get interesting.
She pushed through the doorway, only to see the pale oval face of the French girl, Sophie. She gave Lina the smallest of nods and gestured for the Oberhelfer to go on in to Sendler’s office. Lina gave her a nod back, reminded herself that Neils trusted Sophie, and went on in.
“Lina! I’m glad you’re here,” Neils said with a wide smile that went all the way to his eyes. He got up out of his chair so quickly a few of his papers fluttered from desk to floor. “We have had a breakthrough.”
“Tell me,” she urged, as he strode toward the door, reaching for his hat and overcoat. She hadn’t even bothered to remove hers, so she turned and fell into step beside him.
“Last night, two of our agents posed as American airmen and were able to infiltrate one of the houses that serves to shelter fugitives. I had realized there must be one of their ‘safe houses’ in one particular neighborhood in Paris, and finally, we were able to pinpoint which.”
“That is incredible! How did you make that happen?” Lina asked.
“Surveillance, mostly. I’ve had men in the neighborhood, in plain clothes, you understand, for weeks now, just watching for something...out of the ordinary. Strange visitors, things like that. Do you have any idea how often Parisians visit one another? Even in the middle of a war! It must be all the wine,” he said, turning to her with his wide, excited grin. They’d come to the front door of the office, and he held it open and gestured for Lina to precede him through. A driver and a sleek black car awaited them outside.
“But they found something?” Lina asked, anxious to get on with the story. The driver saw her emerge from the office with Neils and moved to open the car door. She could feel her impatience mounting as she paused long enough to climb into the back seat. Neils followed suit, folding his big body into the space such that he didn’t crowd her. Even in the midst of this exciting moment, she appreciated that he considered things like that. He was a gentleman, was Neils Sendler. She imagined Josef would have had great respect for him.
“Indeed. Last week, a woman was seen leaving the house in the late morning after a slightly larger group had left shortly after dawn. My agents had noticed that same woman, though her hair and clothing were different, traveling through Paris with various other groups in the past months. She’s rarely, if ever, with the same people. It was enough to go on. Since we’d spotted her leaving that house, we sent our ‘Americans’ there and had them seek shelter. Sure enough, they received it.”
“And the woman?”
“Nothing yet, but we have her description. We’ll have her soon.”
“So you’ve arrested the family?”
“Yes, a man and his daughter. Butcher, Marc Garreau, and the daughter is Nicole. We’re holding them here at the police station. I should like your expertise during the interrogation, Lina.”
Lina felt her lips curve in something like a smile.
“I am happy to serve, Herr Sendler.”
* * *
The police station in this section of Paris was very new and modern. A small, dispassionate corner of Lina’s mind admired the clean lines of the architecture as their car pulled up to one of the rear entrances. She and Neils climbed out of the car and walked up the short flight of concrete stairs, then in through the large metal door.
“Herr Sendler, they’re expecting you.” The uniformed man spoke from behind a desk and gestured to a hallway opening to his left. “And your...assistant?”
“Oberhelfer Adalina Sucherin,” Neils said briskly. “Oberhelfer Sucherin is an interrogation specialist. She alone may be able to break this discovery wide open. Somehow, fugitives are slipping through our fingers, and I mean to put an end to that. Place her name on the cleared list, please. Thank you.”
“At once,” the man said, nodding respectfully in Lina’s direction. Once, she would have been pleased at his deference. Now she just wished he’d get on with it so she could do the same. Relief flooded through her when Neils started down the hallway. She fell into step behind him.
The hallway echoed with their footsteps as they approached the locked doors that held the prisoners. Neils came to a stop beside the first one.
“This will be Marc Garreau,” he said. “I know you have attended interrogations before, so I hope you will not be shocked at his condition. We have found that we must be, unfortunately, most coercive when dealing with the members of these treasonous networks. I assure you every action taken was done so with the utmost of care to ensure no permanent damage...”
“Herr Sendler,” Lina said softy, her smile a little more real. “I appreciate your solicitousness, but really, I am fine. As you say, I have seen interrogations before...and worse since we worked Warsaw.”
“Yes, indeed. You still haven’t told me about that.”
“No, I haven’t.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged as if to say it had been worth a try, and opened the door.
The prisoner lay inside the small room, his wrists chained to an iron loop in the wall. His clothing had been stripped from the upper half of his body, and the bloody stripes on his back bore mute testimony of the beating he’d received. Several of the welts had broken the skin, and blood seeped down to stain the bare wood of the cot upon which he lay.
Lina took a deep breath, steeled herself, and reached out.
The man on the cot jumped as he felt Lina’s intrusive probe into his psyche. She staggered a little bit under the searing weight of his pain, but a hand on the wall kept her from falling.
“What is his name?” Neils asked in a steady voice.
“Marc Garreau,” Lina whispered. “He is a butcher by trade. His wife is dead, and he hopes he will be, soon. Nicole is his only daughter. She is what he values most in the world.”
“No!” Garreau screamed and ducked his head down to cover it with his manacled hands. A few of the barely-formed scabs on his back broke with his movement, and more blood began to stream down his pale, abused flesh.
“What does he do with the enemy airmen he shelters?”
Lina bit her lip to keep her mind focused. It was difficult, as his psyche resonated with pain. More of Garreau’s agony oozed through the connection toward her. She felt her hands and knees start to shake.
“Feeds them,” she said, pulling the images from the prisoner’s memories as they floated to the fore in response to Neils’ questioning. “Shelters them for a day or more. They come in through the back garden so they can’t be seen, and they leave the same way. That’s why it took us so long to find the house.”