by Kacey Ezell
“Where do they go?”
“The train station, mostly. He does not know where after that,” Lina said after a long minute.
“Who is the girl? The one who comes back to his house multiple times?”
Lina closed her eyes and steeled herself against Garreau’s pain as she tried to align her thoughts with his. A face flickered before her mental eyes, but then a tearing burn ripped through her as Garreau deliberately rolled onto his mangled back and writhed on the rough wooden boards.
“Stop!” Lina gasped. “Neils, stop him!”
Her knees buckled, and she fell to the cold hardness of the floor. She withdrew into the sensations of her own body, fleeing from the pain with which the prisoner fought her.
“Lina?” Neils asked, his voice thick with concern. “Lina? What has happened?”
“Outside,” she said, holding out a hand for assistance. She felt Neils’ large hand envelop hers as he drew her gently to her feet. On the cot, Garreau lay limp and panting, as if his exertions and resistance had drained him of all energy. Lina’s head began to throb as they exited the prisoner’s cell.
“Could you bring me some water, please?” Lina said to the officer standing outside Garreau’s cell. The man glanced at Neils for permission and received an annoyed hand wave to get on with it.
“Lina, what happened?” Neils asked, pitching his voice low. Lina was grateful, for while she really did need the water, she also wanted some privacy.
“Your men were too rough with him,” Lina said softly. “I understand this is procedure, but he was able to block my questioning by focusing on his own pain...and by making it worse. I’ve never seen anyone do something like that. I tried to stay with him, but...”
“Did he throw you out? Does he have training? His wife, perhaps? The daughter?”
“No, I don’t think so. This wasn’t the standard block we’ve encountered before, nor did he know how to eject me from his psyche. It was more that once he heard me articulating his conscious thoughts, he determined to make his conscious thoughts about nothing but pain. It was remarkably brave, to be honest.”
“Brave for a traitor, you mean.”
“Just so,” Lina said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If the daughter has been similarly treated, I must ask that such things discontinue, Herr Sendler. Especially if liberties have been taken with her. It is incredibly difficult to work with someone who has been broken in this way and will take far more time than we have.”
“No, I can see that,” Neils said, frowning as he considered this problem. “Perhaps...perhaps the time has come to soften them up with some kindness. I do not think the girl has been handled roughly, and I left specific orders she should not be...outraged. You know how I feel about such things.”
“I do,” Lina said, and smiled at her old friend and colleague. “And I appreciate your sensibilities and honor.”
“Well,” he said. “Let us leave this for now. I will give orders for Garreau to be cleaned up and given medical attention. We can return tomorrow. After you’ve eaten and rested.”
“Thank you, Herr Sendler.”
“Of course, my dear. Whatever you need. You will be key to breaking this web of traitors, and I will ensure you can do it.”
* * *
Though it was wintertime, dusk seemed to take forever. Finally, the sun dipped far enough below the western horizon for the sky to darken to Cosca’s satisfaction. He got to his feet, peered out one of the windows, and grunted softly.
“Time,” he said in French. “Let’s go.”
Evelyn had already made a point of washing and putting away the dishes they’d used for their small meal, so there wasn’t much else to do. The four Americans filed back outside. Cosca pointed to a pile of hay, then gestured at the truck.
“Tell them to pile that in the bed, then hide themselves underneath. You will ride with me. The Boches will think I have a young mistress,” he said dryly. Evelyn glanced at him, startled, only to see his small smile. She smiled back, touched he’d thought to make a joke, even as awkward a one as that. He may have blushed a bit in response, but it was hard to tell on his darkly weathered face.
In order to avoid shouting in English, and because it still seemed like a good idea to be circumspect about their link, Evelyn walked over to the men and gestured for them to come close.
Cosca says that the plan is for you all to load that hay into the truck, then hide yourselves under it. I am to ride up front once again.
And pretend to be his mistress? Abram asked, lightheartedly. Sean glowered a bit at this, while Paul gave a wintry smile.
I suppose so, if we are questioned, Evelyn said. I do not think he will take any liberties, though. He seems a good man.
I’m sure you’re right, Evie, Abram said. I was just playing with you. We’ll get moving right away with this hay.
Within a few minutes, the mound of hay (sadly, mostly moldy and damp) lay piled in the bed of Cosca’s truck, and Evelyn could feel her men’s discomfort as they lay burrowed beneath it.
Perhaps the smell will discourage investigation? she offered.
It’s certainly discouraging me, Abram said.
“You are ready, Mademoiselle?” Cosca asked, as he walked up behind Evelyn.
“Yes, Monsieur,” she said, and turned to get back into the passenger seat of the truck. She supposed she should be grateful it was marginally more comfortable than the bed. Especially as she wasn’t covered in moldy hay.
Once again, the truck’s engine roared to life, and once again, Evelyn’s teeth rattled together as Cosca steered them away from his garage and out onto the gravel of the nearby road.
He took an indirect route, Evelyn realized. No doubt this was to avoid notice, but it didn’t make things any easier for the airmen hidden in the back. She tried to warn them when a turn was coming, but the moon had waned down to nearly nothing, and there wasn’t much light from the headlamps on Cosca’s truck. At least he appeared to know the roads extremely well, as his overall demeanor radiated relaxed confidence.
Which is why when he started swearing under his breath, Evelyn experienced a quick spike of alarm that she couldn’t suppress. The men felt it, of course, and immediately went on the alert.
What’s happening? Abram asked, as Cosca started to decelerate.
I don’t know, we’re stopping. I think...Evelyn squinted into the darkness. Oh no. It’s a checkpoint.
Shit, Abram said.
Everyone lay still, Sean put in. Maybe...maybe they won’t find us.
Cosca coasted the truck to a stop, and at a sharp gesture from the French uniformed policeman, cut the engine.
“Good evening,” Cosca said as the two men came close enough to speak through the driver’s side window. The taller of the two nodded in response, and Evelyn got the impression he knew the old man sitting next to her.
“You have permission to travel after curfew?” the shorter one asked, all brusque business.
“I do,” Cosca said, and produced a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket. The taller officer took it, read it, and then handed it back with a nod.
“What are you hauling?” the shorter one asked.
“Old hay. I don’t want it stinking up my property anymore.”
“Why so late?”
“The army has me working all day and evening. This is the only time I can carry out my own necessary chores. I am still trying to run a business.”
The shorter officer grunted, then took a step back and looked down the length of the truck. He squinted, frowned, then walked back alongside the wooden slats that bordered the truck bed on three sides and peered through. Evelyn saw Cosca inhale slowly and heard a soft clinking noise. She looked down to see his right hand reaching for the links of a chain as he slowly gathered it into his big, weather-roughened fingers.
They’re searching! Evelyn sent. Don’t move!
“Cosca...” the taller officer said slowly, in an undertone. “Cosca, stop. You’ve
known me my whole life. Put the chain down and step out of the truck. What’s going on?”
The old man froze, then opened his fingers and let the links of the chain drop back down to the floorboard. He let out a sigh and opened the door.
They know something, Evelyn said. A terrible calm seemed to come over her as she realized what would probably happen next. We may have to kill them. Be ready. I will do what I can.
She would have to touch the officers in order to attack them with her gifts, so she slid across the bench seat and followed Cosca out of the truck. The taller officer gave her a long look, but then turned back to Cosca. The shorter one continued looking through the slats of the truck. He even went so far as to pick up a stick from the road and begin to prod the mound of hay.
Oh shit. The bastard just poked me in the side, Abram said, just as the shorter officer let out a soft cry of triumph.
“Be honest, Cosca. You are smuggling contraband, are you not?” the taller one said.
“Not exactly,” the old man replied. He took a deep breath. “They are airmen. American airmen.”
He told them! Evelyn said, her tone throbbing with warning.
What? Do we attack? Paul asked.
Yes...wait! I don’t know, Evelyn said. She knew the men could see through her eyes if they chose, so she opened that channel as wide as she could. They’re not doing anything.
In fact, the two officers just looked at one another for a long moment. The shorter one gave a slight shrug, and the taller nodded.
“Carry on, Cosca,” the taller said, as the two of them stepped back. “Vive la France.”
“Vive la France,” Cosca replied, with a nod to the two of them. He then turned and gave Evelyn a slight smile and gestured for her to precede him back into the truck.
Evie! What’s happening?
They’re letting us go, she said, feeling the unreality of the situation as she climbed back in and slid across the bench seat. Never in a million years would she have expected that. Apparently they’re patriots.
Cosca followed her in and shut the door with a heavy thump before firing the engine back up. The two policemen lifted their hands in farewell. Cosca did the same, and Evelyn, moved by some impulse she couldn’t name, rendered a salute as she’d been taught to do so long ago. The taller policeman met her eyes and smiled.
“Your debt,” Cosca said roughly, his voice sounding like the gravel over which they drove. “Do not forget.”
“We will not,” Evelyn promised. “We will never forget it.”
* * *
“Mademoiselle Garreau,” Neils said with a smile as they entered the prisoner’s room. “May I present Fraulein Lina Sucherin? Lina is a university student. She is doing a project on...what was it, Fraulein Sucherin?”
“A treatise on effective methods of interrogation, Herr Sendler. I aim to show the futility of brutal interrogation techniques, as they frequently increase the prisoner’s determination to resist.” Lina entered the room as she spoke and noted Nicole Garreau had been afforded some basic furnishings and comforts, just as she’d requested. Excellent.
“Ah, yes,” Neils said. He gave Nicole a knowing look, as if he expected her to share in his amusement at Lina’s answer. “Our Fraulein here is extremely passionate about her work, as you can plainly see.”
Nicole didn’t answer. She sat at the small table, unmanacled hands folded in front of her. Her hair was still slightly damp from the wash she’d given it that morning when Lina’d had the guards offer a bath. Her dark brown eyes flitted warily from Neils to Lina and back again as she attempted to figure out what, exactly, was going on.
Lina gave the girl the best smile she could summon and sat down, uninvited. Oh, so casually, she reached out and touched the back of the girl’s hand. At the same time, she sent a spike of her consciousness arrowing into the girl’s psyche.
It was so much harder with a woman. Her mind felt so slick and uninviting. There seemed to be nothing solid, nowhere for Lina to anchor the connection she sought to establish. The girl jumped, startled, and looked hard at Lina. The psychic held her breath, for if Nicole Garreau had any psychic talent or training, things were about to get very uncomfortable. Being forcibly ejected from someone’s mind hurt.
For once, however, the fates smiled on Lina. At that moment, Neils cleared his throat and sat down as well.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked Nicole. “Or some bread and cheese? I can have them fetch something if you are hungry?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” Nicole whispered. Lina exhaled slowly. She was in. Hanging precariously on to the girl’s psyche, perhaps, but in. And Nicole had been well distracted.
“Very well,” Neils said. “Then perhaps we should begin, yes? I wish to inquire about your treatment here. The guards and officers...they have been courteous?”
“Mostly,” Nicole said, still in that barely-there tone of voice.
“I must ask you to be more specific, Mademoiselle Garreau. When you say ‘mostly,’ what do you mean? Was there one incident of discourtesy? Two? Ten?”
“No, Monsieur,” she replied. “Nothing like that. They were...not nice, exactly, but no one was rude or mean.”
“Ah. I see. Good. And were you treated roughly? Physically?”
“No, Monsieur.”
“Did they touch you at all?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“How did they touch you?”
“On my wrists and arms, Monsieur. When they chained me and brought me here. My knees buckled, and they helped me to stand.”
“Ah. I see,” he said again, and gave her a smile. “Nicole, you’re doing very well. Now, a few more questions, if you please.”
Nicole said nothing.
“When you were brought here, were you offered any kind of...insult?”
“Monsieur?”
“Did any of the men try to touch you...inappropriately? Did anyone try to take liberties?”
Nicole’s eyes widened in shock, and a pink blush stained her cheeks. She really was a lovely girl, Lina thought, careful to keep the observation confined to her own mind.
“Oh, no, Monsieur,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that.”
“Excellent. I am pleased to hear this, Nicole, for I believe such crimes to be unnatural and unfitting of a true man. So would you say, then, that your treatment here while in our custody has been...gentle?”
“I suppose...yes, Monsieur.”
“Good, and now, does that dispose you to cooperate with us?”
Lina felt the girl’s guard go up. For just a moment, she wished she were linked with Neils so she could have warned him to tread lightly here.
“In what way, Monsieur?”
“In the easiest of ways, my dear. I am curious about a few things. Why a girl such as yourself would engage in such dangerous pastimes as hiding fugitive enemies, for one. Did your father force you to?”
“No!” Nicole cried out. Lina felt fear for her father flood the girl’s mind. “He had nothing to do with it. I brought him in!”
And it was true, Lina realized, feeling the resonance of it echo through Nicole’s mind. Her father had been her willing accomplice, but she was the true prize. She glanced over at Neils and gave him the slightest of nods to indicate truth.
“Ah, I see. This must be very hard for you, then, Mademoiselle,” Neils said, his voice full of sympathy. “To fear that you have endangered your father...why would you do such a thing? I am trying to understand. Help me understand, Nicole.”
“I don’t know anything,” Nicole whispered, her eyes full of tears. A lie. Lina felt it soak through the connection.
“Naturally, you had your reasons for doing what you have done. I just need to know those reasons, and I think you can help.”
“No! I know nothing, Monsieur. Nothing!”
“Strange. Especially since your father tells us that you are a true patriot.”
“I—?”
“Of course you are,” Neils said, with tha
t comforting, avuncular smile. “And I honor you for it. I believe the Reich will be good for France, but I cannot argue it will take time for her people to see that. I do not blame you for trying to help your country, misguided as your attempts may have been. And anyway, what did you do? Feed a few hungry men? Give them shelter for a night?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob. Lina felt a wave of relief break over the girl’s mind as the secret she’d kept for so long came out. A series of rapid-fire images passed through Nicole’s mind. Faces, weary, tired, scared. Mostly men, but two women stood out. One was a girl Lina didn’t recognize, but she matched the description Neils had given of the girl seen leaving the Garreaus’ house. The other...
A snarl of rage coiled within Lina’s mind, like a serpent rising up to strike. She took a quick sip of air and withdrew all but the most tenuous of connections from Nicole’s psyche, lest the girl feel her emotional reaction to the sight of the American psychic. She held up one finger where the prisoner couldn’t see, to let Neils know she needed a minute. The intelligence operative didn’t react, other than to turn to the tea service that had just arrived and to pour tea for all of them.
Calm, Lina told herself, speaking mostly to the writhing serpent of fury inside her skin. Icy, clear, calm. Only thus will we find her. Only thus will we destroy everything she loves. Calm. Cold. Clear.
Slowly, the serpent stilled, lulled back to somnolence by Lina’s will and the promise of retribution to come. Lina took a deep breath, a sip of her tea, and met Neils’ eyes. A slight curve of her lips (not a smile, not with the memory of her face so close...) told him that she was ready to resume. She extended her awareness back down the treacherous link to the girl’s mind, and the interrogation resumed.
“So you are compassionate as well as patriotic. That is not such a large crime, now is it? How did they come to you, these men?” Neils asked casually, as he lifted his tea to take a sip. “Did someone give them your address?”
“I would pick them up,” Nicole said. “But sometimes Deedee would bring them.”
“And Deedee is?”