by Lou Cadle
She made it to the shop where the circuit had met before and went around back to the alley, feeling less conspicuous when she had turned off the main street.
Only three people were there. Claude, Genevieve, and a stranger, a woman dressed in a severe skirt and jacket.
“Good morning,” Antonia said.
“We need to be quick,” Claude said. “Marie cannot be missing for long. Marie is her real name. You might need that.” He introduced Antonia with her false name, that of the shorthand secretary.
Antonia shook the woman’s hand before sitting. “Tell me,” she said.
“There is a large meeting this morning, which is the only way I can be gone from my desk,” Marie said.
“You work with the Germans?”
“Yes, may they rot in hell.”
Claude said, “She knows where more information about Hesse’s visit is kept.”
“I can get it, I think, but I need a lookout. Possibly a distraction.”
“All right,” Antonia said.
Claude said, “It will be dangerous to enter their lair.”
“How can I get in the building? Is there not security? They won’t recognize me as a usual worker.”
“There are fewer in the halls this morning,” Marie said. “And I have a badge for you, though it is someone else’s real badge. An identification that is worn there. The guards do not pay strict attention.”
Claude said, “People don’t read badges, not even guards. They become part of the background.”
Marie said, “Except at check stations and the front door. But there is a back way I know of. I will take you in that way.”
“Good,” said Antonia. “Tell me what I need to know.”
“Quickly,” the woman said, and she described the layout of the building, and what she was intending to do. “The office is locked, but I have been collecting keys for months.”
It sounded more dangerous to this woman than to Antonia. “And you need me to watch for anyone approaching that office.”
“Yes. I’d let you steal the documents alone, but I know where they are, and Claude says you don’t read German.”
“No, I don’t, not well.”
“All right. We should go.” She stood. Genevieve stood too.
Antonia asked Claude, “Is the girl coming in with us?”
“No,” he said, “but she will circle the streets outside the building, watching for trouble. I’ll wait here, and if something goes wrong, Genevieve will come and report to me.”
Genevieve opened the door and picked up a metal hoop she had left outside, a toy that children sometimes played with, pushing it with a stick through the streets. She left, running ahead. Marie and Antonia followed.
“I’ll explain more as we walk, if it’s safe,” Marie said. They emerged from the alley and she went on, “If anyone approaches, I’ll introduce you as a new girl from Montpellier. We’ll say you worked for Darnard there.”
As they walked, she continued to spin a cover identity for Antonia, who thought it wouldn’t do her much good once she tried to speak her childlike German. Wouldn’t a worker for the Vichy French be fluent? She memorized it nonetheless.
As they passed a crowd of people in a queue at a shop, Marie went silent. Genevieve was nowhere to be seen, and Antonia guessed that she was already in place, pretending to be a normal child rather than what she was.
They did not approach the German headquarters from the front, but circled around a block distant, and Marie led them to a back entrance on a street Antonia had not yet seen. Marie pulled keys from her jacket pocket and inserted one. The door swung open, and they were inside.
The narrow hallway did not seem well traveled. Good. Marie hurried down the hall to an open stone stairwell, leaned over the steps and looked up and down, and motioned Antonia along. She trotted up two flights of stairs but for two steps, at which point she held a hand up to stop Antonia.
She had heard distant voices at the last landing, but here she heard nothing. Still, Marie went cautiously, stopping at the landing and peeking out. She waved Antonia forward frantically.
Antonia ran up the last steps and joined her.
“It’s on the left, midway down.” She had her keys in hand. “Lean on the door once I’m in there, and if anyone comes down the hall, pretend to be adjusting your stocking and rap on it twice. I’ll know to be quiet then.”
“I understand,” Antonia said.
“And if they try to get into the office where I am, you need to get them away somehow. Any way you can think of. Make noise, so I know there is trouble.”
“I will.” She’d have to get them away from the door so that Marie could get out without being seen. A Résistance plant inside German headquarters was more valuable than a radio operator. Antonia could easily be replaced. Marie could not.
As they walked briskly toward their destination, Antonia thought about what she might do in case of real trouble. At a last resort, run. At least they’d chase her and ignore that office and Marie. “How long will it take you?”
“Several minutes if the report is long, which it typically is. I need to turn on a mimeograph machine and make extra copies. I know where the stencils are kept. I only need find the correct ones.”
That sounded as if it might take quite a while. Of course, had it only been an easy job, the snatching of extra copies of a memo, Marie probably could have done it on her own, risked being in the wrong office for a minute and brought the news to Claude on her own. “Okay,” she said.
And then they were at the office door. Marie used her keys again while Antonia kept watch in both directions. She heard the lock snick open and then felt the draught of air as Marie opened the door. She risked a glance inside and saw a small outer office, with a secretary’s desk, and beyond that a wooden wall and door with a German rank and name on a black plaque. The door closed, and Antonia was alone, very much in enemy territory, hoping against hope that no one would come down the hall while she stood there and ask her for identification.
The hope was dashed when another door opened farther down the hall. Antonia put her hand on the door and bent to adjust her stocking, but the woman emerging didn’t even spare her a glance before crossing the hall and opening another door.
Antonia stood again, her nerves singing, sending a mental message to Marie to hurry. Standing here made her feel as vulnerable as she’d ever felt, even more than when air raid sirens had sounded in England and she was in a strange place and had no idea where to seek shelter, even more than when she had parachuted into fog.
An officer appeared in the hallway, just where she and Marie had exited the stairwell. He was a big man, in a uniform that strained at the buttons. He stopped and rested his hands on his knees, apparently winded from the climb. When he stood and walked her way, she went into her adjusting-the-stocking routine. She could dimly hear the mimeograph machine running beyond the door, its flop-flop-flop noise quite audible. She tapped twice at the door but the noise did not stop.
The man approached. When he paused in front of her, frowning, maybe at the noise he could hear, her heart raced. If he knew that office should be empty right now, she needed to distract him from that sound. “Oh!” she said in French. “My baby!” She gripped herself around the midsection and doubled over, as if suffering a terrible cramp.
Chapter 19
“Help me, please, to the toilets.” She said it loudly enough that Marie should be able to hear her and quit running the machine.
When the officer stood there, apparently unsure what to do, she said again, “Please! Your arm, sir.”
In heavily accented French, he said, “I’ll get my secretary.” He hurried down the hall and opened a door.
Antonia doubted a woman would be fooled by such a ruse, and his secretary would know who did and did not work there. Antonia opened the door a crack. “Marie,” she said, “it is best for me to go. Meet me at the back door with the papers. Be careful.” And she retraced her steps back towa
rd the stairwell, stopping every dozen steps to double over, hold herself and glance back, in case the German was in the hall again, looking her way. When she was within twenty feet of the stairs, she ran for them, sliding around the corner on the polished floor on her dress shoe soles. Perhaps that had been a mistake, leaving. Too late now. It was done.
She gained her balance and tore down the stairs, heedless of the noise of her heels, just trying to get away at first. When she reached the next landing, she slowed to a walk. If the officer she’d spoken to caught up to her, she’d go back into her ailing woman routine. Why she’d chosen to pretend to be a woman miscarrying her baby, she couldn’t say. It was what had popped into her mind.
She passed a woman on the stairs, going up with an armload of folders, and nodded to her. The woman look perplexed. A new face, perhaps, was troubling her. Not good.
Her heart racing, she made it to the main level and walked quickly to the back door. Her neck prickled, as if someone were watching her, following her, but when she arrived at the door and glanced back, no one was behind her. Fear was making her imagine things. She hoped she hadn’t created a stir that would put Marie at risk.
She opened the door and nearly walked into a uniformed German, a rifle slung over his shoulder.
The soldier frowned at her and said something in German. She caught none of it, but he pointed to the front of the building. You should use the front door? She hoped that was it.
She saw him glance at her badge and put her hand on it, as if to offer it, but actually covering up the name. In French she said, “I’m desperate for a cigarette. Don’t tell,” and smiled at him as she dropped her hold on the badge.
He shook his head and frowned, but then relented. He wagged a finger at her and said something else, possibly an admonition not to do this again. She smiled and nodded, and then dug through her pockets as if hunting for a cigarette case.
He walked on. Patrolling, but casually. Not expecting trouble. Not expecting to be talking to a British agent.
She turned her back to him and pantomimed lighting a cigarette and smoking, in case he turned around to watch her. She’d buy some cigarettes at the next opportunity, to make such an act more convincing next time. If Marie wasn’t out soon, she’d have to either go back in or go across the street before the soldier came back around on a second circuit of the building. She scanned the buildings opposite to find some place to duck from view, but from where she could see Marie exit. A corner shop was a possibility.
The door pushed at her back. She stumbled forward, and there was Marie. “I have them,” she said, and pulled Antonia closer, close enough to embrace. She produced a roll of papers and thrust them into Antonia’s hands. “Get them out of sight.”
“I will,” Antonia said, and she turned away, hearing the door close again as Marie disappeared inside. Marie would return to her own office and no longer be in danger. Antonia shoved the papers into her blouse and walked the direction the German soldier had, not wanting to confront him coming around again. At the corner, she looked all ways but did not see him. There was a German staff car coming, and she waited for it to pass, then crossed the street and strode up it.
She took a different route back to the shop where Claude was waiting than the one she had taken to the office building. She arrived and sank against the door after she had closed it, her rush of adrenaline fading.
“Is there trouble?”
“No. Not now. There might be at the office. I had to speak to an officer, and then I disappeared.”
“Was Marie compromised?”
“No. Not in the least, so far as I know. But you might not want to send me into that building again.” She reached inside her jacket and pulled out the papers. “Here.”
“Let me see.” He took the papers from her.
She sat and composed herself. That hadn’t been too bad, had it? She hadn’t come terribly close to being caught. And she hadn’t been seen with Marie, so the woman was very likely safe. Every day, every moment here was a risk, and when she was transmitting her radio signal, that was the greatest risk of all.
She was fine. She’d be fine. She took a deep, calming breath. This was what she came for. What she wanted. And she’d succeeded, delivering stolen papers into the circuit’s hands. And Marie had not acted particularly frightened at the end, so she thought the woman would be fine. Her heartbeat slowed, and her breath came normally. Calm down.
Claude was still reading.
“What do they say?”
He didn’t look up. “There is an itinerary for Hesse’s visit, as we hoped. And even better, an agenda for a meeting with the top officers—top brass, as you English say.”
“What does that say, the agenda?”
“They mention a film. A film will be shown. A demonstration of a test flight of a V2.” He looked up and his eyes were bright. “I would love to get my hands on that. I’m sure it shows this new device being operated.”
“Could we get it?”
“I wish we could, but I don’t see how. The man is more important. But if he has anything with him, drawings or formulas or this film, so much the better. We have personnel for only one operation—barely that. In fact, I think we’re going to need Bernard, as little as I want to use an amateur.”
“Why? Has something gone wrong?”
“Leonce is certain that he has spotted a tail, more than once now. They are waiting for him to meet anyone. He is taking care not to speak to any poor soul of a stranger, not to meet a friend for coffee, nothing. But I have split off the circuit into three temporarily, until we can make sure that danger has passed. I don’t want any more people than necessary knowing Bernard or his purpose here.”
“How do you know of Leonce, if he isn’t meeting you?”
“A note dropped. Carefully, I hope, for I collected it myself.”
“The circuit can’t afford to lose you.”
“I would rather choose to put myself at risk than another.”
“Genevieve.” She realized she hadn’t spared the girl a thought since that frightening moment in the hallway. “I hope she is safe.”
“There was no fuss, no commotion over what you did?”
“None that spilled outside. They might even now be searching for me in the building.”
“Then she is fine. Even had there been problems, the Germans would not guess a child playing with a hoop was part of it.”
“I hope not. I worry for her.”
“She worries for you.”
Antonia could not help but laugh. “I think she hates me.”
“No. She does not want to care for you and so she acts angry.”
“We are alike in this, she and I.”
“And alike in how you fail at it, I think.”
“How is Madame Charlevoix? Well, I hope?”
“She is fine. Serving the Germans with a smile. They do not suspect her of anything nefarious.”
“Good. I hope she survives this horror. I hope you do too.”
“I am, like you, willing to die for the cause. But for now, I would rather live to do more harm. I would like to live to see the liberation.”
“So how are we going to get Hesse?”
“I don’t know yet all the details. I am thinking.”
“Do you want my help? With the plan, I mean?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I think because I know the town, the roads, the German habits better, I should make the plan alone. It is also safer if only I know of it for now. I hope I have not offended you.”
“Not at all,” she said.
“You are a better operative than I had hoped.”
“I’m a worse operative than I had hoped.” She laughed again, nervously. “It was frightening, what I did today.”
“Fear is good. It sharpens the senses. Keeps you ready to fight.”
She supposed he was right. But it was a strain, that sharp jab of fear, coming after two days of dull waiting. “I think it is making me older overnight.
”
“Moi aussi. I have but eighteen years.” He grinned at her, this middle-aged man making a small joke, and then handed her one of the papers. “For our friend in the cellar.”
She glanced at it. “I don’t know that he reads German.”
“There might be something in there, some technical term, even so, that might help him learn something. If we do not succeed in kidnapping Hesse, it would be good for him to have something to take with him. Or something for you to radio in.”
She took the paper and rolled it up, tucking it into her blouse again. “Anything else?”
“No. I need to think, and you need to return to Bernard. Is he holding up all right?”
“Bored, I think. But learning French a little. And what I can teach him of evading a tail without going to the street to practice it.”
“Good. I will come probably tomorrow morning again, probably later, after your host has gone to the markets.”
“Doesn’t he have to work?”
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
She was losing track. She should pay more attention, count the days and the date. It might matter, and a secretary would know this. “There is nothing else you need me for?”
“Not now. I’ll let you know.”
“Long live France,” she said, and she left.
She took a different route than the one she had taken here, a precautionary measure. What if some shopkeeper had glanced out and seen her, seen something about her that worried him enough to mention it to the gendarme? She didn’t think that had happened, not really, but why not stay safe?
Her back was straight as she walked along. Few people looked at her or nodded at her, but when they did, she nodded back without smiling. It was nearly time for work to end for most people. She didn’t want to meet the house’s owner when he came back home to eat his evening meal, so she sped her pace.
She rounded a corner and there was a small crowd ahead. At first, she thought it was another queue for some rare food item. But after she pushed through a few people, pardoning herself, she looked up and saw it was not a queue for food.