Code Name- Beatriz

by Lou Cadle

  She changed the subject. “Did you learn much of use from that agenda?”

  “No. This is written for a military staff, not for any technical reader. But I would like to see that film.”

  “Then let’s work on your French again.”

  He groaned. But he smiled too. “All right.” He handed her back the paper.

  “Let me burn this first.”

  “We don’t need it?”

  “Claude knows what he needs to.” She read it again and memorized the times, along with the words she could make out, though she knew Claude had done the same. She took out her matches and twisted the document into a strip, lighting one end. “We don’t want to be caught with copies of such documents.”

  “We don’t want to be caught. Full stop.”

  “Say that in French.”

  “What’s the French word for a full stop? The punctuation, I mean.”

  “Le point.”

  And so they spent the afternoon. The moment of intimacy was past, but it left something in its wake, a ripple of affection or comfort that she had not sought. To care, in this world, was to invite grief.

  It struck her that it could be seen as a good thing the mother had died today. Better that than to live with the horrible memories she would have suffered otherwise.

  A terrible thought.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning, not five minutes after the man upstairs had left, Genevieve came trotting down the stairs. She had a bag of rolls which she tossed to Antonia without acknowledging her in any other way. Going directly to Bernard she said, “Does the German scientist like women? Men? Drugs?”

  She was speaking in French, and Bernard shook his head and looked in confusion to Antonia, who translated.

  “I’m sorry?” Bernard said to Antonia, taken aback, it seemed, by being asked such questions.

  She pointed to Genevieve and said, “Her words.”

  That apparently appalled him even more. If he only knew how much worse the girl spoke.

  Genevieve was losing patience. “Would he want whores? Boy or girl whores? Young ones? Some special perversion? Does he have any other vice that can be used to trap him?”

  Antonia again translated.

  “No, no,” Bernard said. “Not that I know of. There were no rumors of anything at school.”

  Antonia repeated that in French.

  “D’accord,” the girl said, and then she fled up the stairs.

  “Well,” said Bernard, staring up after the girl.

  “Don’t worry. Claude will come up with some other plan.”

  “I’m not worried about the plan. Do you think that child will emerge from this war with any chance for a normal life?”

  Antonia shrugged. “What is normal, after all?”

  “Not this. Talking about male prostitutes and perversions.”

  “France is less repressed than Britain,” she said, but she kept her tone kind. She liked England—not as much as Spain—and did not mean to insult it. It had fought the war against Germany almost alone, valiantly, for many years.

  “Surely some repression is good.”

  “Yes. I wish Nazis would repress their base and cruel instincts, for instance.”

  “Homosexuality does not bother you?”

  “Not in the least. It has nothing to do with me.” She had known such men in her childhood, some of her parents’ set of intellectuals and artists, writers and aesthetes. They seemed nice, and she had never been taught that prejudice. “Surely you saw some of that in school. Did those end up being the worst kinds of men, or the best?”

  He did not answer but looked thoughtful.

  That night, after Bernard had fallen asleep, Claude came for them, saving Antonia from lying there and fighting to not remember what she had seen yesterday afternoon. “I want us to rehearse,” he said. “Both of you, come along.”

  Somehow he had secured an automobile. Genevieve was there, a driver Antonia had never seen, and Edgard. “How good to see you,” she said to Edgard, and introduced him to Bernard.

  To Claude she said, “Is it just the five of us?”

  “One more would be good,” said Claude. “We need men, not women, for this.”

  “Can I be useful?” Antonia asked.

  “Yes. You will be there, but in the shadows, ready to act. As I will be. I am too old to pass for a German soldier of no rank.”

  “This sounds interesting,” she said, happy to be back in the hunt.

  “It’s dangerous,” said Claude. “But I think it might work.”

  “And we are going where?” Antonia asked.

  “To the woods, to rehearse. How we behave is important.”

  They had been speaking in French. Antonia turned to Bernard and said, “How much of that did you understand?”

  “Very little. ‘Dangerous,’ I caught that. And something is important. So nothing, really.” He sounded amused at himself. “I may be a hopeless case with French.”

  She doubted that. He was intelligent and a hard worker. If he had more time in training, he could learn anything. It would be even better if someone already trained, with several languages, had known Hesse and understood the work he was doing. If, if, if. If Hitler had died as a baby, none of this might be happening.

  Or it might be. Perhaps the forces of history were stronger than any one woman or man.

  They drove off the road and onto a dirt track that petered out amongst some thin trees. Quietly, the five of them marched into the woods. In a few minutes of walking, the woods gave way to a meadow.

  “There are wildflowers here in a month or two,” said a male voice that had to be the driver’s.

  “Your squad is ready for instruction.” Edgard.

  “Three men only,” the new man said. His voice was deeply pitched and soft. In the moonlight, she could barely make out his features, only a blunt nose and a long face, but his voice was rich and melodious. She wondered if he might not be a singer.

  Claude said, “It’s what we have available on such short notice.”

  “With three, we can make do. I have four uniforms, so at least they should be able to find a good fit.”

  Quietly, Antonia translated all this for Bernard.

  “Uniforms?”

  “He doesn’t speak French?” the strange man said.

  “Or German,” Claude said.

  “And,” Antonia added to the driver, “if you’re going to approach the target, he can’t be seen by him. They know each other, so his face should be hidden.”

  “Son of a whore,” he said.

  “What?” Bernard said to her.

  Claude said, “Does it matter that much?”

  “No,” the man said, but he was clearly disgusted. “We can work around it. He can stay in the background, I suppose. But it is harder with only two others.”

  Claude said, “I’m too old. We will make it work with two.”

  “Tell me the outline of the plan,” said Antonia, “so that I can tell Bernard.”

  Claude said, “We will set up a roadblock. Three German guards. Stop the car that carries Hesse. Ask for papers from the driver. Then pretend to find something wrong, order everyone from the car. Guns out. The rest of us, waiting in the dark, come forward, grab our man and go. The two with rifles will take care of the Germans while the Englishman comes with us.”

  “Where will it be?” she asked, putting a hand on Bernard’s arm, as she could sense him growing restless, not being able to understand the conversation.

  Claude named an intersection.

  “In town?”

  “Yes. That is where they’ll be.”

  “Dangerous,” she said.

  “This is our best chance, I think,” Claude said. “We will take him after the evening meal with all the officers. He will be drunk, I assume, and the guards will be tired.”

  “How many guards does he have? Have you discovered?”

  “Just one,” Claude said.

  “That’s good.”
>
  Claude said, “And the driver, so three men in the German car, we think.”

  Edgard spoke up. “Against three of us plus the three of you in the shadows. The odds are not bad.”

  Genevieve said, “Are we going to stand here and gossip?”

  “No,” said the stranger. “I have the uniforms here. You two find one that fits.”

  Antonia translated all this for Bernard.

  “They know that Hesse knows me?”

  “Yes. He says they’ll work out a way to keep your face from his sight.”

  “Okay. Do we have guns?”

  “I know there are handguns available. Some were dropped with me. But rifles that are similar to those the Germans use? I’m not sure.”

  “What about—?”

  “He wants you to try on the uniforms now. Find one that fits.”

  There was enough moonlight to work by. Edgard and Bernard held up uniforms to themselves and stripped down to their undershorts to try to find the one that fit best.

  “A bit short in the legs,” Bernard said, putting on a helmet as well. He turned around. “Otherwise, how is it?”

  Antonia kneeled and felt the hems. There was extra material there. “If I can get a needle and thread, I can fix the hem,” she said. “Not so it’d pass in the daylight, mind you.” In French, she asked Claude if he could get her a needle and thread.

  “Easily,” he said.

  Then the stranger set up a rehearsal. He had her play the German driver, Genevieve play the scientist, and Claude the guard. He coached Edgard and Bernard through what they needed to do, giving them German lines to say and changing their posture and movements to match what would be expected of a German guard. He had Bernard approach the side of the car farthest from Genevieve, quickly, and get so close his face would not be visible from inside to any of the three men. He and Edgard would do most of the talking. The script was brief, just a few barked sentences.

  Claude and Antonia took turns translating for Bernard. He not only understood the instructions rather quickly, but came up with a move that let him cover his face for a moment as he turned it. From her position as driver, she would only glimpse his face for a second, and from the back seat, it should remain hidden.

  “That is perfect,” she said, as they finished another run-through.

  “As long as he’s not on this side,” Bernard said.

  “Even if he is, you should be fine. They should be focused on those two who are speaking.”

  They ran through it one last time and then the stranger said, “Now the second part. The actual abduction. You three, go out into the trees, as you will be hidden when the car pulls up.”

  They debated for a moment whether to stick together or to spread out on opposite sides of the car. They decided on the latter, in case the scientist tried to run. Then one of them should be able to catch him.

  Genevieve was deployed the equivalent of a block in the direction from which the car would be coming. She whistled a signal, the one she would use to tell them of its approach, and everyone went into action. After they had that part working, Genevieve came forward again to play the scientist.

  “I hope it’s dark enough,” Antonia said, after the third time through.

  “It is,” Claude said. “I chose the spot carefully.”

  “Of course you would,” she said. He knew what he was doing. He was a good leader.

  And there was the blackout to help them stay hidden. But the moon was full, so she hoped she could find a shadowed place to hide. It might be best to darken her hands and face with soot again, to be certain she would not be the one to give away the trap with her white face shining in the moonlight.

  When they were done, and the man with the uniforms and guns was satisfied with their rehearsal, she said, “What time will this take place?”

  “When they are done eating and playing politics after the meal. Probably midnight or after.”

  “Good.” The fewer civilians there were on the streets, the better for everyone.

  “We’ll be in place by ten,” Claude said, “in case they show up earlier.”

  That timing was more dangerous. It would be hard waiting, standing there for two hours. But it was Edgard and Bernard and the new man who would be in the most danger, for they would need to act like German guards the whole time. There was no guarantee a German officer wouldn’t drive through before their target did.

  On the ride back to the safe house, Bernard had questions. “They don’t use anything like a guard shack at checkpoints?”

  “Not all, no. They move around so people don’t know which streets to avoid,” Claude said.

  “What if the officer in charge of checkpoints comes along?”

  “Then we are in trouble.”

  “What if the Hesse’s driver challenges us?”

  “He won’t,” Claude said.

  “If it all goes wrong, and we run, where do we run to?”

  “If it all goes wrong, shoot Hesse’s guard first, and then you won’t get shot in the back. Stick with one of us when you run, Beatriz or any of the rest of us, as you don’t know the city well.”

  “What about his driver?”

  “Edgard will take care of the driver.”

  “What are you saying about me?” Edgard said in French. They had been speaking in English.

  Claude told him.

  “Yes, I will. I’ll kill him. Can he shoot if he needs to?”

  “Yes,” Antonia answered for Bernard. She hoped he could, and she’d ask him later, make sure he was mentally prepared to act without hesitation. She’d also draw him a rough map of the city, and point out where they were staying, and where the kidnapping was, showing him routes back to the safe house.

  The plan was not to fire any weapons if they could avoid it. Edgard would find a problem with the papers, and order them out of the car, and the rifles would come up and be pointed. “Hands up,” shouted in German. Then she and Claude would approach, knives in hand. The Germans would be killed with a blade if possible, for it was quieter. The rifles had bayonets, and she had her sleeve dagger. Only as a last resort would guns be fired, for that noise might travel far enough to attract a real German patrol.

  Once they had the situation secured, Claude would have this same car parked nearby, and they’d hustle the scientist over to it while Edgard and the new man dealt with the other two Germans and escaped into the night. Claude, Bernard and she would take Hesse out of town, to a location where shouts would not be overheard. And then it was up to Bernard to question him, in English. She would be there to listen and to spell him, standing guard over Hesse. Claude would stand guard outside, watching the road and providing a backup, should Hesse somehow break out of the room where they kept him tied up.

  It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a good one for the short time Claude had to devise it. And he had secured a car for more than a day, and somehow uniforms and German weapons. The plan was all falling into place.

  Chapter 21

  After they woke, well after dawn, she and Bernard talked all day. Sometimes their conversation was about nothing in particular and, at her insistence, in French. Foods they liked. Safe subjects that did not drift into personal revelations that could be used against them should the other be captured and tortured for information. What would a Nazi torturer care if he learned she was fond of beets?

  And sometimes they talked in English about the operation. What could go wrong. The very real possibility that Hesse would refuse to speak.

  “I can shoot a man,” he said when she asked him directly. “A stranger in a Nazi uniform? A man? Yes.” And he sounded certain. “A woman? Less likely. A child? Impossible.”

  “And Hesse?”

  “We were not close friends,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I can shoot him. I’m more worried about being able to torture him first.”

  “The threat of it might break him. But if I were you, I’d believe that I could hur
t him, and then he’ll hear that in your voice and see that the threat is real.”

  “Yes, that makes sense.”

  “I need to fix those trousers,” she said. Genevieve had run in for a moment at noontime with bread, tiny strawberries, and a needle and thread. “Unless you can sew?”

  “Not well.”

  “I doubt I’m much better.” As a child, she had learned embroidery, but she did not do much more than take a stitch or two in her own hems in an emergency. Reg had been well-off enough she could afford a seamstress for alterations. “But I’ll try.”

  She took out the trousers, the needle and thread, and her sleeve dagger. She sat on her blanket in a pool of light from one small window and plucked out the hem, using the tip of her dagger to cut the thread. When she glanced up, he was smiling at her. “What?” she said

  “My dear old grandmother never sewed with a dagger in her mouth.”

  “It’s not in my mouth.”

  “It was, for a second. You held it between your teeth.”

  She hadn’t even realized she’d done that. “I’m lucky I didn’t cut my tongue off. It’s sharp.”

  “I’d miss your talking if you did that.” His smile faded. “It seems so strange to me, that women are trained like you. I assume you can use that knife.”

  “Well enough. And the rifle, or any rifle, though I prefer a handgun. And a machine gun and a mortar.” The old thread, which had grown over a foot long, hung up, and she had to take the knife and cut it again. “Almost done taking out this hem.”

  “Did you like your training?”

  “Yes.” She had enjoyed it a good deal, finding it easy to imagine killing a Nazi or a whole pack of them with a mortar. It soothed her, that fantasy. Made her feel less sad and helpless. “Some of the girls didn’t. They were simply obeying orders.”

  “So they weren’t good at it.”

  “No, that’s not true. Some who weren’t all that gung-ho were quite good. They were obedient soldiers. Some who were gung-ho were all thumbs. The wireless coding was hard for others. One of the most courageous girls I saw in jump training, the most excited about parachuting, broke her ankle on her first jump. So you never know.”