Code Name- Beatriz

by Lou Cadle

  It hadn’t been the right car. Of course, if the supper had broken up, and many were leaving, it was possible there would be several cars coming along with German officers.

  She hoped they didn’t end up with a line of them when the right one came along. In that case, they’d have to abort.

  The car drove off and the three men conferred. Maybe they were discussing what she was thinking about, that it increased their risk, every German who saw them.

  It was another five minutes or more before Genevieve’s whistle came again. Antonia pressed herself back in the doorway as far as she could and waited to see the staff car pass. The back window was open, despite the cool night air, and she could see a face of a young man go by. Their target? She hoped. She wanted to get this over with before something went wrong.

  Again Edgard called out for the car to stop. She saw it slow, come to a stop, and Edgard leaned down.

  Bernard crossed behind the car again, stepping quickly, his rifle in his hands. Edgard demanded their papers. As Bernard made it to his spot where he was invisible to the car’s occupants, Edgard said, loudly, “Please get out of the car.” There was a second sentence in German she did not understand.

  This was them. Hesse.

  There was apparently a conversation, a protest perhaps. But Edgard backed up and lifted his rifle and the driver’s door of the staff car opened. The new man pulled open the rear car door opposite Bernard and stood back for a moment. When the guard in the back seat was half-out, he pulled at him. She didn’t see what happened then, but the guard slumped.

  Their target was out of the car next, Bernard grabbing his arm.

  She heard the man complain in German, and then Hesse was out of the car and looking right at Bernard. “Will?” he said. “What?” And then he started shouting for help.

  Antonia took her first running step out of the shadows.

  At the same moment, Genevieve’s whistle came again.

  The driver leapt onto Edgard and they grappled.

  A gun discharged.

  Antonia could hear the new car coming closer.

  “Abort!” Claude called from the shadows of the trees where he hid. His shout was loud enough to carry to Genevieve, but Antonia repeated it to make sure the girl had heard.

  Bernard stumbled. His rifled clattered to the ground. Only then did she realize he’d been shot.

  The damned scientist had a sidearm, probably. And he’d understood immediately what was happening, what an Englishman in France in a German uniform meant.

  Every urge inside Antonia made her want to run up and support her comrades—to support Bernard. Every thought, every feeling, everything within her made her want to run that way.

  But she had been trained, and she knew what to do. Another German staff car appeared behind her. Genevieve had surely run. Claude had run, for he was not entering the scuffle at the barrier. The new man had melted into the shadows already.

  Edgard fired his rifle and the driver staggered back to the car. He hit the car and fell. Then Edgard ran.

  Bernard was kneeling on the street, his rifle dropped. Hesse was unharmed, and he stood over Bernard, a pistol in his hand catching the moonlight, confirming her fear.

  The new German staff car eased past her. Hesse shot his handgun into the air. The second staff car put on speed. She had to go, and now. Taking one last look at Bernard falling onto the road, wishing beyond hope she could do something for him, she turned. Then she ran back along the street, turning at the next corner. No one saw her, or at least no one yelled at her to stop. She kept running, taking almost every possible turn at first. She came to a bridge over a stream and, instead of crossing it, went down to the stream, and splashed through the edges of the water until she came to the next bridge up from that one.

  Bernard. Will? Was that his name? Goddamn it, she had failed him. Failed the mission. The scientist was safe with the Germans. One of her own was captured or dead.

  She realized she could not stay long at the safe house now. They’d be questioning him soon. He would hold for a short while, surely. But she couldn’t count on him facing torture and never breaking. He would try. Of course he would try, but he had no training at being interrogated.

  Her radio was back at the safe house, and her valise, and his backpack with his clothes. So she had to go there, if only for a moment. She climbed up from the streambed and ran for the house, her trousers dripping, taking no turns now, just getting there as quickly as possible. She flung the door open, ran downstairs, turning on the overhead cellar light, grabbed everything, slung it all over her shoulders, and looked around the room, feeling a twinge at leaving it.

  She didn’t know until this moment how much she cared about Bernard. She felt a terrible stab of grief for him, for what might have been between them, a knife of regret that pierced her belly. She hoped he was alive.

  And then she hoped for his sake he was not.

  She managed to shut off the light, hauled everything to the open back door, and walked outside, laden with his gear and hers.

  She made her way to Madame Charlevoix’s bakery. Just for the night. She found the correct window, unlocked as promised, and climbed in. Just for the night. Tomorrow, she’d have Claude find her another safe house.

  Leaving her gear where it was, on the floor, she made her way into the kitchen, sat at the table, and let herself fall apart. Just for a few minutes, she let tears fall, and let her body tremble. She had been lucky. The circuit had been lucky.

  Only Bernard had not been. And the terrible truth was, his best hope for good luck now was to die of his wound, and quickly. She sobbed into her hands.

  Chapter 23

  As it turned out, she had to stay at Madame’s again for two more days.

  The Germans were on the street in force, understanding full well what had happened, and trying to find the Résistance cell who had tried to kidnap their scientist. They knew well why the botched kidnapping had happened. They understood that the Résistance knew who Hesse was. That was all she heard at first, confirmed with a note Genevieve dropped off from Claude and that Madame brought up to her in the attic.

  Claude himself came late the second evening, after a drizzly afternoon. He knocked on the attic door, the coded knock, and she leaned down. “News?”

  “Let me come up.”

  She spontaneously threw her arms around him once he was there. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “Dear woman.”

  “Do you know anything? Is Will dead?”

  “Who?”

  “Bernard.”

  “Did he tell you his real name?”

  “No, the scientist said it when he recognized him. I assumed you had heard. Do you know if he lives?”

  “He is not dead. He is with the Gestapo.”

  “Have they raided the safe house where he and I were?”

  “No.”

  “So he hasn’t spoken yet.”

  “Perhaps not, no. Did you tell him anything else?”

  “Not about our circuit. I told him about the abbey, that it might hide him if he were in trouble.”

  He brushed that off. “The Brothers will be told he might speak of that. If they have anyone else there, they’ll move him tonight.”

  “Do they?”

  “I don’t know, but they’ve kept downed pilots before.”

  “I didn’t know for sure. But the Church was mentioned in my training as a place for possible help.”

  “Sanctuary only. They don’t stow arms there, or carry messages for us, beyond those needed to move the pilots to the next step.”

  “You must move them out through Spain. You never had me send a message about it.”

  “There were none to move that I knew of. You haven’t been here long. And there are others who do only this. I am not a large part of it.”

  “You probably shouldn’t tell me any of this.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Why? I failed to protect Will. Bernard,” she said.
“I should try to forget his real name. I shouldn’t have told it to you.”

  “The Gestapo knows it. And everything about him that Hesse knew, so you can call him whatever you’d rather.”

  “Of course.” He was right. They’d know far too much about him already. They’d guess from his education that he was currently an engineer for the Allies. And they’d surmise that he was in contact with a Résistance circuit. “Is the whole circuit dead, then?”

  “Resting. For a short time. For safety’s sake, and until we see what is revealed in the next few days.”

  “Is Leonce all right? Did they pull him back in for more questioning?”

  “No. But if they do, Bernard never saw him. If he breaks entirely and they show Leonce to him, what can he say? ‘I never saw this man. He is not one of them.’” His eyebrows conveyed the same thing as a shrug might have. “In a way, that is the best possible thing for Leonce. They weren’t sure he was a danger. He had no part in the failed kidnapping. They know this, as they are still watching him. If a broken agent confirms he is not in the circuit, he may be left alone, and so be able to work for us again in the near future.”

  “I’m glad there is a silver lining. Mostly I see a cloud. And I feel responsible for it.”

  “There is nothing any of us could have done. The second car coming up was terrible luck. And we killed two Nazis, the driver and the guard.”

  “Did we?”

  “The second one died of his wounds this afternoon.”

  “You have excellent intelligence.” She shook her head, trying to clear it of her worries—at least for long enough to have a lucid thought. “I need to radio in and say what has happened. Ask for advice. They may pull me out.”

  “I think not.”

  “No? What use am I? I’m only putting Madame Charlevoix at risk.”

  “Quit feeling sad for yourself. You are not without use. Not to the Résistance. Not to us. And if they wish to move you, though I doubt they will, you can start again elsewhere with your radio. The war is not over for you.”

  “Maybe enough time has passed that Monk circuit can be re-formed. I could be their operator.”

  “There is another possibility. Not one of those. Not withdrawal. Not reassignment. Not consulting with England. Something else entirely.”

  “What is that?” She perked up at the words. She wanted to be of use, and she felt useless, guilty, worried for Will, and sad. A job to hurt the Nazis would help distract her from her feelings and give her role here meaning again after the botched kidnapping.

  “What has happened before is this. A prisoner is interrogated for a short time. They get from him what they can here. And then he is moved to either Baumettes in Marseilles, or Avenue Foch in Paris. And then on.”

  “On? To where?”

  “We are not certain. There are only rumors. Camps.”

  “Work camps, then?”

  “Death camps. Places in the cold countryside of Poland or Austria, far away from the cities.”

  Her throat went dry. But she forced herself to think, not just react with emotions. “Isn’t it expensive to transport people halfway across Europe merely to kill them? Why not kill them where they stand?”

  “To hide it.”

  “I can’t imagine why that matters. They could shoot Will in the town square tomorrow, and what could anyone do about it?” Her mind went back to the Jewish baby and mother shot in front of almost a hundred witnesses. “People would hate it, but they can’t speak up. If they do, they will die too.”

  “The Nazis might fear what an accumulation of such events would do to the populace. The Résistance will grow. There are rumors we have reclaimed one town in the mountains. Despite our own cell having had to lie low this month, and our being down to a few people who can work outside of town, destroying rails and bridges, elsewhere there is more happening now than ever.”

  “Good. I hope you can bring them down. Take back your country.”

  “Not I—we,” he said. “You are one of us. As is Bernard, though he was with us so short a time. We may get him back yet.”

  “You have an idea about him?” She realized that was where this conversation was heading, and hope rose in her, and with it a terrible weight, a weight consisting of worry for Claude, worry for Bernard, and for what she might lose. It had been far easier to be frozen inside and care for no one.

  “It will be difficult, but it is possible to perhaps rescue him when he is transferred.”

  “Surely he will be guarded.”

  “Oh yes,” Claude said. “But one man, injured, will not have many guards.”

  “How many can we dedicate to the operation?”

  “Only one beyond me.”

  “Me,” she said. It was not a question.

  “And, behind the scenes, there is Marie. She has been told to be on alert for any transfer papers. The Nazis are meticulous about their papers, so no transfer would happen without this.”

  “Would they not search through her desk if she took something?”

  “All she needs do is memorize a route and a time.”

  “Thank you for this.” She couldn’t imagine how the two of them would accomplish a kidnapping when they’d failed with six people. But she would try. “Do you think they will be on guard for us?”

  “No more so than usual. It never would have been easy to take Bernard back.”

  “Then why would you risk it? Why would you risk yourself?”

  He cocked his head. “He is one of ours. And for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Because you are in love with him, at least a little.”

  She started to deny it. She wasn’t, was she? “Why do you say this?”

  “I watched you look at him. Smile at him. Touch his hand.” His shrug said that was all there was to know.

  “We never—” she said. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Not so much as a kiss.

  “That is a shame. For him, perhaps it would be a memory to cling to when they beat him.”

  She winced. “It would have been wrong. Against protocol. Dangerous.”

  “All is dangerous in the Résistance. We should take our joy where we find it, and when it comes to us.” He shook his head a little. “But I am not your father to advise you. Do you want to rescue him, or not?”

  Yes. “I should radio in.”

  “I wouldn’t move on the streets right now. There are more patrols. A woman alone at midnight carrying a heavy suitcase might as well be in an English uniform.”

  “I can’t broadcast from here. I am already putting Madame at risk, and if they are on high alert, it’s too big a risk to take.”

  “No, you can’t broadcast from here, not today.”

  “Where, then?”

  “I think you must make this decision without them.”

  Stated like that, simply, it was an easy decision. She wanted to free him. Perhaps she should examine her motives more closely; perhaps she should think it through for a longer time. But she did not want to. “Yes. Whatever I need to do, I will do. Tell me how I can help.”

  “It will be safer for you during the day were you dressed as your cover identity. If you are stopped, your papers should pass.”

  “You want me on the street? What can I do there?”

  “Observe. From outside the jail. Memorize the comings and goings, the timing. See what you might see.”

  “Is the jail in the building where Marie works?”

  “No. A few blocks from there. And there is a café where you can sit across from it.”

  “Not forever.”

  “You know France. For longer than the English would think to.”

  This was so. A person might easily sit two or two and a half hours over a coffee, talking with friends, or reading a magazine. “It would be better if someone sat with me.”

  “If you are caught, and anyone remembers seeing you sitting with one of us, we will be caught too.”

  “I know.” Now that he had suggeste
d this, she wanted to leap up and begin work this instant. “I will do whatever I must.”

  “For now, observe. You may see something that helps us. And I will work, and Marie will keep watch in her own way. It isn’t many, we three.”

  “But it is who can be spared.” She understood that. Antonia felt a wave of gratitude for Claude’s willingness to help. “Thank you,” she said.

  “It is nothing,” he said, the automatic reply in French.

  She took his hand as if to shake it, but held it in both hers. “It matters.”

  After he left, she clung to the hope she felt. It was a rare feeling for her. The Nazis had taken her husband from her, but she might keep them from taking this man. Even if she never saw Will again after this week, she might see him safely back to England and rest better, work better, knowing he was free.

  She wondered if she was confusing the two men in some way. But no. Rescuing Will would not bring Reg back. And they were so different from one another, it was impossible to confuse them. As she had said to Claude, she and Will had done nothing. Spoken once of meeting. Touched hands. Nothing more. Nothing at all.

  And yet.

  She shook off that line of thought. Despite her personal feelings, he was an ally, one of her circuit for a short time, and she should and would try and wrest him from the hands of the Nazis. Dangerous with only two of them trying to free him? Certainly. But life was danger. Caring was danger. Doing what was right was hard, more times than not. The more she thought about it for the rest of the day, the stronger her determination grew until it was like the tempered steel of a knife blade.

  She didn’t know how. But she knew this: she would rescue Will or die trying.

  Chapter 24

  The café emptied out after lunch. Antonia watched the building where Will was being held from a shop across the street, memorizing faces of the Germans, recognizing two already as regulars at the café. She didn’t fight for a seat at lunch but arrived before or after, drinking her bad faux coffee, and tipping, but not well enough to draw attention to herself.

  She wondered how much longer she’d be able to use the café. She had been at it three days, and it seemed to her a working woman wouldn’t have so much time to waste. Although she’d come up with a story that matched her cover identity, about waiting for a delayed businessman to return to the city so she could deliver important papers to him from her employer, no one asked her for it.