CHAPTER THREE
The cab driver flinched when he saw the bomb drop. It fell through the sky with a deadly grace, but I didn’t bat an eyelash. I pressed my hand against the window and reached out with my senses, making sure that a curse hadn’t been laid along with the bomb’s contents.
“Are you sure it’s safe to go to the air hangar?” He slowed the car.
“It was a leaflet bomber,” I told him, as we watched a multitude of folded papers eject from the bomb and swirl through the air. The empty container would land without incident, the propaganda leaflets would make their way into people’s hands—but hopefully not their hearts.
He wiped his brow. “Thank God. I thought it would explode.”
I shook my head at some of the Royal Air Force officers running over and collecting the leaflets. Although the Nazis dropped their leaflet bombs in city centers, where they could reach the civilian population, every now and then a batch would be directed toward a military or industrial site. I didn’t know how many Air Force officers gave credence to the propaganda printed on those papers, but it probably wouldn’t galvanize them to read about how the impeccable prophet Nostradamus predicted their demise four hundred years ago, or to see pictures of dead Ally soldiers littering the ground. That is, if you believed in their Black Propaganda.
“You can let me out here, thank you.” I gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and then opened my door.
“SOE isn’t paying me enough for this. One day it’ll fall out of the sky and hit me right on the head.” He let out a nervous laugh.
I smiled back at him and said goodbye. As I exited the car, I saw the sky turn a deep orange, and I knew that at sunset I’d have to board the transport plane to Paris. I heard the engine of a spitfire fighter plane pass over and wondered if it went to hunt down the bomber that dropped the leaflets. As a couple of officers admitted me into the hangar, I spotted one of the pilots running in from the field with a few leaflets in hand.
“Good evening, Emelie.”
“Hi, Max.” I took one of the leaflets he offered and grunted when I read it. “What are you going to do with these?”
“Burn them...like the others.”
That sounded like a good idea, especially since the one I held in my hand made me want to toss it into a fire without looking back. It had a drawing of a dark crooked tower with a caricature of a wizard perched on top raining his spells down on frightened people. In bolded letters it said, “The Gray Tower helps now, so it can harm later.”
I gave the leaflet back to Max. “Make sure you get rid of all of these.”
We halted when Richard approached us with my supply pack and jumpsuit in hand. He gave them to me and pointed toward a changing room. “We’re leaving in an hour.”
“Lieutenant,” Max said, “We got these—”
Richard jerked his thumb in the direction of one of the large storage bins. “We don’t need any of that bollocks here. Trash them.”
Max immediately headed for the bin to dispose of the leaflets. I was glad Richard refused to even take a look at them. Sometimes I’d get odd stares or snide comments from colleagues at SOE who knew I had trained with the Gray Tower.
At first I had dismissed it as plain ignorance or even a bit of envy on days that I needed my own confidence boosted. However, as the war progressed, I realized that many of them were afraid. In the back of their minds they probably wondered if I’d turn rogue and blast them all away.
Though the Masters imposed strict rules on members of the Order while at the Gray Tower, they didn’t have much to say when it came to being in the outside world. I understood why people, or governments for that matter, would be wary. Still, it didn’t hurt to show a little friendliness, especially toward those of us who willingly joined the Ally cause and risked our lives each day.
As Richard turned and started barking orders at the maintenance crew who worked on a bomber, I made my way through the bustle on the hangar floor to the changing room. I felt a little guilty about making this my last assignment, but I promised myself that I’d at least make it my most successful one. The average life expectancy of an SOE agent was just a few months, and I’ve lasted over a year. So, if one really wanted to get into the mathematics of it, I’ve basically served a couple of lifetimes.
That had to count for something, right?
The Tower's Alchemist (The Gray Tower Trilogy, #1) Page 4
