CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning I got out of bed and noticed another Circle of Protection had been cast around me. I gritted my teeth and imagined what Brande would do next to earn my forgiveness. Though I wouldn’t admit it, in a way I could understand his struggle between doing what he believed was right and what he felt obligated to do for the sake of a higher purpose. After my very first mission in Belgium, Ian had sent me on an assignment to help the Maquis intercept an important train delivery headed into Orleans.
The Nazis had planned to send newly developed weapons from one of their factories for distribution to their allies in the southern region of France. We were ordered to disrupt the delivery at all costs and, steal what we could, and destroy or hide the surplus. We had obtained train schedules, maps, everything we thought we would need to get the job done.
The local Maquis group leader had decided that we would blow the train tracks along a particular point in the route, forcing the train to derail. The derailment would stop train travel along that route and other Maquisards would be left behind to alert contacts at the nearest train stations. All of this was done so that unsuspecting travelers in other trains wouldn’t stumble upon the derailment scene.
Everything had been going according to plan, except for one fact that eluded us: the Nazis had switched schedules and trains at the last minute, had loaded the weapons into the storage areas of a passenger train, and sent it along our route. When we saw a train headed our way—two hours earlier than expected—we panicked and thought the Nazis would surely beat us to the drop off point. We had already placed our explosives and anxiously prepared ourselves for the explosion. However, one of our scouts had realized the train wasn’t a freight train after all. He had gotten a closer look and spotted civilian passengers on board. He radioed us a warning, but this left us with only minutes to decide which course to take.
Would we help the Allies and deprive the Nazis of new weapons, thus saving countless lives in the process, and putting us one step closer to winning the war? Or would we abandon the mission—and contradict our direct orders—for the sake of the lives on that train that were never supposed to be there? I felt torn between both decisions, and either way, someone would die. But like Father Alexis said, how could you choose who deserved to live and who didn’t?
I wasn’t in charge of the mission and was only there to aid the Maquis leader. I tried to convince him we could find another way to stop the train and take those weapons. He assumed I was just trying to encroach on his authority since I was an SOE agent and not a Maquisard, and I felt he also put less value in something a woman had to say, especially a woman who was new to all of this. He shouted me down and ordered me to act as lookout, just in case the train was being followed or escorted by Nazis, and he didn’t allow me anywhere near the tracks. The closer the train came, the sicker I grew.
I tried reasoning with myself that the greater good would be served, and that more lives would be saved in the end. However, when that train derailed and I stood there, watching cabins crash, glass fly, and maimed bodies roll across the ground—well, let’s just say when I returned to London, I didn’t even bother going to Baker Street. I headed straight home and refused to come out for five days. Jane Lewis had to break into my flat and force me to eat and bathe.
I had a choice between what I was ordered to do and what I believed was right. If given another chance, I would’ve told the Maquis leader to go to hell, that I was going to disarm the explosives on the tracks, and if he didn’t like it, he could blow me up too. I wish I would’ve done that, even though those weapons would have likely gone into Nazi hands. Instead, I suppressed my opinions and meekly followed orders.
I understood that conflict as well as anyone else, and so a part of me empathized with Brande. Still, I felt he should’ve used his own judgment and had the courage to choose what he knew in his heart was right. I had failed before, and the sadness and remorse in his eyes last night reminded me of how I felt after the Orleans mission. However, the difference was that I would never be able to ask for forgiveness. They’re all dead.
I dressed and went downstairs for coffee, and was glad that I didn’t run into Brande. A few other patrons sat in the dining area enjoying breakfast and listening to a radio broadcast. I didn’t feel like hearing a false account of how the war was going, so I slipped into one of the corners and had Claire bring my drink.
“Would you like something with your coffee, Noelle?”
“No thank you, I’m not very hungry.”
“Maybe just a small bowl of fruit, then?”
“Fine.”
I sipped my coffee and picked up a newspaper left on the table by a previous guest. The title on the front page exclaimed in large letters: “Germany is on the Move.” The article, of course, praised the efforts of Operation Barbarossa, the German Army’s ongoing battle with the Soviet Union, and touted the mass execution of Soviet civilians as just punishment. It also saved a scathing last paragraph for the United States, condemning it for freezing German and Italian assets in America. I believed Ken had been right, that it was only a matter of time before America officially joined the war. There were now confirmed reports trickling in about the U.S. Navy engaging in sporadic battles with Japanese forces in the Pacific.
“Here’s your fruit.” Claire smiled, placing my bowl in front of me.
“Thank you.”
“Also, there’s a phone call for you at the front desk.”
“From whom?”
“He wouldn’t say, but he asked for you.”
I excused myself and headed toward the front desk. An elderly man sat there, engaged in record keeping and greeting new guests. He spoke with a couple of men, but when he saw me approach, he gestured for me to come behind the desk and pick up the phone. A thousand possibilities raced through my mind as to who it could be, and when I answered, I regretted that I had come downstairs at all.
“Noelle, my sweet, I did as you asked. The markings in the cave are discreet Roman numerals. Just follow them in numerical order to reach the lab.”
“Thank you, Simon. I don’t recall asking you to phone me. Remember? I said not to speak to anyone until after tonight?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think that would include you. Besides, you promised to wait for me, but when I returned you were gone. I went home, and all I could think about was you, and all I dreamed about was you. Will you come to my house?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Then I’ll come to you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I hissed into the receiver.
“You’re going to break into the lab, aren’t you?”
“I...”
“You could have asked me, since I’m in charge of the laboratory. Tell me what you want from there...and I’ll bring it to you.”
“I don’t think so.” This was so frustrating that it was driving me insane. All I wanted from him was key information about the lab, and how to reach it, but it felt like every act of cooperation had a consequence of its own.
“Tell me you love me,” he panted.
I turned toward the wall and whispered, “Have you considered that maybe you’re not yourself today and that you ought to go lie down?”
“I know how I feel, and I’m more alive than ever. This is the passion I’ve been waiting for. This is true love.”
“You attacked me. I don’t think that’s true love.”
“Then let me make amends. Will you join me for dinner?”
“Eh...midnight?”
“Why so late, darling?”
“Why not?” At least we’d be out of the lab and the hell out of the city by then.
“Very well...midnight. I live in the large estate a few blocks east of Rue de Vesle.”
“Great, and remember, don’t leave your house. Wait patiently until I arrive.”
“Of course.” I hung up the phone and moaned. I promised myself that I would never use red garnet again.
The Tower's Alchemist (The Gray Tower Trilogy, #1) Page 29
