Velvet Undercover

by Teri Brown

  I whirl around and see Miss Tickford holding a gun. She’s flanked by two armed men in black coats.

  Father lunges for the men. “Samantha, run!”

  One of the men hits Father behind the head with a gun and I watch, horrified, as he crumples to the ground. “Father!”

  Miss Tickford catches me in her arms before I can reach him. “I am so sorry, little one, that you had to find out this way.”

  I struggle against her, but she’s stronger than she looks. Then, remembering Monsieur Elliot’s advice, I force myself to relax. I may not know exactly what’s going on, but nothing is more important than the fact that my father is hurt.

  Her grip lessens and I twist sideways, slamming the palm of my hand into her face. Miss Tickford cries out as blood gushes from her nose. Monsieur Elliot was right—surprise does work.

  I turn to run back to my father but slam straight into the hard chest of one of the men.

  He twists me around to where Miss Tickford is glaring at me. “And here I thought I sent you in too soon. Well done, but right now I need you to think!” She takes a handkerchief out of her purse and holds it to her nose. “We’ve already attracted too much attention. Do you want to get us all thrown in prison? We need to get to safety before the authorities are alerted to an altercation. Your father will be fine. Now, walk.”

  She takes my arm and this time I know I won’t be able to free myself. I go with her, twisting my head to see the two men lifting my father between them. “What is going on?” I demand. “What are you doing with my father?”

  “Remember your training,” she whispers fiercely. “We cannot cause a scene. I’ll tell you once we reach the motorcars.”

  I start to pull away and her hand tightens. She turns her lovely green eyes to me. “Samantha, you must trust me. This is for your father’s own good.”

  I subside, questions whirling about in my head. What is she doing? How could hitting my father in the head be for his own good? Who are those men?

  There are two automobiles parked at the entrance. Miss Tickford leads me into one, while the two men put my father in the other. “Where are we going?” I ask. Panicking, I crane my neck, trying to see out of the narrow back window.

  “Someplace safe,” she says. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to see your father soon enough, but for right now, you must listen well. Your father’s life depends on your cooperation.”

  My head jerks back. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your father is a double agent,” she says, looking into my eyes, over the handkerchief that is now dotted with blood. “He is a traitor.”

  I start shaking my head. “No, he would never do that. You’re wrong.”

  She holds up her hand. “Of course he wouldn’t do it.”

  I stop. “But you just said . . .”

  “He’s been misled. He was taken by Germans in the Arabian Peninsula just like the reports said, and was imprisoned for months. The Germans knew there was someone on the inside feeding the British information on their specialized weapon program. They wanted your father to find out who it was. They allowed him to escape and then be recruited by Germans posing as French operatives before he could reach home. That’s who he thinks he’s working for—the French.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would they recruit him? He’s an ambassador.”

  She shakes her head. “No, Samantha, he’s always been a spy. This is why he hasn’t returned home. He believes that his work here is crucial.”

  I frown. She’s talking in circles and I’m on the verge of tears. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours—it’s as if my brain has simply stopped taking in new information.

  Miss Tickford puts her arm around me. “I know it’s confusing, but you need to understand that your father has worked for MI6 for a long time. We were building a network even before the war, even back when you lived here as a child. Your father has much inside information on our operations. He has inadvertently handed several spies over to the Germans.”

  Horror crawls along my skin. “What do you mean?”

  “Lillian Bouchard.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from being sick. “But Lillian is dead,” I whisper.

  “Yes. I believe it happened accidentally when the Abwehr tried to apprehend her. But she wouldn’t be dead if your father hadn’t given her up.”

  My eyes fill with tears and my stomach somersaults.

  “I’m so sorry, little one, but I need you to be brave and do exactly what I tell you. It’s the only way to save your father’s life and to get Velvet safely out of the country. It might be a little difficult once we get back to England, but I can attest to your father’s innocence. We may be able to save his life, if not his freedom.”

  Panic swirls in my stomach. This is a nightmare that I can’t wake up from. I nod. I want nothing more than to leave Germany and never return.

  Her eyes soften and she pats my arm. “Good girl. Now I have news that can’t wait. I know who Velvet is.”

  I blink, trying to follow the abrupt change of topic. “I do, too.” I tell her. “I just discovered it was Marissa. How did you figure it out?”

  “Never mind. But circumstances necessitate quick action on our part. She’s in grave danger.”

  An image of Lillian’s body floats before my eyes. Aren’t we all?

  I remember how Father said that I should go to Marissa for help, but he didn’t know her LDB code name. Does that strengthen Miss Tickford’s argument that my father is a traitor, or does it mean that Marissa is inadvertently working for the Germans as well?

  I grow quiet, thinking hard. First Miss Tickford claimed that Velvet may have turned. Then my father is a double agent. My heart is thudding in my chest and my breathing quickens. Who can I trust?

  She leans close, her eyes filled with sympathy. “You’ve done a wonderful job, Samantha. I know how devastating and confusing this must all be for you. Trust me, once this is over, you can go home. Don’t you want that?”

  I nod.

  She pats my leg. “Good girl. Velvet’s intelligence has saved countless lives. Now we must get information on the weapon. Have you discovered where the formula is? Once we have that, we can get all three of you to safety.”

  I shake my head. “No,” I lie. “Now, what do you want me to do?” Time enough to discuss the chlorine once Marissa and my father are safe.

  “Velvet will be understandably jumpy right now. The easiest way to get her out of the palace is to do it without her knowledge. I’m afraid she will think we’re with the Abwehr if we approach her.”

  I frown. “Excuse me?”

  “You must go see her alone. Take her some tea. Use the packet I gave you, the one that will put her to sleep. You remember which one that is, yes?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Once she’s asleep, you’ll pull her blinds down to signal our operatives. They’ll pose as a doctor and his assistant. That way we have a perfect cover story if anyone asks questions.”

  Panic runs through my veins and all I want to do is make sure my father is all right. “I want to see my father,” I tell her.

  “Of course you do. You can see him as soon as we get Velvet out of the palace. I fear that the Abwehr are very near to discovering who she is. We must get the information on those weapons. So many lives hang in the balance, Samantha. If those weapons fall into the wrong hands . . .” Her voice trails off.

  Something strikes me and I pull away. “You recruited me because of my father, didn’t you? You knew if he discovered that I was in Berlin, he would come out of hiding.” Everything falls into place and I stare at her, stunned. They didn’t want me because I was so talented or smart, they wanted me because of my father. “My God,” I breathe. “You had me followed the whole time.”

  “Of course we did, but we needed to get Velvet and the weapons as well. As much as we wanted your father, we wouldn’t have asked you if we hadn’t thought you capable of doing it. You are a real membe
r of LDB, Samantha. That hasn’t changed. You are honor bound to serve the war effort no matter what that might mean.”

  I lapse into silence. Something isn’t right. I search Miss Tickford’s eyes but see only earnest concern.

  “Trust me, Samantha. What you do next has ramifications that stretch further than anything you can imagine.”

  I shiver and then nod just as the motorcar pulls up to the palace.

  “As soon as we obtain Velvet, we’ll take you to your father.”

  I slip into the palace and back to my room. My instincts are screaming at me, but I can’t see any other way to get to my father. I’d been so sure that it would all get sorted out once I found him, but instead everything is more of a mess than ever.

  Taking out my jewelry box, I run my fingers along the sides until I trigger the mechanism that opens the false bottom. I take out the packets with trembling fingers.

  I slip the packets into the pocket of my skirt, wishing I’d never taken the assignment, never traveled to France and Luxembourg, and especially never come to Berlin.

  But then I would never have met Maxwell or found my father.

  Maxwell. I think of him again hurrying away from the tunnels all disheveled just before I discovered Lillian’s body. Cold rushes over me. What if he is more than just a guard? What if he’s a member of the Abwehr? I run all of our conversations through my mind. How could the young man who had told me stories about life on his grandfather’s farm be a cold-hearted spy? Could he kill one governess one moment and then kiss the fingers of another hours later?

  Could he really be that person?

  But then, who am I to judge? I’m about to slip a young woman a sleeping powder in order to get my father back. People will do the unthinkable under pressure.

  I quickly pack my satchel with everything I may need, including the envelope with Marissa’s travel papers. Chances are, I won’t be returning to the room. Good-bye, Sophia Thérèse, I think as I leave.

  I slow as I get to the family wing. It would be disastrous if Maxwell were to discover me right now. What I’m about to do feels wrong, and that wrongness increases with each step. By the time I reach her door, I have half a mind to run back to my room and hide under the bed.

  But I’m in Berlin. There’s no place to hide.

  I firm my resolve and give a short knock.

  There’s a moment’s silence before she calls, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Sophia Thérèse,” I say.

  Another long pause. My chest tightens as I wait. What if she doesn’t let me in? What if she says she’s tired or busy or . . .

  She opens the door.

  I stare. If anything, she looks even more drained than she looked the last time, and there’s a frantic edge to her that I’ve never seen.

  “You’re just the person I wanted to see,” she says. “Come in.”

  Stepping into her boudoir, I notice that there are small personal items strewn over her bed and all over the sofa of her sitting room. “Are you going somewhere?”

  She looks around as if surprised by the chaos. “Well, yes, actually. That’s why I wanted to see you. I wanted to say good-bye and to tell you how sorry I was to hear about the governess. She seemed such a caring person.”

  My chest tightens. “She was, and thank you. I feel sorry for the children. They loved her very much.”

  “Indeed. I could tell.”

  A silence falls. Then I lick my lips and continue. “So where are you going?”

  She shrugs, but I get the feeling that she isn’t nearly as nonchalant as she pretends to be. “Mummy and Daddy gave me an ultimatum. They want me to come home, or at the very least go somewhere neutral, like Switzerland.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment before she averts her gaze.

  “What does the duchess think of you leaving?” I ask. “You two have become such good friends.”

  Marissa strides over to her vanity and sits. “I’m going to leave a note. After everything that’s happened, I don’t think she’ll be too upset.”

  I glance around at her belongings tossed everywhere. It looks much like my room did when it was ransacked. Had someone gone through her things?

  “Will you be ready by morning?”

  Marissa stares in the mirror, running a comb methodically through her short hair. “A maid is going to finish packing up my trunks and will send them on once I’m settled.”

  I look around.

  “I sent her off on an errand,” she says quickly. “Would you like something to drink? I can ring for tea.” She looks around at the mess. “Or better yet, why don’t we have a cocktail? They’re all the rage in America.”

  I think of the packet of powder in my pocket. “That would be lovely.”

  She hurries to the sideboard against the wall. “Have a seat. This will only take a moment.”

  I sit on the edge of a wingback chair. Her movements seem stiff and unnatural, and when she hands me the drink, the ice is clinking from the trembling of her hand. “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “Of course,” she trills in a voice that is far, far from all right. “Now, I’ve prattled on and on about myself, but you came to see me. What did you want?”

  My mind blanks. I raise the glass to my lips to buy myself some time. The strong scent of alcohol reaches my nostrils and I lower the glass. “I wanted to ask you about America.”

  Her eyes shoot open. “America?”

  “Yes. I was wondering what it was like. I might want to move there, you see.”

  A knock sounds on the door and we both startle.

  She gives me a faint smile. “One moment, please.”

  As soon as she moves away from the table, I grab the packets from my pocket and open the correct one. I glance over my shoulder, but she’s halfway out the door and I can’t see who she’s talking to. My hands shake so badly as I pour the contents of the packet into her drink that I spill some of it on the table. I snatch up the drink and wipe the spilled powder into it, and then stir it quickly with my finger.

  I set it down just as the door shuts. Wiping my fingers off, I clasp my hands in my lap to stop the trembling.

  She takes a seat.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask politely, trying not to stare at her drink.

  “Of course. That was just the driver confirming my travel plans. It wasn’t easy to obtain train tickets on such short notice, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  I nod.

  “So what did you want to know about America?”

  My eyes track her movements as she picks up her cocktail and takes a small swallow. She grimaces.

  My heart slams against my ribs.

  “I think I put too much bitters in this. How is yours?”

  I quickly take a gulp of my drink and then cough as the alcohol hits my throat. “It’s fine,” I say.

  “Oh, good. Where were we?”

  I take a deep breath. “We were discussing America.” My next sip warms my stomach in an ever-widening circle like a pebble dropped into a lake. I set the glass down. The last thing I need is to be tipsy when the agents get here to cart her off. I frown as my sense of unease increases.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Marissa asks suddenly.

  Is her speech slurring a bit? Are her eyes just a bit drowsy?

  “Of course. You’re leaving tomorrow, so you can tell me anything you like.”

  “I don’t think I like Germany as much as I thought I would.”

  I blink. “But I thought you were having the time of your life?”

  “No, I like the duchess well enough, but there’s far too much intrigue going on around here, if you know what I mean.” She waggles her finger at me and squints. “Funny. I haven’t even finished my drink yet and I already feel blotto.”

  Her words are definitely slurred.

  “Perhaps you would feel better if you lie down?” I suggest.

  “But you wanted to talk about America. You know America is going to enter the
war sooner or later, right?” She puts her finger to her lips. “But that’s a secret. Wait. I already told you a secret, right? I have so many secrets.”

  I swallow. That makes two of us.

  TWENTY

  WZHQWB

  SERE: An acronym for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape: techniques for when an operation goes wrong.

  I help Marissa to her feet. The powder is working very fast and I don’t want her to fall before I can get her to the bed. Why didn’t I think about asking Miss Tickford what the effects were?

  “I should lie down. I feel horrible.”

  I put my arm about her and she leans on me heavily. “Are you sick to your stomach?” Did I give her the wrong powder? Remorse runs through me.

  “No. It just hurts. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I help her sit on the bed and then swing her feet over the edge. “What was I saying? Oh, yes. Secrets. I shouldn’t tell you any more secrets. I don’t know why I trust you. You shouldn’t trust anyone. I had a friend tell me that once.”

  I’m about to answer her when she suddenly clutches at her stomach. “It hurts,” she moans.

  Don’t trust anyone. Does that mean my father? Miss Tickford? Maxwell? Who am I supposed to trust? I walk over to the window, indecision dogging every step. I wrap my arms around myself, thinking. All I have to do is give the signal and Miss Tickford’s agents will be here to take Marissa and me to my father.

  Or will they?

  Miss Tickford says my father betrayed his country. That he was tricked into giving the enemy information. So if Marissa is Velvet and is getting information from the Germans and giving it to my father, and my father is giving it back to the Germans . . . why wouldn’t the Germans have already taken Velvet out of the equation? Miss Tickford told me that my father has unknowingly given up other spies . . . but wouldn’t he have noticed a pattern of spies disappearing and figured it out by now? Of course he would have.

  My mind goes from solution to solution, as if I’m solving the most complicated code in the world without the key. Perhaps I am.