Velvet Undercover
Page 22
I clear my throat. “Currently, I work for the prince and the duchess—”
He shakes his head. “Oh, stop. We both know better.” He points the gun at my cheek. “Your birthmark is gone.”
I touch my cheek, feeling a strange loss. It must have rubbed off as I slept. “It’s no longer needed, is it?”
“Too bad,” he says. “It was cute. I thought you would have been long gone by now.”
“Why is that?”
“I know you’re not who you say you are. I just thought with everything that had happened it would have been prudent for you to leave.”
My heart is knocking against my ribs so hard that I’m surprised he doesn’t hear it. “Unfortunately, circumstances impeded my hasty departure, but trust me, I’m working on it. How did you figure it out?”
He gives me a sad smile. “Little things. You said ‘excuse me’ in English. Your odd behavior at the bakery. Then I spotted you sneaking out of Marissa Baum’s room. I really wanted you to be just a smart, pretty governess from outside Cologne. You have no idea how disappointed I was when I started putting it together. You should have left earlier.”
“How did you know I was up here?”
“I have friends in the guards who have been keeping an eye on you. One of them told me they saw you going upstairs to the attics. It didn’t take long for me to figure it out.” His voice is regretful and I stare at him, surprised. “You should have left the moment Lillian was killed.”
“So it wasn’t suicide.” I look away to gain control of the tears stinging my eyes.
He shakes his head.
“Did you kill her?” I ask softly. I stare into his brown eyes, wondering if I could spot a lie.
He recoils in horror. “Of course not!”
I believe him, and my entire body sighs with relief.
Hurt comes over his face. “Did you really believe that?”
I swallow. “I didn’t think so, but who knows what’s true and what’s not?”
“I saw you notice the trapdoor. I’d been in the schoolroom earlier and needed a hasty escape. It had nothing to do with Lillian.”
“What did it have to do with?” I ask.
“I was trying to find out if you were a spy or not.”
I stay silent. Was that why he was so angry with me the morning before Lillian was murdered?
He nods toward the pigeon in my arms. “Are you calling for help?”
“In a way.” I suddenly toss the pigeon in the air. The surprised bird flaps its wings uncertainly for a moment and Maxwell points his gun upward.
“No!” I cry out and he slowly turns the gun back toward me.
“Who do you work for?” he asks again, his voice harsh.
“Who do you work for?” I counter. “Are you just a guard or are you Abwehr?”
“What do you know of the Abwehr? What do you know of anything?” Pain lacerates his voice and I know with certainty that whoever Maxwell Mayer is, he wants to be on this roof under these circumstances even less than I do.
“We’re in an interesting predicament,” I say to him.
“Indeed.” His voice is once again under control. “How do you suggest we get out of it?”
I step closer to him—so close that I can see him swallow. The pistol is inches from my chest. I search his face. “You’re going to put your gun down and let me leave. Then I just disappear.”
Tears clog my throat as we stare at each other steadily. I know he’s thinking about the words he’d said to me in the hallway—how he wished we’d met under different circumstances.
“And why would I do that, Sophia Thérèse, or whoever you are?”
“Because we’re friends,” I say simply.
For a moment I don’t think he’s going to do it, and then, inch by inch, the pistol drops. My breath comes out in a small sob. “Thank you,” I whisper before hurrying to the door. I turn the knob and then pause, looking back at him. He’s staring out over the twinkling lights of the city, his shoulders tense.
“Maxwell?” I say softly.
He turns to me and I almost cry again at the isolation in his eyes.
“My real name is Samantha.”
He nods and I wrench open the door and run.
TWENTY-ONE
WZHQWB-RQH
Friend: An agent who shares pertinent information with another agent.
Marissa’s still sleeping when I return, so I gently shake her awake. “How do you feel? Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Better. Starved.” She smiles, looking more like her old self than she has since I poisoned her.
We eat the peaches and bread with our hands and then drink the water that’s left.
“Here.” I hand her the lantern and gather our things.
“Where are we going?” she asks nervously.
I bend and open the small door that leads down into the tunnels. The dank smells of mold and sewage hit us and Marissa sighs.
“Down.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
We walk down the stairs, the odor of sewage getting stronger.
“What is this place?” she asks, her voice daunted.
“An ancient escape route for the royals in case of an uprising. We need to find our way out.”
She stops. “You don’t know the way out?”
“Well, not exactly. I do know that the door we are looking for has an X on it and it leads to another tunnel, not a room.”
“So what if we open a door and find Kaiser Wilhelm taking a bath?”
I shrug. “Beg his pardon and go back the way we came.”
Luckily, we find the door that opens to a small tunnel without incident and pick our way through the darkness. This is no nice, neat tunnel with paving on the ground. It looks much like I imagine a mine would, with ancient timbers keeping the roof from caving in on our heads.
I shudder as spiderwebs heavy with dust and grime cling to my face. The odor of mildew and sewage burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water.
I scramble over a pile of rocks, praying the timber above my head doesn’t give way. Maxwell is right. A grown man could never make it through this tunnel. Two smallish girls can barely make it in some spots. When we reach the end, I hold my breath. How horrible would it be if we had to go back the way we came?
The door is about three feet high and two feet wide and made of rough-cut lumber. It opens easily, almost as if it were recently oiled. It’s as if someone knew we’d need a way out. Just as Maxwell told me, it comes out under a clump of bushes. It’s dark outside, and I give a relieved sigh. Marissa and I both crawl out from under the shrubbery and pick up our bags.
“Now what?” Marissa asks. “We need to find someplace to rest and clean up. I’m fairly certain those are spiderwebs in your hair.”
I shudder. “Thanks for telling me. Come on. Let’s get away from this area before we start looking for an inn.”
She nods, but only makes it a few blocks from the palace before she starts leaning on me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Crawling through the tunnels took more out of me than I thought.”
Guilt gnaws at me and I slip an arm around her for more support. “Don’t worry about it. We’re a team.”
It feels good to say that and mean it. Like me, Marissa’s a girl stuck in a dangerous situation far away from home. The only difference is that she chose to be here and I was coerced into being here.
Well, that and the fact that she didn’t poison me.
Berlin at night looks less like an efficient modern city than like a noxious maze of concrete, brick, and stone. Light from the windows spills out over the streets, creating long, eerie shadows. We’re both wearing hats pulled down over our hair, but the people who inhabit the night still look at us like we’re prey. We pass a tavern and my stomach clenches as the doors open and a couple of soldiers stagger out. Thankfully, they turn the other way and don’t give us a single look.
We have to get off the street.
“We can’t stop out here,” I tell her desperately. “If the authorities question us, we’re done for. Let’s go down there.”
We duck into a narrow alleyway. I almost run into a trash container and then find a wooden crate for Marissa to sit on. I have to find us someplace safe to stay. We can’t just wander about until morning. The police are only one of the worries on the street at night.
I squat down in front of her. Her breathing is shallow and I know I’m going to have to get her somewhere safe soon. “I’m going to go find us a place to stay for the night. Will you be all right here?”
She nods and I open her bag and rummage through it until I find her gun. “Here, keep this for emergencies.”
“What about you?” she asks.
I give her a grim smile and show her mine. “I’ve got one, too.”
She smiles again. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
I don’t tell her that I’m not sure I could shoot a person even if I had to.
I hurry out of the alley and pause at the street. We’re definitely in a slum of Berlin and it doesn’t take long for me to find what I’m looking for—a dilapidated inn with a tired keeper who isn’t too picky about her guests. I pay for a room, get the key, and then hurry back to Marissa, wondering what I’d do if she isn’t there.
Thankfully, she is, with her eyes shut and the pistol loose in her hands.
I call her name and she jumps, dropping the gun. She gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Glad it didn’t go off.”
That makes two of us.
We make our slow, painful way the three blocks to the inn. The stairs are narrow, and I half carry her, half pull her to the third floor. The stairwell smells of mold, trash, and some unidentifiable decayed thing. The room is tiny and dust coats the bedstead and the small dresser, but the bed is large and the sheets seem to be clean.
Marissa smiles as she collapses into bed. “From the palace’s silken sheets to the rough cotton of a flophouse. That’s quite a fall for twenty-four hours, isn’t it?”
I pull off her shoes. “I wonder what the sheets are like in prison,” I say morbidly, but she’s already asleep.
I kick off my shoes and join her. When I wake up, I’ll have to make my next move. Whatever that’s going to be.
I’m still not sure by the time I wake up. I know immediately that I’m alone and I bolt upright. Marissa’s shoes and jacket are gone, and for a moment cold waves of abandonment and betrayal rush over me. Then I spot her bag on the table where I’d left it. She wouldn’t leave me here, would she? What if she’d lied about everything?
I take a deep breath, struggling to contain the panic that blooms in my chest like a flower.
Moments later, I hear the scrape of a key in the door and tears of relief prick my eyes. Marissa comes in carrying a mug of steaming liquid and a brown paper bag.
“The innkeeper downstairs grudgingly let me bring you a cup of nasty tea and I bought some bread at a bakery down the street, though I can’t vouch for its flavor.”
She sees my face and her forehead wrinkles in concern. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
I nod, feeling foolish. “I’m just happy to see the tea,” I tell her, my voice husky.
She hands me the mug and pulls a small loaf of bread out of the bag. “I wouldn’t be too happy until you taste it.”
Breaking off a chunk of bread, she hands it to me. “I woke up ravenous,” she says. “I figured I’d best find something.”
I’m too busy wolfing down the freshly baked oat bread to answer.
“So what’s our plan?” she asks after we finish every crumb and swallow the last of the tea.
“I think our plan should start with me giving you the whole story,” I tell her.
She kicks off her shoes and sits on the bed with her legs crossed as I tell her about my job for MI5 in London and Miss Tickford. When I get to the part where my father is taken, she grabs my hand.
“So you don’t know where your father is right now?”
I shake my head.
“Do you know what he was doing here?”
I shake my head again. “We didn’t have a lot of time to talk, but he knew who you were and told me to go to you for help.” I pause. “I thought you were Velvet, only I guess you’re not, really, because there is no Velvet. That was just a ruse to get me to Berlin so Miss Tickford could capture my father.”
“So you aren’t really a spy?” she asks.
I sigh. “Apparently not.”
“Well, you’re very good at it.”
My lips curl upward. “Thank you. But I have no idea what to do now.”
She tucks her hair behind her ears and frowns, her eyes pensive. “You said they wanted your father and me, right? We have to figure out a way to let Miss Tickford think she’s going to get me. Do you have any way to get in touch with her? How did they send you messages?”
My head jerks up. “The bakery! The one on the Nürnberger Straße. It’s our live drop site.”
“Good. You can leave a message there. Now we just have to figure out what to say.”
I bite my lip. “I could tell her that I have you in custody.”
“That’s a possibility.” She puts a finger over her lip, thinking. “If she wants me badly enough, she’ll risk poking her head out to get me. But I think it’s important that she still thinks you’re an ally, that she’s still fooling you.”
I shift and look away. Would Miss Tickford still think I was an ally after I simply disappeared on her? “We could try it,” I say. “But I doubt she’ll believe it. You’re right, though. The only way for us to get to my father is for Miss Tickford to take us there herself. But we have no way of knowing if she is actually going to do that or not. For all we know, she’s already turned him over to the Abwehr.”
Marissa shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so. I think she’s keeping him as a bargaining chip just in case you figure out she’s lying to you. And also, I think there’s a likelihood that she isn’t really working for the Germans. That something else is going on.”
I rub the back of my neck, thinking hard. “That’s a possibility. I’m fairly certain that Monsieur Elliot suspected something. He seemed to feel that there was something strange about my training.”
“So it’s entirely likely that you really are in LDB and that she’s working alone,” Marissa says. “But why does she want me so badly?”
I snap my fingers. “Of course! The formula!”
Marissa raises an eyebrow. “You mean the one we don’t have?”
I cross my arms and grin. “She doesn’t have to know that.”
Marissa catches my meaning and smiles back. “Do you think you can write one up?”
I shrug. “I think so. I don’t think she’ll know the difference. Unless she is an expert, she won’t know that it’s fake until she takes it to a chemist.”
“So we make a drop, try to follow her back to where she’s keeping your father, and then make a trade.”
My shoulders slump. “She may not be an expert chemist, but she is an expert agent. I’m not sure I’m good enough to fool her.”
“But it wouldn’t matter if she knows,” Marissa says slowly. “She’s still going to take us to where your father is, only we’ll have the advantage because we’ll know that she knows we’re following her.”
In spite of the gravity of the situation, I giggle. “But she won’t know that we know that she knows. . . .”
Marissa’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “Exactly.”
I shrug. “I think it’s the best plan we have. It’s better than just handing ourselves over to her.”
I hope.
With Marissa’s help, I carefully craft a message telling Miss Tickford that I have what she wants. Then I put the chlorine symbol on the bottom for good measure. If all goes well, she won’t even get a chance to deco
de the message before we arrive to save my father and get out of Berlin.
I’m just praying that he has some sort of plan.
We pack up our things, glad to leave the stench of the inn. Outside, the spring sun shines soft and warm like a caress from Mother Nature, so different from the wintery bleakness I feel inside.
“Should we both follow her? Or just you?” Marissa asks on our way to the bakery.
Even though I’d like the company, I know it would be best if I went alone. “She’s expecting me to get in touch with her. If something goes wrong, at least you’ll know that something’s amiss and be able to help. Maybe.” I glance over at her. Her delicate profile is determined.
“Don’t worry, Samantha. We’ll get your father back.”
My heart swells with gratitude, glad to have someone on my side. I never knew how alone I felt until now. Well, except when I was with Maxwell. “Why are you doing this?” I ask suddenly. “You could be out of the city by now. You have your travel papers back.”
We walk in silence for a moment before she says, “My handler hasn’t been in touch with me for several days. He usually leaves messages by the statue in the Lustgarten. I’ve met him several times, but always in the dark where I can’t see his face. He was kind, though. An Englishman. I’m worried about him.”
It hits me so suddenly that I stop walking.
“What?” She asks looking around.
“My father.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “Your father what?”
“My father is your handler.”
She stares at me, her brown eyes wide. “How do you know?”
“He’s the one who told me to go to you, remember?” I tell her. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before. You said you were working on a joint project for the Americans and the British. It makes perfect sense. Now I know why my father hasn’t been home and why I could never find out anything about his supposed abduction. Most of British Intelligence doesn’t even know he’s here. At least, I don’t think so.” Who knows what Captain Parker actually knew.
“That makes perfect sense—it would explain why he hasn’t been in touch with me. He was probably completely distracted by your being in the city.”