by Candace Camp
She bent to kiss him, and his arms went around her tightly. She felt the salty warmth of his tears on her cheek.
*****
The sun had just begun to rise when Louis Bousquet emerged from his apartment and glanced cautiously around him. Schlieker had called last night and told him to report to Gestapo headquarters this morning. When Bousquet started to protest, Schlieker cut him short. “There’s no need for secrecy now. You are of no use here any longer. I realized it after you left—Cleopatra is sure to figure out who betrayed her to us, and she was given to Michaude. That means that what’s left of the Rock network will soon be looking for you. You’ll have to start operating in a different region.”
Bousquet’s heart had jumped into his throat at Schlieker’s words, and he cursed the man’s casual attitude, as if the only concern was whether Unicorn could be used again in Paris—it was his life at stake here! He knew how the resistance rewarded traitors.
“You’d better come in tomorrow morning, and we’ll give you a new identity and a ticket to—oh, Marseilles, I think.”
Bousquet strode off briskly toward the Métro. Schlieker—that bastard! You’d think he could have sent a car and guard to pick him up last night and escort him to headquarters instead of making him wait out the curfew alone in his apartment. But, no! He wasn’t important enough. Just a lowly French informer, not one of the super race. He should probably feel lucky that Schlieker had even thought to call him.
Bousquet rode the Metro through Paris and exited near Avenue Foch. Almost there. He walked quickly. He could see the building a block ahead now, and his pace increased. His eyes were trained on his destination, relief already beginning to flow through him, and so he missed the man standing partially hidden behind a tree on the side street.
But the man knew him well. His name was Devigny. Bousquet knew him better as Allegro.
When he’d heard that his cousin had been taken by the Gestapo, Allegro knew who was responsible... the same man who’d sent the police to Allegro’s own house. Allegro was fortunate enough to be at the market when the Gestapo came; his wife had not been so lucky. Neither had the other members of his cell.
No one knew where Unicorn really lived, so Gestapo headquarters and the Left Bank cafes he had frequented seemed the most likely places to find him. Allegro had taken up his post at the headquarters before dawn this morning. It didn’t matter that it was a dangerous place for a wanted man to loiter. He had no family. His cell was destroyed. Sooner or later the Gestapo would find him. There was nothing left for him but a thirst for revenge.
And God had just delivered his enemy to him. Allegro smiled and reached beneath his coat for the knife. Finding Unicorn had been quick. He’d make sure the traitor’s death was slow.
Bousquet heard the steps behind him, and a thrill of fear ran through him. Where had they come from? He’d seen no one on the street a moment before. He glanced ahead. Half a block to go. His steps quickened. Would the guards hear him if he yelled? Would they bother to come to his rescue? He wanted to turn around, but didn’t dare. Maybe he was imagining things. The man walking behind him might just be going to work early.
A hand grabbed his arm, and a sharp point penetrated his clothing, pricking his back. “Don’t speak. Turn around and walk back the way you came.”
Bousquet hesitated, and the knife pierced his skin. He jumped, stifling a cry of pain. “Who are you?” He changed directions, as ordered. The man stayed glued to his back.
There was a low, humorless chuckle. “Look and see.”
Bousquet turned and looked at his captor, and he knew that he was staring into the face of death.
Chapter 25
Close to dawn, the farmer reappeared and had Alyssa and Philippe lie down against the side of the truck directly behind the cab. He set a sort of wooden cage over them, which stretched from their heads past their feet and was built of solid wood planks spaced two or three inches apart. Alyssa and Philippe looked at each other in puzzlement. They understood the reason for the cage later when the farmer and his wife began to pile cabbages on top of and around them. Without the cage the vegetables would have weighed heavily on them. As it was, they were encased in a dark, hot, smelly cocoon.
The farmer climbed into the cab and drove off. They drove for a long time. It was difficult to retain any sense of time in their dark, claustrophobic cell. The truck bounced over ruts and holes, and the load shifted and settled around them. The roar of the engines and the noise of the road made any sort of communication impossible, so they simply held each other and tried to sleep through the jarring ride.
Every once in a while they came to a halt; and on occasion when they were stopped, Alyssa felt a blow against the side of the truck. They could hear voices, but no words were distinguishable. Each time, the truck started up again.
Finally the truck stopped, and the engine was turned off. They assumed they had reached their destination and expected to leave immediately, but instead they waited. Sweat trickled down Alyssa’s sides. It was extremely hot in here, and the smell was loathsome. Panic tickled at the edges of her brain—what if something had happened to the farmer? How would they ever get out?
They heard the sound of unloading, and soon light and air grew increasingly plentiful. The area at their feet was cleared, and Philippe and Alyssa slid gratefully out of their cage. They hopped down from the truck, smoothing out their clothes and shaking numbed limbs. The farmer instructed them to walk to a café down the street, where they were to wait for their next contact. He would be carrying a copy of an Alexandre Dumas novel, and when he left the café, they were to follow him.
Alyssa and Philippe set off down the street, thankful to be away from the truck. “Do you think they’ll let us sit down at the café?” Alyssa asked, giggling, “Smelling the way we do?”
Philippe smiled. “You are beautiful, even smelling like cabbage soup. Here, put your scarf around your head. You look too lovely for a farmer’s wife.”
They found the café the farmer spoke of and sat down at a table at the edge of the sidewalk to eat and wait. After a while, Alyssa began to grow nervous. But then a man with a copy of The Man in the Iron Mask tucked under his arm strolled up and sat down at the table nearest them. Alyssa swallowed her excitement, and they waited for the man to drink his cup of coffee. The man paid for his coffee and walked out of the café. Alyssa and Philippe followed him. He walked a couple of blocks and turned the corner, Philippe and Alyssa on his heels, and ran into a line of people. At the front of the line stood two German soldiers, checking identification papers.
They had no papers. When Alyssa was arrested, hers had been taken and never returned. Philippe had left his behind; they would be more dangerous than helpful now that he was wanted by the Gestapo. But anyone without papers was automatically subject to arrest.
As soon as they rounded the corner behind their contact and saw the soldiers, Alyssa and Philippe did an abrupt about-face and started back the way they had come. One of the soldiers saw the sudden movement and shouted at them to stop. They did not, an immediate admission of guilt. The soldiers pushed through the crowd after them. Philippe took Alyssa’s hand, and they ran.
Something whizzed past Alyssa’s head, and a split second later she heard the sound of a shot. The Germans were firing at them. Philippe jerked her to the right down a side street. They ran, unfamiliar with the city, not knowing where they were going, turning again and again in an attempt to lose their pursuers.
It took a moment to realize that there were no longer footsteps behind them. Philippe slowed and glanced back. There was no soldier in sight. Alyssa sagged against the building, catching her breath, but Philippe pulled her upright, and they began to walk at a brisk but normal pace. They emerged from the side street onto a more traveled thoroughfare just as an open gray car with a black swastika on the side turned onto the street a block away from them. It was moving slowly, the soldiers in it looking carefully all around them.
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Philippe uttered a short, bitter expletive, and they ducked back into the side street. They couldn’t run. If the soldiers looked down the side street as they passed, they would be sure to be alerted by the sight of a running couple. A couple walking might escape their attention. Alyssa’s back crawled; it was almost impossible to resist the temptation to turn around and look. Philippe’s fingers gripped hers reassuringly.
Then she heard the awful screech of brakes and the clanging of gears changing, and a car roared up the street. Alyssa and Philippe took off running. There were shouts in German to stop. The vehicle passed them and swung crosswise in front of them, blocking their path. They stumbled, trying to stop and turn back, but the soldiers were out of the car before they could take two steps. A soldier grabbed Alyssa’s arm and flung her against the wall, striking her head painfully and knocking the breath from her. Next to her she could see the same thing happening to Philippe. Rough hands ran over her body, and there was a low exclamation of triumph when the soldier pulled the snub-nosed revolver from her pocket. As she had been warned in training school, their guns indicted them.
They were finished.
*****
They were separated in jail, and Alyssa didn’t see Philippe again until the next evening. When she was asked a few preliminary questions about her identity and address, she gave the name Marie Benoit and a street number in Marseilles. She was locked up in a cell, and several hours passed before she was taken out again and brought into a small, windowless room with a single chair. Her stomach roiled in fear. She no longer even had her L-pill. Whatever happened to her, she would simply have to endure.
An army officer with short brown hair and a young-looking face came in to question her. He asked her hundreds of things about herself and her life, and Alyssa used the biography she had made up for her character before she left England, so that she was able to answer most of the questions quickly and naturally, without tangling herself up. He watched her, frowning, then suddenly snapped out in English, “Why are you lying to me?”
Alyssa managed a blank stare. “What? I don’t speak German.”
“It wasn’t German. It was English.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t speak English,” she replied.
He sighed, crossing his arms, and leaned back against the wall. “You are a beautiful woman,” he told her, and she glimpsed something like regret in his eyes. She wondered if it was real or an act. “But you are making it very difficult for me not to turn you over to the Gestapo.”
She said nothing, and his mouth twitched in irritation. There was a knock at the door, and another officer stuck his head in. “Herr Demmler, I have received a message from Paris, sir. A man and woman are wanted by Albrecht Schlieker of the Gestapo.” He cast a glance over at Alyssa. “Their descriptions fit the man and woman arrested today.”
Demmler took the sheet and skimmed it. “Cleopatra, eh?” he murmured. “A fitting name.” He sighed. The Gestapo official wanted to be notified immediately if either was arrested, with clear instructions specifying that neither was to be questioned or harmed. Demmler thought of the woman prisoner’s silky hair and dark blue eyes, the shapely legs. And he thought of what she would look like when the Gestapo was finished with her; he had heard stories of their methods.
He crumpled up the paper. “Take her back to her cell. I will call Paris.”
Alyssa’s heart sank as the other man took her arm and led her from the cell. Demmler returned to his office and sat down to work on the papers on his desk. It was two hours later before he placed the call to Paris, well after seven, and Schlieker had already left the office, as Demmler had hoped. He left a message that he had taken prisoners answering the descriptions of Michaude and Cleopatra. It wasn’t much, he knew, but at least it would buy the woman one more night. He didn’t know that Schlieker had left orders that he be contacted immediately when any news arrived regarding Philippe Michaude, no matter what the time. Less than an hour later Schlieker and his driver were on their way to Laval.
*****
Jessica closed the snap of her suitcase and set it on the floor. She glanced at her watch. She and Stephen would have to leave in thirty minutes in order to catch their train back to London. She carried the bag outside and met Stephen coming out of his door down the hall. They smiled at each other, slow, secret smiles, and Jessica’s heart swelled with love.
Downstairs the telephone rang, and Jessica’s mother answered it. Moments later she appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Stephen? There’s a man on the telephone asking for you.”
Stephen’s brows shot up and he exchanged a look with Jessica. “I’ll be right down.”
He trotted down the stairs and took the receiver. Jessica followed more slowly and sat down on the bottom step, watching him. Stephen’s end of the conversation was largely grunts. Once he glanced up at Jessica, then quickly away. At last he said, “Yes, I’ll be there. I’m catching the next train out.”
He hung up the phone and turned to Jessica. “Let’s walk for a minute.”
Concerned, Jessica followed Stephen out the front door. “What’s happened?
“That was a man named Pliny. He says he knows you.”
“Yes. Very well. What’s the matter? What’s going on?”
“Pliny said that a resistance group in France contacted them. Your friend was taken in by the Gestapo.”
There was a roaring in Jessica’s ears, and suddenly Stephen seemed very far away. Stephen grabbed her and helped her to the ground. “Here, put your head down. I’m sorry. I said it too bluntly.”
Jessica lowered her head, and the momentary faintness receded. She shook her head. “How else could you say it?” Huge tears formed in her eyes. “Oh, God, poor Lyssa.”
“She was freed by someone whom Pliny called vital to the organization. The Duke. They were supposed to leave France tonight, but they were taken up again. Both of them are now in a German jail in Laval, but as far as we know, the Gestapo doesn’t have them yet. We’re mounting a rescue operation.”
“Thank God!” Jessica’s eyes shone, and she looked up at him. “But why did Pliny call—” She stopped suddenly as the implications became clear to her. “Oh, no. No! You aren’t going in to rescue them, are you?”
“I have to. I’m the only one qualified who’s close enough to leave this evening. I may be rusty after this long, but I can still do it.”
Jessica leaped to her feet. “No! It’s too dangerous. You don’t go on missions now! You’re a liaison…”
“Which any idiot can do. You know why they put me in that job; you told me so yourself. Because I was too lacking in confidence to go out in the field again. I was hiding from the botch I’d made with Alan, terrified I would make another mistake.” He smiled tenderly, and his hands came up to cup her face. “But you’ve changed all that. You made me believe in myself again. Until yesterday, I wasn’t a whole man. I lost something vital in Belgium.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “You gave it back to me.”
“Not to have you kill yourself!” Jessica protested frantically. Her lips were bloodless, her face starkly white beneath the blazing hair. “Please…I can’t bear to lose you, too!”
“Don’t worry. You won’t.” His thumb traced her lips. “I have to go. I would have gone on another mission if this hadn’t come up. I had already planned to request active duty as soon as I got back to work tomorrow.”
Jessica knew he was right. Stephen had been released from the guilt of Alan’s death. He had forgiven himself for the failure and turned his face forward again. His doing so had allowed him to love her, but she knew that the same release would just as surely send him back to his work. He was too good at it, too brave, not to return to duty.
Jessica closed her eyes, tears seeping past her lids. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Please come back. Please, please come back.” She couldn’t bear it if she lost him. She had loved Alan dearly, but she knew that the sorrow she had fel
t for him would be as nothing compared to what she would feel if she lost Stephen. He had become her world, her life. “I love you so much.”
“And I love you.” He kissed her fiercely, his lips pressing into hers. He pulled back at last and gazed down at her. “Will you marry me when I get back?”
“Yes, oh, yes!” She cried, tears coursing down her cheeks, and held on to him all the more tightly.
He smiled. “Then I’ll be back. You can count on it.”
*****
Having heard Demmler’s conversation with his subordinate, Alyssa wasn’t surprised when a guard released her from her cell several hours later, informing her that she was about to be transferred to Paris. She followed him down the long hall to the interrogation room where she had been questioned before. Philippe sat alone in the room, his hands manacled in front of him, as hers were.
He jumped up at her entrance. “Alyssa!” He came to her, taking her face between his cuffed hands. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered.
For a long moment they gazed at each other. There was no need for words. They knew they might not see each other again, or if they did, it could be under the most horrible of circumstances. Philippe’s eyes were full of love and regret, speaking in an instant all the tangled emotions that lay in his heart. He kissed her softly and laid his cheek against hers. “I’m sorry, my love.’
“Don’t be. I’m glad for every moment.”
He kissed her again and stepped back, his gaze still locked on hers. Alyssa knew what he was thinking—that if there was any way, he would suffer the agony of torture for her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She sat down on the single chair in the room, and Philippe stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder, giving her strength and comfort. As long as he was there, Alyssa thought, she could face anything. She looked up at him. “I have no regrets,” she said, “except for the times I refused your love.”
