Bouncing Betty

by Liliana Hart

  I laughed, a tinkling sound I’d perfected over the years—one I found men thought quite amusing. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” I admonished. “I believe there’s a proper order for weddings and babies.” And then I added conspiratorially, “Honeymoons are negotiable, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said, walking toward me with the wine. He handed me the glass and then he touched his glass to mine. “To a lifetime of honeymoons,” he said, gazing deep into my eyes.

  “Thank you for making tonight so special,” I said, letting him lead me to the table he had set for dinner.

  The courses were already laid out, and there were several wine pairings to go with each course. The sight of all that wine and food would have been enough for the people of Marseille to storm the castle, so to speak. They’d been living on rations and scraps for weeks, and I felt guilty for even being in the same room with such waste.

  “You have no idea how much I want to skip dinner right now,” he said, pulling out my chair.

  I sat, somewhat surprised and eternally grateful for his restraint. “We can always move straight to the dessert course.”

  “Patience, my love,” he said. “You deserve the romance and the rituals. Let me wine and dine you. I want us to know all about each other in every way before the night is through.”

  “Oh, well,” I said. “I wish I’d led as exciting of a life as you have.”

  “You’re young yet,” he said. “Give yourself time, and you’ll have had as many grand adventures as I have. Now let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  I picked at each course, enraptured by his every word. He told me of his childhood and bragged about how he’d impressed Hitler from their first meeting, and then his rapid rise through the ranks as a commander of an elite police force. He never flinched at the stories he told, or the brutalization of human life. To him, the people he tortured were no more than animals.

  The duck in front of me sat cold as I moved the meat around on the plate, waiting for my stomach to settle as he told a particularly gruesome tale of his last visit to Les Milles.

  “Is something wrong with the food?” he asked. “You’re not eating.”

  “It’s delicious,” I told him. “I think the anticipation of tonight has made me a little nervous.”

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t feel the same,” he said.

  “Can I get you more wine?” I asked, standing to my feet and moving toward the sideboard.

  I was thankful that I’d grown up with a father who’d never minded strong spirits in the house. Because if I’d been a normal woman, I would have already been passed out from the different wines we’d had with each course.

  “More wine would be wonderful,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He was watching me as I moved across the room, and it wasn’t an altogether pleasant look in his eyes. “You’re a very intriguing woman.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It feels as if you find that more of a compliment than when I tell you you’re beautiful.”

  “Beauty fades over time,” I said. “But I can be intriguing until my last days on earth.”

  “I suppose,” he said, his frown thoughtful. “And do you enjoy living a life of intrigue?”

  There was something about the tone of his voice that had me pausing as I stood in front of the sideboard, studying the final bottle of unopened wine on the sidebar.

  “Like I told you before,” I said, “I haven’t lived such an interesting life as of yet.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Something tells me that might not be altogether true.”

  I picked up the wine bottle with surprisingly steady hands. Something had shifted in the atmosphere, and I wasn’t sure what it was. But I no longer felt in control of the situation. I no longer felt like I was the one playing the tune for him to dance to.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, giving him a curious look over my shoulder. “Maybe we’ve had too much wine.” I started to put the bottle back.

  “No, let’s finish our meal. I’ll have a final glass.”

  I expertly uncorked the bottle and smelled it, inhaling a sweet scent that was sure to be bitter on my tongue.

  “Did you really think that I don’t have my finger on every pulse in this city?” he asked. “That I’m not aware of every whisper and hushed plan to try and take back this city?” His voice had gone hard and cold, and I’d never heard him speak to me like that before.

  It made me realize that our drive by the corpses on the Quai des Belges was for a purpose. He’d been aware of who I was, maybe all along, and I’d become just another pawn in his repertoire of sick games.

  “Friedrich,” I said. “Are you all right? Maybe dinner isn’t settling well. You’re not making any sense.” I poured the first glass of wine, watching the honey-colored liquid fill the glass.

  “Aren’t I?” he asked. “This city is mine. There is no one you can trust who is not loyal to me. But you’re very good. Better than others who have tried before you.”

  I rested my hand on the sideboard so he couldn’t see it shaking, and I propped a hand on my hip as I squared off with him. Graham’s words rattled around in my mind about never showing weakness, so I plastered a cocky grin on my face and figured all I could do at this point was try to brazen my way through.

  “Honey,” I said. “I don’t know what you had for dinner, but I think it might have been different than mine. You’re not making any sense. Come on, now. Stop playing with me. You’re starting to hurt my feelings, and I was getting so warm and fuzzy inside.”

  I turned back to the sideboard and touched the clasp of the locket at my throat, opening the tiny mechanism so a small white pill fell into my hand. I crushed it between my fingers and dropped it into the already poured glass of wine. And then I quickly poured wine into the remaining glass.

  My hands were steady as I picked them both up and made my way back to the table. “Here,” I told him, handing him the glass. “Let’s have dessert and then I’d very much like to try on my present. You have an eye for beautiful things.”

  “It’s always been my biggest weakness,” he said, staring at me out of cold blue eyes.

  I moved back to the other side of the table and took my seat as if I hadn’t a care in the world, all the while praying for a miracle. “Now eat your dessert and tell me a story of another of your adventures,” I said.

  “I have enjoyed your company,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s a shame, really. You’re so young and beautiful, and really quite skilled. But you’re new to this world, and it shows. I have eyes and ears everywhere. And I know everything about you, from what you have for breakfast to who shares your bed.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face, and I thought of every person who’d had a presence in the Smithers’ household, from the servants to Esther and George. Someone had betrayed the Alliance.

  “Your weakness is that you crave family and friends,” he said. “But you haven’t learned the most important life lesson of all—the only person you can trust in this world is yourself.”

  He picked up the wine glass and held it up to the flickering candle, so the light played tricks in the liquid gold.

  “It’s a shame, really,” he said. “I would have liked to have taken you to bed before I killed you, but I find I just don’t have the stomach for some things.”

  He scraped his chair back from the table and got to his feet, and my eyes widened as I considered my options. My handbag was too far away to be of any use, and he was too big and strong for me to fight head-on, even though I’d learned some very effective techniques in my training.

  I pushed my own chair back, deciding I had no choice but to fight for my life, and then my miracle happened. He downed the glass of wine in one gulp and then slammed the crystal down on the table, shattering the stem.

  He took a step toward me, and then another, and then his eyes widened and white spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. He tried to ta
ke another step but fell to his knees. And then his eyes met mine and glazed as he gasped his last breath and fell face-first onto the floor.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, stunned by what had just happened. But I knew it definitely wasn’t part of the plan, and the others’ lives were in danger. If Wagner knew of my involvement, then he’d surely trusted his officers with the same information. I had to get word to Graham, though I feared it was too late.

  It was almost midnight, and if they weren’t already inside the house, they were attempting to breach its doors. Only to walk right into a trap.

  My mission was my failure, but the Cordiers were counting on Graham and his team to be a success. I had to help them however I could.

  Chapter 8

  I snapped myself out of shock and looked around the room. Had anyone heard his body fall? There were no footsteps on the stairs that I could hear, and no hushed voices.

  I came to my feet and stepped over Wagner’s body, grabbing my handbag as I walked out of his living quarters and toward his offices. I stopped at the landing to make sure I couldn’t hear anything unusual, and then I hurried across to the table where the maps were laid out. While I studied the pins and notes and small figures placed all over Europe, I took my knife attached to a garter from my bag and slipped it over my shoe and up my leg so it rested tightly around my thigh.

  I committed every bit of information to memory, and then moved to his desk, rifling through drawers. The top of the desk was clear, and most of the drawers were empty. But there was a locked drawer on the bottom right side and I dug in my handbag for the lipstick.

  My head jerked up as I heard noise from below, and my fingers trembled as I went to work on the lock, fumbling in my haste. When the lock snicked open, I jerked open the drawer and saw a brown leather satchel inside. I grabbed the whole thing and strapped it over my shoulder, tightening the strap as much as I could around my small frame.

  I took off my shoes and left them under the desk, and then I headed back to the landing and the stairs. My pulse beat rapidly in my throat as I considered my options. There had to be a passageway from Wagner’s rooms to the servant stairs, but I didn’t know where it was. There were several bookshelves and a fireplace, and it was likely the entrance to the servant stairs was behind one of those, but I couldn’t waste valuable time trying to find the entrance.

  I had no choice but to go back down the main stairs and go through the kitchen to the servant stairs. From there, I was hoping I’d run into the Alliance and the secret room that held the Cordiers.

  I slid my knife from the sheath and padded down the stairs softly. Whatever noise I’d heard earlier would have dire consequences, and I saw the first body of one of the officers who’d been charged with guard duty lying at the bottom of the stairs. His arms were splayed wildly above his head and his eyes were open and staring straight at me.

  I paused when I got a better look at his face, realizing that this man hadn’t been one of the two who’d been standing at attention when I’d first arrived hours earlier. If what Wagner had said was true and he did have eyes and ears inside the Smithers’ home, then he’d have planned for an ambush tonight.

  There were two other bodies at the front of the house, and I felt my heart stop as I realized one of them was John Armstrong. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the hilt of a knife stuck out from his neck.

  We’d found an accessible entrance point on the blueprints from the roof onto a fourth-floor sunroom, and as far as I knew, that was how the team planned to infiltrate the house. Whatever had happened down here had passed, and they’d moved to a different location. I just couldn’t quite figure out which direction they’d gone. The officer at the bottom of the stairs could have been blocking them from coming down or chasing them up.

  I cleared the area before moving past the stairs and toward the kitchen door. It was a swinging door, but it was perfectly still. I pressed my ear to the door and heard nothing but silence, and then I carefully pushed the door far enough that I could see into the kitchen.

  There was a soft thud as the door hit something solid, and I pushed again. Something heavy blocked the door, and I put all my weight behind it, pushing until I could squeeze through the opening and over the body of another officer.

  The guys had been outnumbered, but where the Gestapo was used to brute force, the Alliance had spent time honing life-saving skills and stealth. The officer at my feet had a broken neck, as did a second one who was crumpled close to him.

  I held the knife in my hand so it was concealed from anyone approaching me, and I hoped the sight of a scantily clad woman would be enough to give me a moment’s advantage if I needed one.

  The kitchen was basic in function with a long counter that ran down the middle, and I skirted around the edge until I reached the door for the servant stairs. My hand rested on the black iron knob and I turned it slowly, pushing open the door.

  We had no intelligence on the servant stairs or where they led or how they were accessed from the other room. It was a barren area with wooden steps and no carpet. It was narrower than the main stairs and there was draft that whistled down the cramped maze. The walls were papered in a small floral print that looked thin and worn, and dim sconces barely provided enough light to see one step in front of the next.

  I heard nothing as I started to climb the stairs. There had to be a hidden panel somewhere along the wall. Homes along this stretch of road predated the Revolution, and secret passageways and hidden rooms were de rigueur during those days.

  I trailed my hand along the wall as I made my way up the stairs, and I touched something wet along the way. When I held my fingers up to the light, I could see the red tinge, and when I brought it to my nose, I could smell the coppery scent of fresh blood.

  I somehow knew it belonged to Graham, and I placed both palms along the wall, feeling for seams to a hidden doorway. Four steps up I found exactly what I was looking for. The papered section looked just like the other wall panels, but this one felt different. The gap between panels was just a hair wider.

  And then I heard it. Just a small sound at first—what sounded like a grunt—and I pressed my ear against the wall. It came again. Louder this time, and I recognized the sounds of fighting. I couldn’t find the lever to open the door, and I couldn’t remember ever being so scared as I was at that point. I knew it was Graham on the other side of the open door.

  He was a man with honor, a man who’d let nothing get in the way of his mission except for death. And I knew in that moment I couldn’t lose him. I wanted the chance for a future, and for that to happen we had to make it out alive.

  I tamped down my panic and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then I ran my fingers over the wall again, starting at the bottom and working my way up. Once I got to the point where I could no longer reach, I moved up a step and kept feeling for the anomaly I knew had to be there.

  There were more muffled sounds from the other side, and I went up another step, stretching farther this time. And then a third step. I was barely able to reach across the top seam of the door, and then I felt it. Just a small button that would’ve been much more reachable for a man or a taller woman.

  I pressed the button and there was a click as the door swung inward and a whoosh of dank air and light hit me in the face. The light was stronger than it was in the stairwell, so I blinked several times so my eyes could adjust to the change.

  At first I didn’t realize what I was seeing. And then I hesitated, not believing what I was seeing. Graham and Auguste were locked in close combat, blood pouring from Auguste’s face and a wound that was bleeding badly on Graham’s shoulder.

  Behind the fight, someone had built bars from floor to ceiling, caging in the Cordier family. Or what was left of them.

  “Run,” Graham said, landing a punch in Auguste’s midsection. “He’s a mole.”

  It made sense that it would have to be someone deep in the Alliance. The information he’d h
ave been able to share with Wagner would have been invaluable. I didn’t know what to do or how to sway the fight in Graham’s favor. I’d have given anything for a gun, but the space was small and things were happening so quickly it would have been a risk to pull the trigger.

  I still held my knife in my hand, tucked behind my arm so it was concealed, but I felt woefully underdressed for the occasion, in more ways than one. I saw Auguste pull a knife from the sleeve of his coat and I gasped, moving forward as if I could have stopped him with my presence.

  It felt like a vacuum inside the secret room, and the air rushed from my lungs and my heart pounded in my ears. There was nothing I could do. The silver of the blade flashed as Auguste drew back his hand, but Graham blocked him by grabbing his wrist and then pushing with all his might until Auguste slammed up against the wall.

  Graham’s forearm pressed against Auguste’s throat until gasping and gurgling replaced the grunts and groans. Desperation filled Auguste as he fought for breath and his legs and free arm swung frantically, slowing as the seconds ticked by like a windup toy running down.

  Eventually Graham stepped back and Auguste’s limp body fell to the floor. Graham was bruised and bleeding, but he was alive, and he looked down at his friend with a look on his face I couldn’t describe—maybe disappointment—maybe grief.

  And then he looked at me and I ran toward him. The sound came rushing back into my ears and I heard the cries and screams of the children locked in the cage.

  “Oh, God,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “Is Wagner dead?” he asked coldly.

  I shrunk back a little at his tone. “Yes,” I nodded. “He knew who I was.”

  Graham nodded, and then quick as lightning he grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the same wall where he’d killed Auguste. My breath was cut off instantly and it felt like my face was swelling with blood. The lack of air to my brain, and maybe because I was so blinded by what I wanted to be love, was the only reason it took me so long to realize that Auguste hadn’t been the mole. Henry Graham was the mole, and he was cleaning up loose ends and would be going back to MI6 having protected his double agent status. It’s why he’d let the others help him kill all the officers before he’d turned on Auguste. And I’d done the dirty work and killed Wagner.