by Anne Barwell
“Yes.” Kristopher put his cup down. “You’ve thought about it too, haven’t you?”
Had Matt come to the same conclusion Kristopher and Michel had? Kristopher laced his fingers together, his knuckles white, and waited for Matt’s reply.
“If this weapon is as dangerous as you say it is—” Matt sounded cautious as though he wasn’t sure how Kristopher was going to react.
“It is.”
“Benoit….” Matt cleared his throat.
“We’re speaking English,” Kristopher said softly, “and we’re alone. If we’re going to talk about what I think we are, I’d prefer not to use assumed names. This conversation will be difficult enough without that.”
“Although we’re alone, I’d prefer not to take any chances. If Holm found out you were here….”
“That’s true.” Kristopher thought for a moment. “Why don’t you call me, Kit, hmm? It is still my name, after all.” He needed to get used to others besides Michel and Clara calling him that if it was the name he was going to adopt after this was over. He’d also introduced himself to Michel’s parents as Kit.
“Thank you.” Matt seemed surprised by the offer.
“I’d like to think we’re friends after everything we’ve been through together. I’d even go as far as to say close friends.” Kristopher would miss Matt and the others. He knew Michel would too, although he’d probably not admit it so readily.
“I’d like to think that too.” Matt sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I know you well enough to suspect you’ve probably thought about it already.”
Kristopher could see Matt’s struggle to say what needed to be said. “I’m not crossing the Channel with you. This weapon is dangerous and shouldn’t be in the hands of either side. I need to disappear, and it would be better if there was some kind of proof that I’m dead.”
“I’ve thought it through a lot, and so has Ken, but we’re struggling to come up with a way to provide the proof.” Matt shrugged. “I’m guessing you and Michel have talked it over too?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t surprised Matt had talked to Ken, or that Matt figured Michel knew Kristopher wasn’t planning to leave France. “We….” Kristopher caught himself in time. Even if Matt suspected the true nature of Kristopher and Michel’s relationship, it was safer not to voice it aloud. “Michel has contacts. It would be easy to disappear.” He took a deep breath. Although he knew it had to be done and they weren’t talking about his actual death, it still unnerved him a little to talk about it. “We’re not sure how to fake my death. We’d need a body, and neither of us is prepared to kill someone to get it.”
Matt held up his hands. “We’re not prepared to do that either,” he said. “The good thing is that I don’t think anyone on our side has your description. Hell, I thought we were looking for a much older guy, although I worked out very quickly who you were after we met in the Black Forest.”
Kristopher wasn’t sure whether to be insulted by that comment or not. “I’d like to think it at least took you a couple of days.”
Matt laughed. “It’s difficult to hide when you’re living with someone in close quarters for a few days.”
“I guessed who you were too,” Kristopher said, “but I couldn’t risk saying something only to find I’d made a mistake.” He lowered his voice although they were alone. “It’s not always wise to put thoughts into words.”
“No, it’s not.” Matt nodded slowly. Hopefully he understood what Kristopher was saying. “Especially when it’s something you really want to tell someone or talk about.”
“I won’t need my identification papers.” Kristopher moved the conversation back to safer ground. “What if I leave them with you, and you plant them on someone who is already dead?”
“You have new ones?” Matt stated the obvious. “You won’t get very far without them.”
“Yes. Michel’s arranging it. As I said, he has contacts.” Kristopher drained the rest of his tea and grimaced at the taste. It was definitely better hot. “The less you know, the less you have to lie to your superiors about.”
“There are ways of lying while still telling the truth,” Matt said. “Don’t worry about that. And this stays between us.”
“I will be telling Michel about our conversation, just as you will be telling Ken.” Kristopher hesitated. “Liang needs to know too. He’s an intelligent man and a good friend.” He felt as though a weight had been lifted off him. “I thought we’d be doing this alone, and I felt bad about deceiving you, about letting you think….” He trailed off, not wanting to add the words.
“This mission is going to fail,” Matt said firmly, “at least from the perspective of our superiors. But I think we’ve taken the only course we can. There’s one problem, though.” A frown creased his brow. “I know we’re at war, but I don’t see any convenient dead bodies lying around, do you?”
“I’M NEARLY done.” Nicolas turned around just long enough to give Ken a quick glance before focusing on the explosives in front of him. He’d known more German than Arlette had claimed, which made this mission a lot easier.
“Leave it,” Ken ordered. “Mission’s been compromised. The place is crawling with Germans. We need to get out of here.”
“I said, I’m nearly done.” Nicolas retrieved another detonator from his bag and crushed the end of it under the heel of his boot. “Good thing I came back. Not sure why it didn’t go off, but I hate going to all this effort for nothing.”
“I don’t want to be the one to explain how you got blown to pieces.” Ken knelt in the dirt next to Nicolas. Perhaps if he got down to Nicolas’s level, it would help to get the message across. “Especially to your wife.”
“You don’t have to.” Nicolas inserted the detonator into the explosive, threw his tools in a bag, and stood. “I’m done.” He grinned. “You need to have more faith, mon ami.”
“How long is the timer?” Ken asked.
“Long enough.” Nicolas spoke as though he was imparting casual information about a timetable. He turned suddenly and frowned. “Oh, that’s why…. Merde! Run!”
Ken didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and ran, Nicolas behind him. They’d barely gotten clear before an explosion behind him lifted him into the air, and he hit the ground with a loud thud. He stood and wiped mud off his clothes. “What the hell?”
“The detonator I thought hadn’t worked, decided to work after all.” Nicolas grinned as he sat up next to Ken. He ran a muddy hand through his hair, then replaced his beret. “Good thing there was something soft to cushion our fall, hmm? We should go. I’m sure that’s attracted attention.”
“I’m sure it—” Ken automatically ducked at the sound of another loud explosion farther down the track. Michel had detonated his explosive and blown up the shed. Hopefully the soldiers would head there first as it was closer. “That’s our distraction,” he said. “Come on.”
Luckily Nicolas didn’t argue that time, but followed Ken. “The Germans won’t know which way to go first.”
“That’s the idea,” Ken said, “so we’re going completely in the opposite direction, and the long way back through the woods. Michel was going to give himself plenty of time, rather than cutting it short like we—you—did.” He knew Matt would be worried, especially after Sébastien told him what had happened, but better late back than not at all.
“Sometimes these things have a mind of their own. That’s one of the challenges of—” Nicolas stopped suddenly. “Did you hear that?”
Ken grabbed Nicolas and ducked behind some shrubbery. He drew his gun and motioned for Nicolas to say silent. A few moments later, two soldiers ran past their position. Luckily they were heading in the opposite direction toward the railway line.
Oh hell. Not good. Not only were there soldiers by the original target, but patrolling the woods nearby.
“They knew we were coming,” Nicolas whispered. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Ken said grimly. They’d have to s
it there and wait until they were sure it was clear.
“THEY’LL BE here.” Matt paced across the hidden room in an attempt to stay calm. When Liang had come to the safe house to tell them Ken and Nicolas hadn’t returned from the mission, Matt and Kristopher had headed for the church immediately. Liang remained behind in case Ken and Nicolas returned to the safe house instead of the church.
Matt turned to Michel. “You’re sure the Germans were expecting you?”
Théo looked up from his beloved radio set when Matt spoke to Michel in German, but didn’t comment.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Michel winced as Arlette cleaned his grazed arm. “It’s fine,” he told her. “It doesn’t need any more attention, and I can look after myself. It’s only a scrape, and I’ve had worse. Better to hit the ground hard than be caught in the explosion itself.”
“Fine,” she said, taking the cloth and water away.
Matt saw Kristopher frown. So apparently did Michel.
“Merci,” he said to Arlette. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night.” He wound a crepe bandage over the graze, tucked the end of it in to hold it in place, and then pulled his sweater down over it.
“Yes, it has.” Arlette placed a reassuring hand on Cécile’s shoulder. “Your husband will be back soon. If the area is crawling with Germans as Michel said—”
“I already told you it was,” Sébastien interrupted. “I’m going upstairs to keep watch.”
As he started up the stairs, Matt heard a creaking noise above their heads. “Someone’s there,” he hissed. He drew his gun and aimed it toward the top of the staircase. Sébastien, who was halfway up the stairs, pressed himself against the wall, his gun in his hand.
Arlette silently extinguished the light, and the room plunged into darkness.
Someone knocked at the door and then repeated the rhythm.
“Offenbach,” Kristopher said softly. “It’s them.”
So that was why the rhythm seemed familiar. Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld. Elise had loved that operetta.
The door swung open. Sébastien blinked in the sudden light. “You’re late.” He wrinkled his nose. “And you stink. What happened?”
Arlette turned the light back on. Ken and Nicolas slowly walked down the stairs. Both were covered in mud. Ken looked around the room and smiled when he found Matt. “Sorry we’re late,” he said. “There were soldiers everywhere, and it was safer to wait.”
“I was worried.” Cécile pulled Nicolas into a hug and kissed him soundly. “Don’t do that again!”
“I’m sorry too, ma chérie.” Nicolas stroked her hair, leaving muddy streaks through it. He spoke to her quickly in French, no doubt telling her what had happened. Her expression grew dark and she held him tightly.
Matt gave Ken a nod. “We were worried,” he said, unable to stop the hoarseness of his voice. God, he wanted to hug Ken and hold him tightly. He glanced at Nicolas and Cécile, wishing he and Ken had the freedom to express how they felt about each other when other people were around.
“I know,” Ken said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Once they were alone, Matt intended to show Ken just how worried he’d been, and help him get all that mud off too. “They knew you were coming.”
“It seemed that way,” Ken said.
“I trust everyone in this cell,” Arlette said.
Matt noticed her wording. She hadn’t said she trusted everyone in the room.
“Perhaps there’s another explanation,” Kristopher said quickly. “I’ve given this some thought.”
Arlette scowled and opened her mouth to argue, but Michel narrowed his eyes.
“Let him speak,” he said. “If K—Benoit says he has an idea, it’s usually worth listening to it. Please continue, mon… ami.”
“Merci,” Kristopher said, but he took a moment before continuing. “Your cell was operating for some time before Holm took charge of the area. The first thing he would have done is work out whether there are patterns in your attacks. He would have figured out what sabotage would do the most damage and rank those targets in order of importance.”
“Maybe you’re the traitor.” Arlette took a step toward him, but Michel stepped between them.
“No,” he said firmly. “I trust him with my life. He is no traitor. Listen to what he is saying. It makes sense.”
“It’s simple strategy, and one he often used when he played chess,” Kristopher explained. “He’s a keen chess player and often uses the game to size up potential… allies. Or opponents. We’ve… umm….” He glanced at Michel as though unsure whether to continue. Michel shook his head, but Matt guessed what Kristopher had been about to say.
Kristopher and Holm had played chess together. Probably more than once. It made sense. Holm had been in charge of the institute where Kristopher worked.
“What do you suggest we do?” Matt asked before Arlette could interrupt again.
“Chess is not just about wiping your opponent off the board. There’s more finesse to the game than that.” Kristopher avoided looking at Arlette. Probably a good thing as she was glaring at him. “Tonight’s mission succeeded in part because you split your attack and took out a target that wasn’t essential. I suggest that’s what we try next time. We target something not so important first and use that as a distraction while we hit the real one.”
Chapter Twelve
“YES, SIR. Very good, sir.” Holm waited until the person on the other end of the phone hung up before replacing the receiver on its cradle. Relocating to Pas-de-Calais wouldn’t do at all. Luckily his superior had listened to reason in this instance, but Holm knew his time in Normandy was running out.
He’d bought himself a few days, maybe a week, but no more.
Holm poured some cognac and took a couple of measured sips. How could Lowe and his group disappear so completely? After the sighting in Pont-Audemer, Holm had felt his hopes rise, only to have them dashed again. He’d sent Reiniger and his men to search the Bayeux area, but he hadn’t expected them to find anything. Although Bryant’s papers said that was his destination, he wasn’t foolish enough to leave such an obvious trail of breadcrumbs.
A knock on the door disturbed his musings. He looked toward the sound for a moment, then ignored it. He was not to be disturbed. This situation required some thought, and he didn’t appreciate the distraction.
Whoever it was knocked again, this time louder.
“Herein,” Holm called. Whoever and whatever this was, it had better be important.
Margarete Huber walked in, holding a pile of papers. “Good morning, Herr Holm,” she said cheerfully. She smiled, and for a moment, it almost felt genuine.
“Good morning,” he said.
Either she had news, or she was planning something. Or both. Although tempted to send her on her way, he was running out of options. If she had information that might give some clue to the whereabouts of his prey, he’d grit his teeth, return the smile, and feign politeness. Otherwise, the annoying woman was just as likely to mount her own hunt and take the credit for it.
Hmm, maybe not. Margarete preferred to work behind the scenes, pulling strings like a puppeteer. Easier that way to keep her hands clean and blame others if it all went wrong. Still, there was the risk she might take the information to someone else if he didn’t show some interest.
Holm didn’t care about taking credit for Lehrer’s arrest, although it would be an added bonus. As long as Lehrer was found, arrested, and paid the price for betraying his country, that would be sufficient. Holm’s superiors were not impressed Lehrer’s escape from the institute had happened while he was in charge of security. It reflected badly on Holm’s career, and worse than that, made him look a fool. Add to that the fact Lehrer was now working with Lowe….
“Do you have something?” Holm asked. Margarete hadn’t furthered the conversation, so it was up to him to do it. He hated these games she played. They were not helpful and had almost cost him valuable time on several occasions. H
e’d enjoyed the time she’d spent in Bayeux, although he’d known his peace and quiet wouldn’t last once she returned to Caen.
“Why, Herr Holm, here I was thinking you were pleased to see me. Surely you haven’t tired of me already? I’ve been back less than twenty-four hours.” Margarete placed the pile of papers she carried on his desk and then sat down on the chair opposite him. A piece of paper poked out between two files, and she leaned over to retrieve it.
Holm reached out for it. “Allow me, Fräulein.” Whatever it was, it was probably classified. Although she’d probably read whatever she wanted in the files she’d brought him, he was less likely to be implicated if he acted as though he had no knowledge of it.
“Of course, Herr Holm.” Margarete lowered her head demurely. “Some things just don’t stay where they are meant to, do they?”
“That can—” Holm’s attention was caught by something familiar, a coincidence he couldn’t afford to ignore. “Why was this not brought to my attention before now?”
He scanned the rest of the page quickly, turning it over when he’d finished, hoping for some kind of clue as to its author. This wasn’t a part of the files Margarete had brought in. It was a handwritten note, and by someone whose German wasn’t very good, judging by the spelling mistakes and incorrect syntax. However, the mistakes could have been deliberate and intended to direct blame away from its perpetrator.
“Why, we’ve only just found it.” Margarete seemed genuinely curious. “Or rather you’ve just found it. Would you mind enlightening me as to what seems to have captured your attention so intently?”
“I think you know exactly what this is.” For all he knew, she’d put it there for him to find in the first place. Whoever had written the note claimed to have intimate knowledge of a local Resistance cell that had recently gained new members. “But if you want to play your games, so be it.”
Her eyes widened. “I never play games, Herr Holm.” Margarete managed to sound indignant. “I assure you everything I do has a purpose, and I am as committed to this cause as you are.”
