I knew he would’ve been first in line to fight off the enemy despite that fact, and that’s what I was already doing in my own way. I had to admit that I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that we were so wrapped up in living for a cause, that sometimes it felt like life passed us by. He and I could have easily enjoyed our drinks over a dinner table in a dimly lit nightclub with our bodies swaying to the beat of music. It would have been a nice change of scene from the solitude and monotony of my cramped office.
Knowing Brande though, he probably thought this was just fine—which was a shame because what girl wouldn’t want to be seen in public with him? I didn’t realize my hand was still touching his as I thought about all this, and he gave me a quizzical look (but he didn’t withdraw his hand, either).
I pulled my hand away, a little flushed, and just then Ian walked in carrying a file. Brande acknowledged him with a nod and Ian did the same. When Brande faced me again, I saw Ian pointing toward the left wall, at an informational poster that you could find posted in nearly every pub in London nowadays. It portrayed men wearing military uniforms, frozen in laughter with a group of women hanging onto them. A caption at the bottom of the poster read: What you say to your friends...could be heard by the enemy!
I always laughed at that poster hanging in here, but I’ve seen some inexperienced operatives unwittingly betray themselves and their cohorts by not taking that motto to heart.
“Emelie.” Ian cleared his throat. “The file is ready.” He furtively glanced at Brande.
“I swear I tried to make him leave,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. Ian was even less patient with Brande’s presence than I was.
Brande pulled a package from a hidden pocket inside his trench coat. “Your emerald spectacles, jade powder, and red garnet lipstick.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t always have time to make or procure enchanted items, and I appreciated whenever he delivered them. Emerald granted the ability to see in the dark; jade’s healing powers had saved me from grievous wounds and poison on several occasions, and I used red garnet sparingly as it inspired romantic desires and aggression. I learned a long time ago to manipulate the magical qualities in these stones and work them into everyday items. Whipping out a stone wasn’t very subtle and, in my line of work, a lack of subtlety could get you killed.
Brande handed me the coveted items and finished his Sherry. “Perhaps you’ll come to the Gray Tower once you’re done playing spy with the British.” He rose from his seat and shouldered his way past Ian, leaving us alone in the office. I didn’t know why, but Brande’s comment stung me.
I looked at Ian. “I know what you’re going to say—”
“I trust you, not him. Besides, don’t you think it’s all part of a nefarious plot that the Gray Tower sends him over? If Bernadine actually did her job and stopped gushing over him at the reception desk, then maybe I could get a few words out of the bloke.”
I let out an irritated sigh. “I swear, sometimes you act as if you don’t want a wizard on staff. If that’s the case, then you shouldn’t have recruited me.”
He shook his head as if saying he wasn’t going down that road today. “Look, when are you going to let us take this out?” He glanced at the other half of the office, where an empty desk and chair stood collecting dust. Notes and pictures clung to the wall.
“Why do you suddenly care?” My eyes narrowed. I noticed, when I had first joined the Special Operations Executive, that all the men had their own offices, while all the women had to pair up and share, sometimes three to an office.
My officemate and friend was a girl named Stella, whose husband died in a battle last year. She wanted to help the Resistance in any way she could, and successfully ran missions for us, but she hadn’t reported back to us since January—now it was the middle of June.
“We’ve got a new recruit, I think you’ll like her.”
“Not interested. What do you have for me?” The last thing I needed was a wide-eyed new girl following me around, talking about how swell it was to spy on the Nazis.
He opened the file to reveal a dossier and pointed toward a profile picture of an older gentleman. “I presume you’ve heard of Dr. Veit Heilwig?”
“The scientist? Yes.”
“For the past three months Allied forces have been taking heavy blows from the Nazis on the Western Front. The bastards have been violating the Geneva Protocol and unleashing a new chemical weapon on our soldiers. We have evidence that—”
“There may be more than just chemicals in those weapons?” I fondled the Agate stone set in my ring.
He nodded. “Do you remember that incident with the poisoned food and water?”
“Believe me, I’m not forgetting that anytime soon.”
The contaminated goods were unwittingly dispersed among Ally soldiers throughout Europe. Over a thousand men died before it could be counteracted and hundreds more were still lying in hospital beds, strangely disfigured and barely alive. All we could do was separate and destroy the contaminated food, and there was still no known cure.
“That was Heilwig’s work. Now he’s perfected it...they’re calling it The Plague. At this rate he’ll win the war for Hitler and the Black Wolves, and that’s exactly why we need another alchemist to go up against him, neutralize the new chemical weapons he’s developed, and take him out.”
“You want me to kill him?”
“No, take him out of France. We want to extract him.”
“Why do you want him alive?” And how exactly did they want me to kidnap him? You couldn’t just walk up to a warlock, cuff him and tell him to come along. Next time I’d save my plaintive musings about life passing me by in favor of wanting to just live another day. This was going to be a tough mission.
“Just...read the dossier. I’ve got MI6 breathing down my neck over this one and Morton’s just dying for an excuse to discredit us.”
“My goodness, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Discredit happened to be the least of my worries, buddy—I could be rotting in Dr. Meier’s Nazi experimental program by next week if I failed. Half the things I heard about it I refused to believe, and the other half I resolved to never find out through experience. I swore this would be my last assignment. If I had any sense left, I’d gracefully exit the stage and go quietly live my life elsewhere...preferably with a handsome guy who didn’t mind that I created explosions and induced heart attacks.
Ian rolled his eyes. Sometimes I wondered if he wanted to throttle me for my backtalk. “Report to the hangar tomorrow at the appointed time so Richard can take you over to Paris. And don’t be late.”
“Ian...”
“What is it?”
I felt like squirming in my seat. “You got my resignation letter, right? I put it on your desk this morning.”
He pursed his lips. “I wanted to give you some time to think it over. That Denmark job really got to you, didn’t it?”
“I’ll do this last assignment, but promise me you’ll have the final paperwork ready to sign when I return from Paris.” My shoulders tensed in anticipation of his objections. I was certain he’d go on about how much SOE needed me.
“All right then,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want to see you go, but if that’s what you want...”
As he turned and headed toward the door with his gangly walk, I glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. Ideally my routine would have been to nestle in my reclining chair and eat dinner by 7 p.m., but instead 8 o’ clock stared back at me without apology. I flipped through the dossier, noting the most important details and memorizing Dr. Heilwig’s face. Once was dropped into Paris tomorrow evening, I wouldn’t have the dossier to reference, nor any identification papers or passports on me.
We did this for two reasons: an agent’s counterfeit identification could be damaged or lost during transport anyway, and in the case of arrest, the Gestapo often found it difficult to verify or prove she was a spy. I usually obtained papers from trust
ed sources on an as-needed basis, but if I didn’t need them, then I did not carry papers. When I first began this, I found it all exciting because it allowed me to be anyone I wanted. After a few months, I ended up feeling like I was no one.
Sometimes I had to remind myself that Emelie was just my code name, and that her preferred mannerisms or activities weren’t necessarily the ones Isabella George liked. My officemate Stella went to France often under the name Angela Wyatt, and had chosen it because her mother’s first name was Angela and she obsessed over the 16th Century poet Thomas Wyatt.
After my first few missions, I grew apathetic in choosing names. Ian suggested Emelie because, he said, when he was younger, he had always wanted a little sister by that name. Since he never got one and I was the closest thing to it, he had said I should go with the moniker, and I’ve been using it ever since.
My lips curved into a slight smile at remembering this, but then turned into a frown as I thought about Stella’s failure to report back. Wherever she was, I hoped that she had only been delayed and needed to hide with the French Resistance, or was already en route to London. In any case, I wanted Stella’s belongings to remain here, untouched. If she happened to return—I didn’t want her to think we gave up on her so quickly. In keeping with my weekly routine, I grabbed my dusty handkerchief from my desk drawer and wiped off her belongings.
I wondered, with a twinge of sadness, if anyone would do that for me if I were missing for five months, and I didn’t even want to think about what Ian would have to tell my family under those circumstances: So sorry, your daughter wasn’t really working for the U.S. Ambassador to Britain—she was gallivanting about Europe engaging in counter-missions against the Nazis because we couldn’t afford Hitler’s occult powers to gain an advantage over Allied forces.
It would kill my mother and brother to find out about me that way, and although pride kept me from saying it, the longer Stella went missing, the more anxious I grew that I could very well be next. Then what? Without a doubt, this would have to be my last mission behind enemy lines.
When I arrived at my flat, I pulled out the few supplies I would take with me to Paris: a wad of francs, the enchanted items Brande brought me, and my golden alchemist’s knife. I placed them on my nightstand and then headed into the kitchen to fix myself dinner. I went through the cabinets and refrigerator, but found nothing that piqued my appetite. My friend Jane Lewis usually came home around this time. She cooked enticing meals like lamb stew and meatloaf. Most importantly, she generously shared them with me.
I still hopelessly tried to make an American dish every now and then, but I would only end up frustrated and yearning for home while my belly rumbled. I decided to see what Jane was cooking and went downstairs to her flat on the first floor. I knocked a couple of times, and she answered the door, wearing a dirty apron and wiping flour from her hands. Her freckled face broke into a smile, and she welcomed me in.
“Please, have a seat, Isabella. I was just finishing the liver sandwiches.” She went back into her kitchen and pulled a dish out of the oven.
“Liver sandwiches?” I wanted to grimace, but unless I was cooking for myself, I had no right to object.
“Well, it’s more like a meat-filled pastry.”
“Filled with liver?” As if I were supposed to overlook that fact.
“Not everyone in the world eats loads of fried cows and cheese.”
“This is going to be interesting.”
“I’m trying to follow the ration recipes from Woman’s Weekly.” She gestured toward the magazine on her coffee table.
“Is it that bad?” I went over and grabbed the magazine, flipping through its pages. I took a few moments to scan its housekeeping articles and recipes.
“If you went to buy food more often, you’d know.” She arranged the liver sandwiches on two plates and invited me to come sit with her at the dining table.
“You’re cooking an awful lot lately.” I took a bite and gave silent thanks that she had at least seasoned the meat.
“Well, I’m just honing my housekeeping skills, you know.” She bit into her sandwich and turned her left hand to reveal a diamond engagement ring on her finger. She must have slipped it on in the kitchen.
“Congratulations, Jane.” With a smile I got up and threw my arms around her. “I didn’t know...have I been away that long?”
“It was all so sudden, even I’m still surprised.” Her face simply glowed.
“Garret is a lucky man.” I frowned when she took it upon herself to plop another sliver of sandwich into my mouth. I wondered if she hid some stew or dumplings in the refrigerator and this was all to torture me.
“And it came at the perfect time. I was wondering last week what I was going to do with myself.”
My smile faded. “You were tired, weren’t you?”
She nodded and tears formed in her eyes. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I still believe in what we’re fighting for, but we all have to retire some time, right?”
“Sure we do.”
Jane’s sister, Anna, had been one of three Special Operations Executive agents arrested by Nazis last October in the Netherlands. She was immediately sentenced to death by firing squad. They had no pity on her because she was a woman; the SS shot her down and threw her body into a heaping pile of other victims.
“Besides,” she wiped her face, “I’m getting old and I want babies. All my girlfriends who I grew up with are married off and raising families.”
“Well I’m glad for you, Jane. You deserve a happy life with Garret.”
I asked her to recount the whole proposal from beginning to end. I asked to see her ring again and secretly felt a mixture of excitement and envy. Afterward, I offered to clear the table and wash dishes so she wouldn’t try to feed me anything else. We made small talk the rest of the time, and she reminded me about some letters she held for me. I thanked her and continued cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the counters and saving scraps of leftover food.
I couldn’t help but steal glances of her engagement ring every few minutes and savor the sweet smoothness of the gold it was made of. As an alchemist, I had a natural ability to taste the metallic essence of metals. I eyed the shining round-cut diamond set in the middle and wondered if I would cry or jump with excitement if someone ever proposed to me.
Though my life as a spy did have its share of excitement, I couldn’t deny the mental, physical, and even spiritual drain that this line of work had on me. I remembered days when I would refuse to get out of bed because weariness or distress had dragged me down. Even when Ian had sent a car for me, I wouldn’t answer. At other times I’d return from a mission with a stone cold face and impenetrable heart, and then, as soon as I stepped through my doorway, I would start bawling. I called it being tired, and I understood what Jane felt.
I wasn’t going to lie to myself. I wanted to be married one day, move somewhere close to my brother and his wife, and watch our kids grow up together. I wanted to be able to stroll through my quiet little neighborhood not having to wonder if the friendly neighbor down the street was an enemy operative with a gun behind his back. I wanted to be in control of how I lived, and I couldn’t reconcile this with living and dying by others’ orders.
“I should go back up to my flat. I’m going to Paris tomorrow.” I came back into the living room and leaned over the sofa to give Jane a peck on the cheek.
“Be careful, do you hear me?”
“You know I will, because I want to make it back for your wedding. When will it be?”
“March, of next year.” She got up and walked me over to the door.
“I think I can make it back by then.”
She laughed. “You’d better. And I want to come to yours one day.”
“I’d have to find a guy to stick with me first.”
We said our goodnights and I headed back upstairs, feeling loneliness creep upon me. I quickly changed, got into bed, and began browsing through the letters Jane gav
e me. Some were bills, others were solicitations for mail order catalogs, and, of course, I received my letter from Jonathan. I tossed the others aside and opened his cryptic letter, written under the pseudonym Sherman Woods.
I told him a long time ago that since I had access to “sensitive information in the ambassador’s office,” that my employer frowned upon casual and steady communication with family and friends. Johnnie took it upon himself to start writing me once a month using a silly code language we used to communicate in when we were children.
I always found his letters, and the effort he put into them, amusing and gratefully welcomed. In fact, I found the elaborate system we came up with quite impressive. The codes would actually work if I wanted to use them for a real mission. As I read his account of his weekly triumphs and worries, as well as how mother was faring, I wistfully thought of the look on his face if I were to just show up on his doorstep.
Well, perhaps I could do that once this mission was over. The sooner I extracted Heilwig and got rid of The Plague, the sooner I could be finished and truly go home. I slowly drifted into a restless sleep, hoping for this outcome, and of course, wondering what my final assignment would be like.
3
The cab driver flinched when he saw the bomb drop. It fell through the sky with a deadly grace, but I didn’t bat an eyelash. I pressed my hand against the window and reached out with my senses, making sure that a curse hadn’t been laid along with the bomb’s contents.
“Are you sure it’s safe to go to the air hangar?” He slowed the car.
“It was a leaflet bomber,” I told him, as we watched a multitude of folded papers eject from the bomb and swirl through the air. The empty container would land without incident, the propaganda leaflets would make their way into people’s hands—but hopefully not their hearts.
The Gray Tower Trilogy: Books 1-3 Page 2
