The Paris Agent(41)
“If you’re kept in a cell with someone who appears to be an ally, don’t fall for it,” Noah added urgently. “And when they do release you—be careful! They might let you out just to watch your movements so assume you’re being watched.”
“Speak slowly, clearly and firmly,” I added. “Don’t attempt heroics or argue. Deny everything that you cannot easily explain, but don’t lie unless you absolutely cannot avoid it. Keep your answers as close to the truth as you can without giving yourselves away.”
“Marcel. Chloe,” Sauvage said gently. “Thank you for your advice, but whatever happens, we did what’s right and we can only do our best from there.”
Sauvage was arrested the morning after the explosion, and most of his senior staff, including Jullien, were arrested in the days that followed. Jullien and the other staff were released within days, but they held Sauvage for a full week.
In the meantime, the town had become a hotbed of suspicion. German officers of all stripes swarmed upon the place and I couldn’t move much beyond the apartment without having my papers checked. Noah had temporarily abandoned all other operations within the circuit—no more training for the local network, no more late-night meetings. Adrien and I communicated only via dead drop, exchanging notes at a series of hidden locations.
“This will all blow over,” Noah kept assuring me, and I believed him, but I was starting to worry about Adrien. The notes he left with each transmission from Baker Street seemed ever more alarming.
One of my contacts was arrested today—just after I broadcast from her apartment.
Suspect there is a D/F vehicle in town. Several close calls this week.
It’s becoming more and more difficult to find somewhere to broadcast.
I was almost picked up today.
Mégane told me a rumor she’d heard via their new nanny.
“Germans were waiting when the service at the church ended this morning. They detained anyone who was carrying a bag, then they checked all around the place—they even searched the attics of the buildings nearby.”
Adrien had established a series of places to broadcast from, all around the town and even on farms outside of it. That church was one of his most convenient spots. He had an arrangement with the priest and could access the spire.
“Adrien might need to go silent for a while,” I suggested to Noah.
“He’s our only channel to London, Josie,” he said uneasily. “He can’t go silent.”
We had done so much good, but now everything had been put on pause, and every day it seemed like more innocent locals were being dragged in for questioning. I was most distressed to hear the local shoemaker had been violently interrogated after the Gestapo became inexplicably convinced he knew something about the destruction of the factory. I walked past the shoe repair shop days later. The shoemaker was back at work, sporting two black eyes and what looked to be a broken arm.
“We did that to him,” I said, throat tight. “Indirectly, of course, but it was still a consequence of our work.”
“I feel guilty every single time I recruit someone into the circuit—what if they’re found out? What if they’re beaten or killed?” Noah told me. “We have to accept that sometimes innocent people will suffer as we reach for a greater good. I hate it too—but we have done good work here. Every day we work toward the end of the war means these innocent locals are a day closer to freedom too.”
The following day, I left the house early, intending to collect some meat for dinner. On the sidewalk outside of the first store, two SS officers were stopping people as they passed. As I neared, one asked me for my papers. This was a regular occurrence, and I wasn’t fazed in the least—not even as the first officer skimmed my identity card, or the second asked me where I was going and stared intently at me as I explained the morning’s chores.
“We’re looking for a British man,” the first one told me as he returned my papers to my hand. It was all I could do to maintain eye contact with him. My stomach had dropped and there was a buzzing in my ears. “Possibly going by the name Adrien. Brown hair, straight and thick, possibly with green or brown eyes.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I don’t know anyone like that.”
I went about town just as I’d planned after they dismissed me, intentionally taking my time just in case someone was watching me, even though my stomach was in knots. Noah was sitting at the table studying a map when I got home. I set down my bags of produce and rushed to his side.
“Noah,” I whispered frantically. “This is not going to blow over.”
We didn’t have much time—and even fewer options—to deal with Adrien’s situation. His cover was blown, and one way or another, he would need to move on from Montbeliard. Baker Street decided they would evacuate him to London, but with the full moon only days away, this would happen right away.
Two nights later, Noah, Adrien and I stood in the tree line around a short field, waiting to hear the drone of the engine so we could guide the Lysander to the ground with the battery-powered torches in our hands. The air was still, the moon a perfect, silver circle above us. I felt a heaviness in my chest that went beyond the gravity and danger of the moment.
The months I shared with Noah in that little studio in the Travers’ backyard had been the most intense period of my life. There had been no time to stop and reflect on the emotional roller coaster—the lows of the bombing mishap, the highs of the destruction operation, the bliss of falling so deeply in love with Noah. There had been no time to question what the future looked like, to wonder what would come for us in the short term, and the longer term. Adrien’s departure seemed the beginning of a new chapter. The uncertainty of what came next was something I could no longer ignore.