“She must not have known you well, then,” I whispered. “You’d never betray someone you loved like that.”
“I’d like to think not,” he said carefully, then he cleared his throat. “You just never know what people will do under pressure-cooker circumstances. And I do think it drove her a bit mad that she had no clue what was happening to me for the time I was missing. Before I was MIA for that year, she was just bright and bold and vivacious and lovely. But once I came back, she wanted to control just about every aspect of our lives. And besides…”
“…besides?” I repeated, startled. But the darkness of our apartment had been a shroud of privacy and secrecy, and as the silence stretched, it started to feel dangerous. Noah shifted suddenly, to prop himself up on his elbow.
“We never crossed a line,” he whispered. “But she was right to be jealous anyway. You and I shared an experience that other people just could never understand and right from the early days, when we were traveling out of France and we barely knew one another, I’ve felt close to you in a way that seems…”
Now, I understood. I shifted too, propping myself up on my elbow so that we were face-to-face.
“Our bond is unique. It’s just utterly unique.”
“Exactly.”
“That leaves us vulnerable here on our mission, you know.”
“We won’t let it get in the way of our work. It hasn’t so far.”
“I’m not a distraction to you?”
I heard him draw in a shuddering breath at that, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to kiss me. But instead, he turned and collapsed down onto his back to stare at the ceiling, and his voice was tender as he answered, “Only in the very best kind of way.”
The next transmission via Adrien’s wireless set changed everything.
“Have you ever heard such nonsense?” Noah gasped as he read it. “More than one hundred people are dead! Hundreds injured! And Baker Street is determined to attempt another air strike even though they still have no clue what went wrong the first time!”
I was sitting on the bed while Noah paced back and forth, still shaking with anger. Another airstrike was coming within days. Even Adrien, our levelheaded “pianist,” was shaken by the news.
The next time Noah passed me as he paced, I caught his forearm and turned him to face me. His eyes were shining with what I understood were tears of guilt and frustration.
“Every day that passes counts,” I said, dropping my voice. “That’s why Baker Street is talking about another air strike. If we don’t move fast, the bombs that factory produces will take lives on the other side of the Channel. That’s why this is urgent, Noah. We need to convince them there’s a better way.”
“How else can we destroy a factory of that size?” Noah asked, raw anguish in his voice. “We’ve been over this a million times. There is no other way.”
I’d been stewing on an idea all week, trying to find the courage to suggest it. I still felt anxious to speak aloud something so outlandish—but it was clear we were out of time. I tugged Noah’s arm, and he sank onto the bed. I crossed my legs on the mattress as I turned to face him.
“While I was at work today, Jullien mentioned that Fernand Sauvage has been donating money and supplies to help rebuild the villages. Huge sums. He immediately understood that his factory was the target. And it’s no surprise at all that he figured that out. A bombing raid of that size in a region like this could only mean one thing, yes?”
“I don’t see how that helps us,” Noah said, his gaze searching mine.
“What if we appealed to Sauvage directly.” Noah blinked at me as his mouth dropped open in shock. In a rush, I tried to explain. “I just mean…what if we go see him and explain that his factory is going to be destroyed one way or another. The choice as to how that happens can be his. If he was willing to help us, to share with us the blueprints and maybe even to let us store explosives there on site somewhere, we really could destroy the whole factory safely. From the ground. In a single night.”
“You don’t seriously mean to suggest we expose ourselves to Sauvage to ask him permission to destroy his family’s business?”
“I know it seems crazy,” I said urgently, as I reached to take his hands in mine. “But if we cannot present an alternate plan to Baker Street, they will attempt another bombing raid and they seem to have already given up figuring out what went wrong with the first one. How many other innocent lives could be lost if they try a second time?”
“How do we know we can trust Sauvage?”
“We don’t,” I said simply. Noah flinched as if I’d slapped him. “But Jullien is a good man. I’m sure of it, and that’s always been your instinct too, right? That’s why you wanted to recruit him before we fully understood the situation with Mégane and the children.”
Noah ran his hands through his hair, then gave me another incredulous look.
“This is madness.”
“We present it to Sauvage as a choice—his choice. The factory will be destroyed either way but if he supports us, we can make sure it’s done safely.”
“I need to think about this,” Noah mumbled, glancing at me in disbelief. “Either you’ve lost your mind altogether, or you’re a genius.”
“Both things could be true simultaneously,” I joked weakly, and Noah barked a laugh.
When I arrived home from my work at the Travers house the next day, Noah was at the dining room table in our apartment, staring at a slip of paper. He had a pencil in his hand, and he tapped the end on the table anxiously.
“Still thinking about what we discussed last night?” I asked him softly as I sat beside him. Noah did not look up. I glanced down at the paper. In his now-familiar scrawl, he’d written the words flowers blossom in the spring.
“I needed to know if we had a chance of making your idea work before I took it to Baker Street,” he said.
“Okay…”
Noah looked up at me, his gaze brimming with anxiety.
“I cycled to Jacou and called from a pay phone. I just called the factory and asked to speak to Sauvage. His secretary didn’t want to put me through but I told her it was life or death. I told him that I am an agent of the British government and that his suspicions about the factory being the target of that last air raid were correct. I told him it’s inevitable that the factory will be destroyed. I told him that there may be a way that we can ensure it is done safely.”
I held my breath as I waited for him to continue. When he just stared at me, I prompted impatiently, “Noah! What did he say?”
“He didn’t believe me at first. Not about the bombing—it’s abundantly clear he understands his factory was the target. He didn’t believe that I am who I said I am so I told him I’d arrange proof. He’s going to listen to Radio Londres tomorrow at seven a.m.” The Nazis prohibited the French from listening to the BBC station broadcast from London to France, but many French citizens kept a secret wireless receiver for the explicit purpose of tuning in. The broadcasts were mostly intended to counter Nazi propaganda and to motivate the French resistance, but from time to time they were also used to communicate messages to agents like us in the field—seemingly innocent phrases that communicated a deeper meaning. Noah dropped the pencil onto the paper and jabbed at the words with his forefinger. “If he hears this message on Radio Londres tomorrow, he’ll give us everything we need.” Noah looked up at me. “He doesn’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”