CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SIMONE
One hour and far too much awkward silence later, they were finally allowed into the keg cellar that smelled of wet and yeast. Beside her, Phillip nearly choked at the pitiful receiver they’d been using to listen to Resistance communiqués. “I’m amazed you can even get a signal with this thing.”
“It’s verboten to buy anything more powerful,” Jürgen said with a shrug. “And even if it weren’t, it’s a sure way to expose yourself as a spy.”
“How did you learn the transmission codes? Where to listen?” Simone asked.
“My mother has friends in Paris who connected us. They promised we could do some good,” Ilse said.
“Well?” Phillip turned toward Simone, lips pressed into a thin line. “Shall we get to work?”
She didn’t know him well, but it was palpable, his reluctance. It was heavy in her, too. Neither of them trusted these bumbling fools, these pampered Germans who played at Resistance like it was a low-stakes dominos game. They only placed bets with spare change, and not their very lives. It made Simone sick to think how very many lives they’d be placing in these idiots’ hands as fresh bargaining chips.
But then she thought of the Magpie, waiting expectantly on the other side of the vast fields of static. They were running out of time: to gather intelligence on Wewelsburg, to stop Rebeka’s brother, and then, if they knew what was good for them, to flee this cursed forest for good.
“Let’s do it,” Simone said.
Phillip let out his breath. Trusting her. She hoped that trust wasn’t misplaced.
“All right.” Phillip rubbed his hands together. “First, I’m going to switch out your power source. This thing you’ve got is barely better than a crystal diode. Then we’ll get you set up with the huff-duff foilers and a TX box—uh, a transmitter, that is. Then, if it looks like everything’s functioning as it should, I’ll leave you with this—” He held up the device he’d designed, the frequency folder. “This will cover all your encryption and decryption needs, and confuse even the most dedicated direction finders. You can get rid of all of this.” He waved his hand at the stack of loose papers they’d been using to unscramble the Resistance ciphers. “Under one condition.”
They all stared at him wide-eyed.
“At the first hint, and I mean the very first hint, that someone might stumble across it, you take your shoe and you smash that cipher box.” He pantomimed crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Smash it as hard as you can.”
After a fair bit of work and some creative rearrangement of the cellar’s circuitry, they had a functioning transmission station. The German kids crowded around it like it was a new toy, arguing over whose information would get sent out first, but Simone spoke up anxiously.
“Actually, I need to transmit something.”
The Germans looked at each other; Jürgen shrugged and headed back upstairs to entertain his patrons.
“We were supposed to report in to the Magpie once we reached Wewelsburg,” Simone said in a low voice to Phillip. “I don’t know if the network ever received our previous message, but . . .”
“But?” Phillip asked, one eyebrow raised. Simone didn’t answer, her jaw tightening. Stupid, wishful thinking on her part. Could she really ask him to trust her once more?
With a sigh, Phillip stationed himself at the transmission station and switched on the encryption box. “All right, what should we send?”
Simone tugged at the sleeves of her hunting jacket, pulling them down over her hands. “Send it urgent to Magpie. Say that . . . that we’ve reached Wewelsburg and are ready to gather any shiny bits the Magpie requires. Standing by.”
Phillip tapped out the message slowly, painstakingly, the dits and dahs taking an eternity. It dropped out into the ether, and across Europe, hidden in basements just like this one, men and women hunched over their radios turned down low and rushed to scribble down the message before it slipped out of their grasp. But none called back out. The receiver stayed quiet.
“Sorry.” Simone shrank into her jacket, her stomach sinking. “I guess I just thought—”
MAGPIE. TX BEGINS.
Phillip scrambled to grab a pencil. Simone almost ripped it from his hand, then thought better, and wrapped her arms around herself as he rushed to transcribe the new message. She hovered at his shoulder like a bird ready to spook.
YOUR MAGPIE WELCOMES ALL SHINIES FOR HER NEST, the message continued. CAN PROVIDE LIMITED SUPPORT.
“Ilse! Ilse, where are you?”
Jürgen rushed back down the stairs, his face flushed. Simone gritted her teeth, willing Phillip to concentrate on the Morse code while the Germans gathered in excited, rushed tones.
ENTERING CAMELOT BUT SOME CHANNELS COMPROMISED, Simone answered. CAN YOU HELP US?
TIME LIMITED, Phillip transcribed as the response came in. CAN ARRANGE SAFE EXTRACTION AFTER TWO HOURS—
“You’re needed at the Castle. Kreutzer’s orders. The guards are waiting for you upstairs.”
—BUT THIS NETWORK UNSAFE, the response finished. ADVISE ON NEXT STEPS, OVER.
The floor opened up beneath her, the sinkhole that was her heart threatening to swallow her alive. Could this Magpie really be her Evangeline? Her flighty, thieving, mischievous girl. She had been orchestrating countless tiny coups, not the ones that lived in her own head like Ilse’s and Jürgen’s did, but the thousand cuts that just might strike the right artery. The bitterness Simone had felt that swollen April night still burned inside her—it had grown pleasant to hold on to—but no, even that comfort was washed away in this new flood of relief.
“Yes,” Simone pleaded. “Tell her we’ll take the two hours.”
Phillip watched Simone for a moment, and for once in her life, she was too happy to want to hide her happiness behind the shield of her scorn. He laughed once, quick, to himself, and began to type out their response.
“What’s going on?” Ilse asked, crowding over Simone’s shoulder.
Her shrill voice brought Simone back to earth. She turned toward the Germans, Jürgen and his rosy cheeks. Rebeka unfolded her arms from where she’d been lurking in the shadows and stepped closer, eyebrows drawn.
“Why do they need Ilse at the castle?” Rebeka asked.
“They captured a Jewish boy inside the castle compound. Apparently he’d made his way into Dr. Kreutzer’s office. Was trying to assassinate him.”
Rebeka sucked in her breath like she’d been punched in the gut. Simone felt the blow, too. She could only think of one Jewish boy stupid and angry enough to try just that.
“Kreutzer wants your assistance with the questioning,” Jürgen said.