Every Jewish slander and every Jewish lie is a scar of honour on the body of our warriors. The man they have most reviled stands closest to us and the man they hate worst is our best friend.
—Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf
There was something to be said for a good day’s work done.
Andrée hadn’t felt so satisfied with the course of a day in so long that she had forgotten what it felt like. Her burden hadn’t been entirely removed from her shoulders, but it was easier to breathe today than it had been of late. She would be able to sleep without excessive thoughts or tears tonight and would be able to face the morrow with fresh energy.
She sighed contentedly as she rounded the landing, starting up the final stairs toward her flat. A smile spread its way across her face, and she imagined Ida slicing them both some bread to have with tea as they relaxed before retiring. She had missed dinner, which was not unusual, but Ida always seemed to have fresh bread for them even if Andrée had missed the meal.
She glanced up at their door and froze on the stairs.
A Nazi seal was across the door. That meant they had been inside, and it was forbidden for anyone but them to enter. It was illegal to break a Nazi seal. And they would know if . . .
Andrée swallowed hard, one hand going to her throat. She forced her feet to keep mounting the steps, unsure what she would find or what could have happened. Were they compromised? Had the Nazis found their documents? Ida had been hiding a few notebooks in their house since Esta had been taken, so if the Gestapo had searched the flat, it was entirely possible that they had found them.
Not that they would know how to read the notebooks, considering the sheer number of them and what was documented in each. But they would certainly know it was something, and it would put a great many people in danger.
The seal crossed the doorjamb, of course, so Andrée could not enter without breaking it. They would know she had been inside. And it might clue them into something they had missed.
If the flat was sealed now, then Ida could not be home.
Andrée stumbled back a step, staring at the seal in horror.
Ida.
Where was she? Had she been captured? Was she safe?
She had to know, had to find out, had to inform someone, if nothing else. Before anything else happened, before she looked into any other risks, she had to make certain that Ida was safe.
Andrée turned and flew down the stairs, not bothering to take care with her steps or their volume. If the building was being watched, if the Gestapo were lying in wait for her, they would know exactly where she was, but she didn’t care. She would risk it to get out of the building and find some answers.
She didn’t know where the CDJ headquarters were. Never had known. She knew only of the office she worked out of with Ida and the others in the children’s department in Rue du Trône. But she did know how to call in, and that would be enough for now.
Once out of the building, no one stopping her or even appearing, she raced for the nearest phone in the street. She did not dare hope that the place was not being watched, but as she had not been arrested yet, perhaps there was a little time.
But it could only be a little.
She put coins in, and dialed the number, her arms and legs quivering as though she were out in the middle of winter. She could barely keep still, her heart pounding in a thunderous way, her pulse seeming to echo in various parts of her body in random intervals. She wanted to run to some safe place, scream until her lungs collapsed, then curl into a ball in some corner and wait to be found by someone with the ability to console her.
“Hello?” answered a voice from the office.
“This is Claude,” Andrée said quickly, her voice trembling somehow more than her frame. “My flat has a Nazi seal on it. I don’t know where Jeanne is or what has happened.”
She heard rustling from the other end of the line, and a few other voices, though none of them were speaking to her directly.
“What do I do?” she asked before anyone could say more. “What’s happened? Do we know?”
“Jeanne was arrested during a meeting today,” came the would-be calm voice. “We had a report from her contact. They must have searched the flat.”
Andrée hissed and looked around, half expecting to see Fat Jacques poking his head out from one of the nearby bushes and waiting for her. “You know what Jeanne has there, right? We have to know if it’s safe. If any of us are safe.”
“Where are you now, Claude?” demanded the voice. “Are you safe?”
“For now,” she answered, still scanning her surroundings. “I’m on Rue de Belle-Vue, a block and a half from the flat. No watch seems to be in place.”
“Stay there. Is there shelter?”
Andrée turned to look behind her. “Yes, there’s a building of flats with a porch alcove I can wait in.”
“Do that. We’re sending Raoul to your location. You need to get into the flat. He’ll assist. Take anything you need from the flat along with the documents, then go to your office. We’ll rehouse you and get you new identity papers as soon as we can. You’ll be running the department now, Claude. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Andrée swallowed hard, nodding in spite of being alone. The nodding was not for the voice on the end of the line.
It was for herself.
She was now in charge of the children’s department of the CDJ. Esta was gone, Ida was gone, but she was still here. She and Paule and Claire, but she had been the one living with Ida and knew the details well. She was the one who had to get into the flat and retrieve the notebooks, if any were still there. If any of the books had fallen into the hands of the Gestapo, it would disrupt what they were working toward. Any information in the hands of the Gestapo was damaging, even if they would not understand it, nor comprehend what else was out there. They would not have all five books, as there were some still stashed in their office, but there were enough notebooks in the flat to compromise a significant portion of the operation.
And destroy countless lives.
This would all be on Andrée’s shoulders now. She would have to take on the stresses that she had seen Ida carry, and the weight of all the hidden children in their records. And all of the new requests that needed to be fulfilled. And all of the future requests that would come in.
There was no point in asking herself if she could do it. If she was up for the challenge. If she even wanted to take on all of this. None of that mattered. She would do it. She would meet the challenge. And she would do the very best that she possibly could to ensure that Esta and Ida had not been arrested in vain.
What she wanted had become immaterial ages ago, because ultimately, what she wanted was to see these Jewish children safe.
She’d go to the ends of the earth if required to do so.
She hung up the phone and shoved her shaking hands into her coat pockets, moving to the porch alcove she had mentioned only moments ago. It was not quite a hiding spot, but it would keep her out of plain view of the street, and if it started to rain, which was always a risk this time of year, she would be protected from that.
It was a small consideration now, rain. A mild inconvenience, but it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change her mood. Wouldn’t impact her night in any significant way. Wouldn’t be a soothing song to help her sleep.
Wouldn’t be anything at all, really.
Maybe it should rain. It might complete the morose picture the evening presented. It should rain on depressing occasions just for the sake of having the weather match her emotions.
She had no idea how long it would take Raoul to get to her location. She didn’t even know who Raoul was. Not that it mattered. Anyone from the CDJ would have been a stranger to her apart from those who had worked with her. If the main office felt that Raoul was the best person to help her get into her flat and remove what was most important, she would trust them.
How they were going to keep the Nazis from seeking her out, she wasn’t sure. Her name was on the lease documents for the flat. It was a false name, of course, but if they knew Ida, they could easily know Andrée.
Andrée leaned against the wall of the building, looking up into the lantern-shaped light above her, letting her mind move to Ida.
What was she enduring now? Had they sent her straight to Malines? Was she being held somewhere in town? Interrogated? Harmed? Did they know who she really was?
Was she afraid?
Ida had been such a help to her in the time that they’d been working together. Such a mentor and a dear friend. None of this work Andrée had done or would do would have been possible without Ida’s devotion and determination. Her commitment to the vision of the CDJ. Her certainty of their mission. Her complete sacrifice of her own safety and security to the greater good of these Jewish children.
She was truly the heart and the backbone of their operations.
How Andrée would manage without her, she could not imagine. How any of them could do this without her remained to be seen. But it was what they had to do, and she would have to have the patience to wait until they had answers regarding Ida’s condition.
They had the ability to get certain information into Malines, if need be, and some information could come out of it. The Heibers had been kept in Malines, for whatever reason, rather than sent on to Breendonk or a worse camp. Perhaps it was Maurice’s connection to the AJB that had kept them there. Perhaps it had been intervention from influential individuals. There were a great many possibilities, none of which Andrée was privy to.
What had happened to Ghert Jospa, however, was a mystery.
He was certainly not in Malines, but more than that was not known.
They would be able to find some information about Ida when some time had passed. How much would depend on what was done and when.
And then they might know if there was any intervention to be made.
“Claude?”
Andrée turned her head to her left, seeing a tall man in a dark coat and flap cap, his jaw covered in scruff. “Raoul?”
He nodded once.
Andrée did as well, wondering if the motion shook as much as her body seemed to. Fear gripped her, licking at every joint and limb with the sting of a fire and the foreboding of being tied to a stake.
Was she about to learn of the utter destruction of all of this? Or might there be a glimmer of hope for them all?
Or, worse still, might there be Nazis within the flat, waiting for her arrival?
She forced the sense of doom down with a swallow, then pushed off the wall and indicated the way toward her flat with a nod of her head. “This way.”
They started the block and a half walk, saying nothing. Andrée knew what her task was, and she figured Raoul did as well, and likely to more detail. What was there to discuss?
To her surprise, Raoul did not move toward the door of the building when she did. Instead, he tilted his head away from it, and Andrée followed, more curious than fearful.
He led her around the corner of the building and pointed up at the windows, silently asking which was hers.
Was he completely daft? How could they possibly climb their way up to the second story windows of her flat? Even if she would be capable of such a thing, she was not dressed for anything so extreme. Plus her legs had not stopped shaking since she had noticed the Nazi seal.
But needs must, she supposed, and she walked toward the far corner, pointing up to the two windows closest to it.
Raoul nodded and looked around the small side street for a moment before moving to the rain barrel at the corner and waving Andrée over.
“Stand here,” he told her in a low voice. “I’ll help you hoist up along the drainpipe to that flower box there.” He pointed to the ledge of the flower box that hung from Ida’s window, though no flowers had grown there yet. “You should be able to edge your way close enough to reach the railing of the second window and secure yourself there.”
Andrée nodded as she looked up at her path, every swallow and breath within her burning in her throat and chest in anticipation.
“Are the windows locked?”
She blinked, trying to think back to that morning. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I may have latched them.”
“Not a problem,” Raoul told her easily. “I can take care of that. We’ll get to the railing and take things from there.”
Before she had too much time to think, Andrée moved to the rain barrel and took Raoul’s hand to get up on it. She gripped the drainpipe and looked up its length, feeling a firm resolution seep between the cracks of her abject fear.
She would get into that flat and retrieve the notebooks. There was no other alternative. She would not give the Nazis more time to examine the space and discover their location, if they had not done so already. She had risked her life for this operation, and this was simply another avenue she must risk it on.
“Ready?” Raoul asked from his position on the ground.
Andrée did not even bother nodding. She raised her right foot to the tiny bracket and used it to steady herself as she reached higher on the pipe. She pulled herself up as high as she could, clenching her legs around the cold metal of the pipe. She reached up again and heaved with all her might, feeling as though she were only moving a few inches at a time and yet a mile.
Raoul was soon under her, pressing her legs further up and giving her a steadier base of support. He tapped her feet and brought one to his shoulders, holding it tight. Once both of her feet were secure on his frame, she could reach higher still and repeat the almost agonizing motions of dragging herself up the pipe’s length.
Yet the flower box was nearly within range now. She could see it clearly, and a few more times pulling herself along would have her there.
Just a few more times.
Again and again, she reached along the pipe, arms shaking with the effort of holding her own weight as she tried to move and maintain her hold on it. Her thighs shook with the pressure of keeping her secure, and her fingers throbbed with the tension she was forcing into them. The smoothness of the metal did not help, and she slipped a time or two, but never more than a fraction or two, mercifully.
Then suddenly, the top of the flower box was within reach, and Andrée raised her hands as high as she could on the pipe, groaning as she pulled herself up just a bit further. She stretched her leg out until her shoe was firmly on the flower box, then reached her hand out for the top of the window.
All she had to do was lean forward. Lean and trust that she was stable enough to keep from falling.
Holding her breath, she gave over to the motion and somehow gasped at the same time as her other foot found purchase on the flower box, her free hand gripping the cool stone above the window for her very life. A surge of elation rushed through her, but she could not revel in it. Not yet.
Easing her way along the flower box, Andrée kept her eyes on the railing of the next window. That was her way in. There was not space enough here to do so, but the area might as well have been a full terrace in comparison to this one.
The railing was an easy reach from her position, and she gripped it hard as she swung her body over, sliding her feet between the balusters and onto the small platform. She climbed over the top of the railing quickly and checked the window while Raoul followed her path along the pipe and window box, doing so with more speed and ease than Andrée had managed, naturally.
“I think it’s latched,” Andrée murmured when he reached her. “Sorry.”
He waved that off and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. He flipped the blade open and reached for the separation of the two windows. He slid the blade along the tiny gap, then quickly twisted his wrist. Andrée heard the telltale click of the window latch sliding back.
Together, they pried open the windows and climbed into the flat.
As she had feared, the place had been overturned from top to bottom. Her bedroom was in complete disarray, and, further into the flat, things only got worse.
Drawers in the kitchen were open, books had been yanked off the shelf, the cushions had been tossed from the couch, and she could see from her position that the other bedroom had been gone over with just as much enthusiasm. There was an odd sense of violation in seeing her home like this, something like offense and vulnerability at the same time, and a hint of humiliation to top off the emotional cacophony.
A general sense of rawness, really.
For a moment, all she could do was stare at the mess.
Raoul came up behind her, whistling low. “What do you think?”
Right. They had a task to do. She could not afford to be emotional about this.
Andrée immediately looked at the rug in front of the couch. It lay perfectly intact, perfectly in line, and perfectly undisturbed. She moved forward and crouched, flipping the rug back and exposing the floorboards beneath. Pressing a corner of one of the boards, she pried up the now raised opposite edge, pulling the board off entirely.
Three notebooks sat in the newly exposed space, just as Ida had placed them.
A rush of air burst out of Andrée’s lungs. Tears filled her eyes, and she managed to smile in spite of them. “All good. Safe and secure.” She pulled them out and replaced the board before rising and tucking the books under her arm.
Raoul also wore a smile. “Perfect. Did you need to pick up anything for yourself?”
“Probably.” She returned to her bedroom, pulling a carpetbag from her bureau and putting the notebooks safely within. Other items were scattered all over the room, and suddenly she didn’t care much about what she took with her. Sighing, she began picking up just a few things from the floor, tossing them into her bag haphazardly.
She clasped her bag and left, turning to Ida’s room more for observation than anything else. It had also been tossed, no rhyme or reason to any of it, and the bureau sat open.
Andrée smiled very slightly at the sight of it, knowing one thing for certain now. “Raoul? They must have brought her here. A bag is gone that she did not take this morning.”
“Really?” The note of encouragement in his tone bolstered Andrée as well. “Then she would have seen . . .”
“Exactly,” Andrée answered as he trailed off. “She knows they don’t have the books.” She turned from the room and grinned at Raoul. “There’s that, at least, right?”
He nodded, returning her smile. “Absolutely.” He nodded at the bag in her hand. “Ready?”
“Ready.” She glanced around the flat without emotion, exhaling with a new sense of satisfaction. “Absolutely ready.”
They returned to her window, climbed out, and closed the windows behind them. With annoyingly lithe movements, Raoul swung his legs over the top of the railing and lowered himself until he was only gripping the platform of the window. Then he suddenly dropped.
Andrée rushed to the edge, looking down in horror.
He stood perfectly well, looking up at her and brushing his hands off. “Toss down the bags.”
Andrée did so. She hoped he wouldn’t expect her to be so haphazard on the way down. It looked a lot further down than it had looked up.
Once the bags were down, Raoul peered back up at her. “Swing over and lower yourself down gently. I’ll move this crate over to stand on so I can reach you faster. Just a short drop, but I’ll have you.”
There was no question in his voice, no offer of another way, so Andrée swallowed the fire in her throat and hooked one leg over the top of the railing, then the other. She turned to face the building and allowed herself a very small breath before crouching down and gripping the balusters with quivering, clenching fingers. She forced her feet out from under her, arms trembling as she carefully lowered herself down.
Her legs swung a little as she tried to find Raoul’s grip but felt nothing there. Exhaling in short gasps, she forced her right hand to move to the platform, then the left, and lowered herself further.
“Nearly there,” Raoul called up.
Andrée closed her eyes and let herself hang fully from the ledge.
Hands clamped around her ankles hard. “Right, don’t crumple. Let me pull you.” Raoul guided her feet to his shoulders, then raised his hands to her knees.
Her fingers ached as her body stretched, her muscles screaming at her with the anxiety of letting go.
“Lock your knees, lock your core,” Raoul instructed, “and let go.”
Andrée bit her lip and did so, going as stiff as she dared, and was startled to find his hold on her perfectly secure.
“Right, then,” Raoul told her in a much calmer voice. “Crouch down and climb off me, then we can get out of here.”
It took a few moments of rather monkeylike antics that reminded her of some of their dear children, but then she was down on the ground, and so was he.
That was that, then.
“I’ll escort you to Rue du Trône, if that’s all right with you,” Raoul said almost absently as they walked out of the side street and back onto the main road. “I don’t anticipate any problems, but we must be certain after what happened with Jeanne.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew where the office was,” Andrée replied, giving him a quick look.
He shrugged. “I didn’t before tonight. We know what we need to know when we need to know it.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She twisted her mouth in thought. “Do you know what happened with Jeanne today?”
“Some. She was meeting with a contact from the AJB. They questioned the other woman first. Apparently Fat Jacques thought she looked Jewish, so he asked the questions. She presented her AJB card, which spared her arrest, but he didn’t trust Jeanne’s papers.”
“Jacques himself arrested her?” Andrée shook her head, sputtering in disbelief. “What are the odds? That man is a vulture.”
Raoul snorted softly. “He is, indeed. Much to answer for. Anyway, Jeanne had the presence of mind to pull her documents from her bag and hide them at the table. Her contact found them after the arrest and took them to safety. It’s been retrieved, so I suppose it’s your information to use now, isn’t it?”
That was a humbling thought. Ida’s work was now Andrée’s work. Her contacts were now Andrée’s contacts. Her meetings were now Andrée’s meetings.
There would be much to do, and not much time to adjust to the change.
Andrée continued walking toward the office on Rue du Trône, now doing so silently. There was too much to consider, too much work to do. As far as they knew, Ida was alive. If they allowed her to pack a bag from her flat, they were either maniacal or not planning to kill her immediately. If they thought she had valuable information, which seemed to be the idea, given the state of the flat, they would probably keep her alive as long as possible for the information she possessed.
If she was that valuable a capture for them, then interrogation would be her fate.
Ida was in her forties, and her health was good. But what sort of tolerance would she have for the pain they could inflict upon her?
How would she do if they sent her to a camp?
People are being burnt.
Andrée shook her head, desperate to clear the words she’d first heard nearly a year ago. She refused to contemplate the possibility of Ida being sent to a camp like that. Refused to allow the worst-case scenario to become the truth in her mind. Refused to give into the abject despair so easily accessible in these times and circumstances.
Ida was one of the strongest women that Andrée knew. If anyone could endure the troubles that would be inflicted upon them, it was Ida. If anyone was determined enough to withstand trials, it was Ida. If anyone could give the Nazis as good as they got, it was Ida.
And Andrée was not going to let Ida down.
She was going to live up to the expectations that Esta and Ida had set for the children’s sector of the CDJ. She was going to continue the work they started and make certain there was no lapse in the quality of their care and their efforts. She was going to do everything she could to get as many children out of danger as possible.
She was going to do this.
How, she wasn’t sure. But the how did not matter as much at this point as did the conviction to do so. The details did not matter. The complications did not matter. The pressures, the stresses, the dangers, the burdens—none of it mattered.
The children mattered. The families mattered. The operatives mattered.
The work mattered.
And Andrée was going to get it done.