| |
––––––––
Zürich
Evelyn waited until the door closed softly behind Herr Brunner before turning her attention to the medium-sized, steel box he had left on the desk. Opening her purse, she pulled out the key from the house in Blasenflue. After one more glance at the closed office door, she inserted the key into the lock with trembling fingers. There was a faint click and she lifted the lid in some trepidation. Somehow, knowing that her father had left whatever was inside solely to her only increased her nervousness, which in turn thoroughly irritated her. There was no reason for her fingers to be shaking like this, or for her heart to be pounding. It didn’t matter that a spy in London had broken into Ainsworth Manor presumably in search of what was inside this box. She was perfectly safe for the moment, locked in Herr Brunner’s office. In fact, she couldn’t think of a safer place to be than inside a bank. So why were her muscles trembling at the thought of finally discovering what all the fuss was about?
Evelyn flipped the lid of the box back to lay on the desk. Inside was a stack of papers with a sealed envelope laying on top, her name written across it in her father’s familiar hand. Swallowing, Evelyn lifted out the envelope and opened it, pulling out a single sheet of paper. It was a letter, and she scanned it quickly, smiling at the familiar phrasing that her father had been wont to use. The smile, however, turned into a frown by the time she got to the end, and Evelyn tucked it back into the envelope with a deep sense of foreboding. What her father asked in the letter seemed fantastically impossible, yet she had no choice. She must do as he asked. He had made that very clear.
She set the letter aside and turned her attention to the stack of papers inside the box. Lifting them out, she went through them slowly, the frown on her face deepening. The first three were covered with hand-drawn diagrams of something that looked like a motor, but it was unlike any motor Evelyn had ever seen. She turned each sheet on its side, and then upside down, trying to make sense of the strange drawings. She shook her head. It was clearly a motor. Her familiarity with the Lagonda’s engine had always held her in good stead, and now was no different. She knew a motor when she saw one. She just had absolutely no idea what kind of motor she was looking at.
After studying the three sheets for a few minutes, she finally admitted defeat and set them aside, reaching for the last remaining item in the box. Pulling out a long envelope, she opened it to find four sheets of microfiche. She raised an eyebrow and held them up to the light. They looked like a combination of typewritten pages and photographs, but she couldn’t make out what the photographs were, let alone anything typed on the pages. She would need a machine to examine them properly. As she slid them back into the envelope, she frowned once again. Her father’s instructions in the letter made that difficult as well.
Evelyn stared into the empty box, her heart fluttering in her chest. This was it. This was where the trail ended. A few sheets of paper, a few sheets of microfiche, and a letter that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, except to instruct her to do something that went against everything she believed in. This was what he’d left her, fully expecting that she would do what had to be done; fully expecting her to know what that was.
And she had absolutely no idea what to do.
Exhaling, Evelyn picked up the leather pouch that Herr Brunner had brought along with the box, grateful for his consideration and forethought. She slid everything into the pouch, removed the key from the lock, and closed the box just as a soft knock fell on the office door.
“Yes, come in!” she called, tying the pouch closed with the leather tie.
Herr Brunner entered the office carrying two thick ledgers in one arm, and a briefcase in his other hand.
“I’ve arranged to have some coffee brought in,” he said, walking over to the desk. “I’ll take you through the numbered accounts, and you can decide what you would like to do. Of course, I hope that you feel comfortable maintaining the accounts in your father’s name, but that is your choice now.”
“This is all very surreal,” Evelyn said with a smile, seating herself and setting the leather pouch with her purse beside her.
Herr Brunner nodded and laid the ledgers on the desk. He picked up the empty box and moved it to a side table a few feet away.
“I do understand,” he said. “It’s always difficult when a loved one passes on in the best of circumstances, but it is especially hard when you have to try to sort out affairs that you knew nothing about. I’m sure it’s all very overwhelming.”
He seated himself behind the desk and smiled at her. “It’s my sincere desire to try to make this as easy for you as possible. Before we begin with the numbered accounts, what would you like to do with the safe deposit box? It was paid in full for a term of 15 years. You are, of course, welcome to maintain the box, or we can cancel it and roll over the difference of cost into one of the numbered accounts.”
“I’d like to keep it, please.”
“Of course. You do, of course, have the option to allow a member of your family to have access to the box. Your brother, perhaps?”
“Not yet,” Evelyn said slowly. “For now, I’d like to be the only one with access, at least until I can think better what to do.”
“Very well. In that case, I’ll leave the box in your father’s name, giving you sole access as his beneficiary. I’ll have to draw up fresh papers, and you will, of course, have to fill out the same form that your father did with instructions, etc., in the event of your death.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Herr Brunner nodded, but before he could say anything a soft knock fell on the door. A moment later it opened and a young woman pushed in a trolley with cups, saucers and a coffee pot.
“Ah, here is the coffee. Thank you, Fraulein Brun.” Herr Brunner stood and went around the desk to take control of the cart. “That will be all.”
The young woman nodded and smiled politely at Evelyn before turning and leaving the office. Herr Brunner poured coffee into two cups and carried one over to hand it to her.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said with a smile.
He carried his cup around the desk and sat down, taking a sip. Then he set it down with a clink, and settled his eyeglasses on his nose.
“Well then, shall we get started?”
Bellevue Palace Hotel
May 18
Evelyn stubbed her cigarette out in the crystal ashtray on the writing desk near the window, glancing over her shoulder at the leather briefcase sitting on her bed. It was early afternoon and she had arrived on the train from Zürich an hour before. She had spent the entire trip considering her options. Even now, she wasn’t sure of the best way to proceed. Her father, it seemed, had left quite a bit more than a nest egg in the accounts in Zürich, leading her to keep all the accounts open with the exception of one. The account with the lowest balance she closed out, and Herr Brunner had deposited the cash into the leather briefcase. The amount of money in the case was staggering, even by her standards, and Evelyn was loathe to haul it across France. But what else could she do? She was unable to set up a bank account here in Switzerland herself. Herr Brunner had made that abundantly clear. There was, of course, the option of leaving the suitcase with Philip here in the hotel, trusting that he didn’t get curious and pick the lock to get it open. But the thought of leaving that amount of money in the hands of a man she’d just met made her feel ill. As far as she could see, the only choice she had was to take it with her. But hauling a briefcase full of cash across France in the midst of an invasion? It was a terrible idea.
Picking up her purse, Evelyn pulled out the key to the briefcase. Crossing to the bed, she unlocked and opened it, staring down at the neat rows of Swiss francs placed inside. Aside from the dilemma of what to do with it, her mind was still spinning with the fact that her father had set up multiple accounts in Switzerland that could only have been for emergency cash while he was traveling. But the very fact that the solicitors knew nothing about it, nor did Robbie, made her question where the money had come from. If it had been part of his estate, the solicitors would have questioned such a large amount of money not being included with the rest when he died. On the other hand, if it had been cash that MI6 had given him for operating costs on the continent, they would certainly want it back. Yet they seemed to know nothing about it either.
It was all rather a tangle, and Evelyn wasn’t really sure what to do. Leaving the other two numbered accounts active and transferring access to herself seemed to be the most logical thing to do at the time, but it was still all very strange. She had emptied the last account with the thought that she could stash the money in France for future access, but of course now she realized what a foolish thought that had been. Where on earth would she put it?
Evelyn lifted the leather pouch from the briefcase, turning it over in her hands. And this! This was another tangle altogether.
Before she could continue the thought, a brief knock fell on the door. Dropping the pouch back into the briefcase, she closed and locked it quickly before turning to cross the room. When she opened the door, a hotel porter tipped his hat respectfully, holding out an envelope.
“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” he said. “This telegram arrived for you a few minutes ago.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the envelope.
After another bob of his head, the porter turned to leave and Evelyn closed the door. She turned over the telegram and ripped it open, scanning it as she crossed the room towards the writing desk. The message was from London and written in code. She dropped it on the desk and turned to go to her suitcase. After removing her clothes, she lifted the false bottom and pulled out her codebook before going back to the desk. Seating herself, she bent over the telegram and proceeded to decode it quickly on a separate piece of paper.
MEET PLANE AT AIRFIELD 7AM ON 19TH. TIMING CRUCIAL. CANNOT GUARANTEE SAFETY BEYOND THEN. YOU WILL BE FLOWN TO PARIS WHERE YOU WILL MEET CONTACT NAMED FINN. MAKE WAY TO LE HAVRE. CONTACT IS RENE ON RUE POUYER. PRIVATE FISHING BOAT WILL BRING YOU BOTH TO ENGLAND. PROCEED TO LONDON. ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT - BARD.
Evelyn sat back in her chair and stared at the message. The fact that Bill had signed with his codename spoke volumes about the state of affairs with the German advance. It was the first time any message she received from London had been signed, and the fact that this one followed the protocol that was to be used once the continent became unsafe was disturbing.
Last night at her hotel in Zürich, Evelyn had read in the newspaper that the German 6th Army had captured Brussels, and it was expected that Antwerp would fall next. With Belgium on the verge of surrender, and German armies moving into France, she could well understand Bill’s caution. Shifting her eyes to the briefcase on the bed, she pursed her lips thoughtfully. With Hitler’s armies on the move, she would be moving through France with a significant amount of money locked in a leather briefcase. She couldn’t think of anything more foolish, yet what choice did she really have?
While that thought was unnerving, she couldn’t prevent the smile that twisted her lips. She was worrying about traveling with an excess of cash while, in the false bottom of her suitcase, she was carrying stolen documents from Germany and, soon to join them, hand-drawings and microfiche that her father had smuggled out of Austria. Evelyn lifted her hand to rub her forehead tiredly. It wasn’t enough that she would be racing the Nazis across France, but with every passing day she seemed to be gathering more dangerous information to carry with her. Information that, were she to be caught by the Germans, would ensure her arrest and, most likely, execution. She must be insane.
Dropping her hand, she reached for her cigarette case. There was nothing for it but to continue. She would move as much of the cash as she could into the lining of her coat and into the bottom of the suitcase. The leather pouch would be concealed in her suitcase along with the oilskin packet that had come all the way from Stuttgart, and that had already caused some discomfort in her travels. What money she couldn't carry with her, she would be forced to leave in the briefcase. Tonight, when she went down for dinner, she would ask Philip to keep the case until her next visit. It was the best that she could do. She couldn’t lug two cases across France. One suitcase was quite enough already. That would have to do, and she would have to trust Philip.
And then she would pray that she and this agent named Finn had no issues making it to Le Havre.
Amiens
“The Germans are moving into Antwerp. They’ll have control by the end of the day, if they don’t already.”
Marc looked up when Luc entered the shed carrying a folded newspaper. He nodded, unsurprised.
“We expected that.”
“Yes, but it’s still unnerving to see it in black-and-white.” Luc dropped the newspaper onto the table next to Marc. “Now that they’ve lost their major cities, Belgium will surrender. And then Hitler can focus all his might on France. I doubt we’ll last a month.”
“All the more reason to get moving,” Marc said. “Soldiers and Panzers are moving quickly across France, and they’re headed straight for us. We need to move.”
“Yes, but move where?”
“We’ll go southwest and try to swing around them.” Marc pointed to a spot on the map that he had been studying. “It’s clear that they’re heading straight for the coast here,” he said, motioning on the map. “If we go this way, we can cut across here and make for Lyons.”
“Lyons?” Luc repeated, surprised. “I thought we were going home?”
“Too many people there know what we are doing. With the Germans moving in so quickly, it’s not safe. I don’t trust anyone anymore. We’ll start fresh in Lyons.”
Luc stared down at the map thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “There are certainly ample places to hide in Lyons,” he said slowly. “The traboules will be particularly useful. Those passages can be used to escape the Gestapo when they come.”
“Exactly.”
“We can find work in one of the factories. I know several people there who can help, people who have no idea what I’ve been doing.”
Marc nodded. “That’s what I’m counting on. We’ll find work and wait. When the time is right, we will continue.”
“Do you have any idea where André and Mathieu are heading?”
“No. All I know is that they went south.”
“André will want to go back to Paris.”
“That wouldn’t be the worst place they could go. It’s a big city, and we will need people there.”
Luc shook his head and went over to look out the window on the side of the shed. “I still can’t believe that it’s come to this.”
Marc watched him for a moment then went back to his map, not offering any comment. There was nothing to say. This was not the result that any of them had expected, but it’s what they had to face. Silence fell over the small area until finally Marc glanced at his watch and stood up.
“I must contact Metz. Why don’t you go tell Matilde that we’ll be leaving within the hour, and start loading the car?”
Luc nodded and turned away from the window. Once he had left, Marc turned to his wireless radio and picked up his headset, settling it over his ears. He didn’t know how much longer their contact in Metz would be able to transmit, but as long as he still was, Marc could get information on the advancing troops. And Stefan was nothing if not a wealth of information. Josephine always laughed and said that she was convinced he had a crystal ball. The man certainly had a knack for digging out information that no one else could, and he had been invaluable in helping them to avoid the advancing Nazi troops over the past three days.
After turning the knobs on his radio, Marc reached for the paddle to tap out the message. He would give Stefan five minutes to answer, and if he didn’t, he was shutting the radio down. They didn’t have time to wait; they needed to get on the road as soon as possible.
When his headset came alive a few minutes later, Marc reached for his pencil. Good. Stefan was still able to transmit. Either the Germans hadn’t taken Metz yet, or they hadn’t discovered the radio signal. Either way, Marc would be able to get the latest information on troop movements before he and Luc set off.
When Luc reentered the shed ten minutes later, Marc was staring at his radio, his face pale.
“What is it?” Luc asked quickly. “What’s happened? Has Metz fallen?”
“No. It’s still safe for now.”
“What then?”
“One of Stefan’s men intercepted a typed communication bound for one of the SS commanders,” Marc said slowly. “Among other things, it appears that our network has somehow become exposed to the Germans.”
“How exposed?”
“They have a list of names.”
Luc’s face paled. “How bad is it?”
Marc lifted his eyes from his radio and turned to look at him. “Josephine’s name is on the list.”
Luc stared at him for a moment then ran a hand through his hair, letting out a string of curses. “We need to warn her!”
“That’s not all.”
Luc looked at him apprehensively. “Tell me.”
“Finn’s name is on there, as well as the young Jens Bernard who stayed with us in Maubeuge. There are several others as well, and they all have one thing in common.”
“What?”
“They’ve all had dealings with the British Secret Service.”
“But so have we,” Luc pointed out. “Are our names on the list?”
“That’s the thing,” Marc said grimly. “Stefan thinks that the list is incomplete.”
Luc swallowed and ran his hand through his hair once again. This time it was shaking.
“Then we may be exposed as well.”
Marc nodded and began to disconnect his radio and secure it in its case.
“Yes. There is no way to know for sure, so we must assume the worst.”
“What shall we do?”
“We get on the road to Lyons. When we arrive, we do so as new men.”
“We could stop in Paris,” Luc suggested, watching Marc pack up his radio. “They can still provide us with identification papers and a new identity.”
Marc was already shaking his head before Luc had finished. “No. We do it ourselves. I know a man outside of Reims. He can help.”
“You don’t trust our government?”
“Right now, the only people I trust are Josephine, André, Mathieu and you.”
“What about Josephine? She needs to be warned.”
“There’s nothing I can do until she reaches the apartment in Paris. I’ll try reaching her then. She should be there by tomorrow.”
“And if we can’t reach her?”
“Then we pray.”
