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UPON EXITING, I REALIZED the reason for the strange home; it was a shelter, or bunker, built into the earth.
“My grandfather constructed it during World War One.” Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Masselin answered the unasked question.
Our breaths hung in the steely, frigid air, and a thin coating of powdery snow disguised the landscape, giving a crisp crunch beneath our feet as we walked. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my superiors, of course. They can help you locate your Schwester.” He gave more emphasis to the last word.
I pulled my hand from his grip, retrieved the gun, and leveled it at him. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid this is where we must part. I have no interest in meeting your superiors or experiencing their ... hospitality. I’ll find my sister on my own.”
He eyed the revolver and smiled. “Now we come to it. That is a very pretty weapon you are carrying. American ... no? Have you any idea how to use it?”
I cocked the hammer with my thumb and continued to keep it steadily pointed at his chest.
“Indeed.” His brows knit. “How does a pretty girl come to be carrying a weapon such as this? I ask myself.”
“Not that it is any of your business, but I found it on a dead pilot.”
He tilted his head, scrutinizing me, and asked in a lazy tone, “And how did you become so adept with it?”
“A single girl must learn to protect herself in times of upheaval. I have no interest in providing comfort to the enemy.”
“But who, Mademoiselle, is your enemy?”
My eyelids closed to slits. “Anyone who gets in my way.”
“Quite the mercenary, I see.” A smirk drew across his face. “Okay, I believe you are looking for your sister. I even believe the story of how you acquired the gun. Now, please put it away unless you want to get shot by one of my brethren.”
“I feel more comfortable with it out.” I’d been sidestepping around him as we spoke, and he’d rotated with me, keeping a sharp eye on the weapon. “If you would be so kind as to turn around, put your hands up, and get down on your knees, we can both be on our way.”
“And let you bang me on the back of the head with it?” He shook his head with a tsk. “I do not think so. It would be counterproductive for the both of us and probably give me a wretched headache. Now, do you wish for my help finding your sister ... or not?”
The verbal sparring with this man was stretching my nerves to the limits. I couldn’t haul off and shoot him for fear of bringing his friends down upon us. Moreover, the Maginot Line could not be far away, and I needed help getting past the French bunker system. The first line of defense against the Germans, now used by the Germans against the Allied advance. I couldn’t tell if he would really help me or if he was manipulating me. His grandmother had been helpful, providing clothes and food. But Masselin was an enigma. Whose side was he on? I wavered, lowering the gun a bit.
“Mademoiselle, you really haven’t a choice. One shout from me will bring more soldiers than you can handle, and you’d never make it past the Maginot Line without me. If I am to help, we must go.” His eyes darted furtively left and right. “Now.”
A decision had to be made. As a spy, I’d learned that sometimes I had to put my life into the hands of others. As much as it irritated me, I had to trust Masselin. I uncocked the gun, shoved it back into my pocket, and indicated, with my other hand, for him to lead the way.
We hadn’t gone more than a dozen meters before our party of two expanded to four. Masselin had been helping me over a ridge when a pair of soldiers flanked us.
They saluted one another with offhand “Heil” as if they’d done it a thousand times and gave little thought to the words being spoken.
“Sergeant, how was your Grand-mére?” The young Gemeiner, private, addressed us in French. He wore little round glasses and his slight figure came up to my chin.
“She is well. What are you doing here?” Masselin’s face didn’t change from its insouciant mien. However, I couldn’t help noticing the subtle stiffening of his shoulders, and the grip on my hand tightened almost painfully before being released.
“Patrol.” The private eyed me up and down. “Is this her?”
“Her? Who do you speak of, my friend?”
“The spy the SS is looking for. They are saying a British spy has been sending radio transmissions. Although they reported her farther north.” He adjusted his soldier’s cap.
Masselin laughed. “Calm your imagination, Gilles. Mamè has a penchant for taking in strays. The fräulein washed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night looking like a drowned kitten.”
“She has papers?” the other soldier, a Gefreiter, a corporal, asked. This soldier was a different kettle of fish from the private, he was a few inches taller than Masselin’s six feet, and a puckered scar ran across his left cheekbone from nose to ear. The scar, still pink from healing, was obviously a war injury. But it wasn’t the scar that made me distrust him on sight. His dark eyes, set too close together, held a look of pure malevolence, whether directed at me or Masselin, I couldn’t be sure. It sent a chill down my spine.
“Burned in a bombing raid.” Masselin shrugged.
“Fräulein, you are in the middle of a bad situation. What are you doing here?” Gilles addressed me in German.
“She is looking for her sister, a teacher farther south. She’s gone missing,” Masselin continued in German.
The private shook his head. “A bad place to go. Your sister is probably dead. You should return home.”
“She is aware of the danger and apparently ready for it.” Masselin’s gaze swept me up and down, pausing for a moment at the pocket secreting the gun.
“Taken in by another pretty face, Masselin?” the corporal grumbled in French. He took a drag on the cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.
“Non, I promised Grand-mére I would help her young friend.” He refused to look my way, and I cocked my head, still wondering about his motives and my safety. When it came down to it—would he help me or save his own skin?
“How can you be so sure this isn’t the spy they are looking for?” Smoke blew out the corporal’s nose. “She fits the description.” He spoke the last in German and his cold stare rested on me.
My stiff fingers curled around the cold grip of the gun in my pocket, and Masselin’s jaw clenched.
“Non, they said she had black hair ... and a limp. Remember?” Gilles interrupted in French.
I sucked in a breath but schooled my features not to react. My wrenched ankle had improved since leaving the ramshackle hunting box days ago, but after a few hours of walking, no doubt the limp would return. I had no idea where they’d gotten the black hair.
“Quiet, you fool,” the corporal admonished in the same language.
Gilles clamped his mouth shut.
“She speaks French,” Masselin said dryly.
Both the men froze and turned to stare.
“Almost better than you, Lars,” he addressed the corporal.
“A strange girl, with no papers, who speaks French and German.” Lars removed the cigarette. “And do you speak English as well?” he asked in stilted and highly accented English.
I refused to rise to the bait, instead returning his hard stare with an innocent one of my own. “Would you like to see the photograph of meine Schwester?” I pulled the photo out of my left coat pocket, leaving my right hidden with the weapon.
Lars glanced at the photo and grunted. “It proves nothing.”
Gilles stepped in front of Lars to see. The older man towered above the skinny private. He took it from my hand and squinted down at it. “Strong family resemblance, don’t you think? Same eyes and nose.” Holding it up to Lars, he pointed with a dirty finger.
Lars refused to look at it; his gaze remained steady on me.
Masselin snatched the photo from the private and handed it back to me. “Enough. Granted, Ilse is not where she should be, but who is? Clearly, she doesn’t meet the description of this spy you’ve heard about, what, third-, fourth-, fifth-hand?”
“We were briefed this morning. They’re calling her the Black Widow,” Gilles whispered.
Masselin’s eyes sliced to me, then quickly away. “And, Gilles, do you believe this your spy?”
Gilles shook his head. “Nein.”
“But it is not up to Gilles, or you, Sergeant,” Lars said in a silky voice.
I went to pull the gun out of my pocket, but Masselin’s hard grip on my elbow stayed my hand.
“And it is up to you ... Gefreiter?” Masselin said, reminding the man of his lower rank. “She is a German. Do you suggest we subject this innocent to an SS interrogation? Throw her to the Gestapo dogs?” he snarled.
The corporal’s eyes narrowed; he gave a calculating stare before answering, “Nein.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“Simply bring her back to headquarters. If her story is true ... perhaps we can help the young lady find her sister ... or failing that, return her home.”
Not for an instant did I believe Lars’s intentions toward me were so benign.
Masselin’s jaw flexed, and his fingers dug into my flesh so hard I almost cried out.
“Unless, for some reason, you object?” Lars stared down his bulbous nose at his superior officer.
Masselin barely hesitated, “Nein. A trip to headquarters would not be untoward.”
My heart dropped. Masselin was an enigma no longer; this man would be my downfall. My trust had been ill-given. I fought his tight grip, trying to pull the weapon out, but his greater strength barred me from doing so. My hand was jammed so far down I couldn’t even manipulate the position of the weapon to get it pointed somewhere other than at my shoe.
“Gilles, finish your patrol. The corporal and I will take the lady back to headquarters.”
Gilles’ kindly eyes surveyed each of us. “Be careful,” he mumbled before taking off in the direction from which he’d come.
“Lead the way, Corporal.”
The soldier hesitated, obviously disliking the thought of having Masselin at his back.
“I insist,” Masselin purred.
Lars gripped his weapon tightly before turning and walking in the opposite direction of Gilles.
Masselin released my elbow. His breath brushed my ear. “Not now.”
Conflicting emotions warred within me, but we walked not more than a dozen steps before encountering a squad of soldiers. Masselin had basically warned me that I was surrounded. If I was to get out of this mess, it would be with flirtation and savvy talk, not with a gun. We loaded into the back of a transport truck along with half a dozen soldiers.