It was late afternoon the next day, and Noor was in the new apartment. The flat was just one small room, with a bed, a narrow wardrobe, and a tiny foldaway table and chair pushed against the wall. The recess in one wall was home to a miniature stove with two rings, and there was a loo and shower in a windowless space closed off from the rest of the room.
Two taps and a knock. Checking the spyhole, Noor opened the door.
‘Any news?’ Antelme said, stepping inside. He was pale, and his hair was ruffled.
‘I went to Grignon, saw the Prof,’ she said. ‘He didn’t know who put the call through. He looked terrible – ashen and wild-eyed. He told me not to come back there ever again.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘It upset me. But, I understand. It would just be too dangerous for all of us. What’ve you found out?’
Antelme pulled out the chair and sat down. He took up most of the space in the room.
‘I spoke to another member of Prosper circuit. It seems the Gestapo, after arresting Norman’s girlfriend, marched into her apartment and seized her radio set.’
Noor gasped. ‘And – and Norman? Any news of him?’
‘Apparently, something bad happened in his apartment. His friends’ things were all over the place, there was a meal left unfinished on the table, and no sign of them. Seems they left in a hurry. Norman’s bed hadn’t been slept in, and the bike he’d just borrowed was still there – but some of his stuff had been removed.’ Antelme wiped his hands down his face. ‘I’m pretty sure the Gestapo got him.’
‘Oh, no.’ Noor sagged on to the bed.
Antelme stood up. ‘We have to press on, Madeleine. You’ll soon have your radio set. But you must lie low. We don’t know what the Germans have been able to find out.’
He meant that the captured agents would have been tortured. Some of them might have cracked. Might have revealed Noor and Antelme’s identities to the Nazis. Panic clawed at her heart.
‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘I’ll be upstairs at Germaine’s if you need me.’
Noor closed the door behind him. She locked and bolted it, even though there was little point: the Gestapo could break it down with one kick. Her hands still trembling with shock, she made herself a cup of coffee – or the bitter stuff that stood in for it – and poured in a load of sweetener.
It was dusk. Time to black out the windows. She drew the curtains, switched on a lamp, and sat at the table, wrapping her hands around the hot cup.
If the Germans caught her, what would she do?
Noor closed her eyes for a moment, carrying herself back to the beautiful gardens at Fazal Manzil, to Abba’s soft voice, and the lessons he’d taught her and her siblings.
If the Germans caught her, the first thing they’d want would be her security checks. Then they could transmit to London pretending they were her. They could fool the British, spoil their plans, and capture more agents.
If Abba were alive, what would he say she should do?
It was as clear to her as if Abba were standing in front of her, calling her by the name she’d been given by her nurse when she was a tiny baby: ‘Babuli, the worst sin of all is lying.’
It would be lying to give the Gestapo false security codes or false names.
So what should she do: betray her fellow agents? Or lie?
Betray. Lie. Betray. Lie.
Noor stood up and began to pace the gloomy room again. The words became a mantra, falling into the rhythm of her strides.
Stop! she ordered herself.
She halted in front of the mirror above the table, drawing herself up to her full height of one metre and sixty centimetres. The eyes staring back at her were bright and fierce.
Not for nothing was she the great-granddaughter of Tipu Sultan, the ruler of the Kingdom of Mysore in southern India. He was known as the Tiger of Mysore, a proud and brave commander; his blood ran through her veins.
She would rather die than lie. At the same time, she would not betray her fellow agents.
The Germans were close, and getting closer. If she were caught she knew exactly what she would do.