Called away. – N
Exciting things are brewing. – N
Another day or two at most. – N
The latest had told her to be ready to receive him at one o’clock this afternoon, so she’d obediently set aside all her work and had even taken the time to comb her hair and change into something absent coffee stains. And her reward?
Left to wait. Again.
When the door to the house they’d been renting as their Alliance headquarters finally opened, she flew to the drawing room door only to huff out a breath.
Henri Boutron met her greeting with raised brows. “Lovely to see you again too, Zelie.”
“Sorry.” She offered him a weak smile and invited him in with a flourish. “Navarre is due soon. Or rather, should have been here forty minutes ago. But I’m happy for a distraction. How did your business go?”
Henri’s face twisted in disgust. “Horribly. I’ve just come from the Hôtel du Parc.”
Zelie froze, studied him. It couldn’t have gonetoohorribly—he was here, not under arrest, and he didn’t have an air about him of running from the authorities. “What happened? Was your cover blown on the naval base?”
He barked a laugh. “Well, I had to use it, if that’s what you mean. Ran into another Vichy official while I was making my notes. And do you know what he said?”
The bit of bread and cheese she’d had for lunch turned to stone in her stomach. “What?”
“That he was looking forward to reading my report. Which meant I had to actually write the thing, which I did, and handed it in four days ago. Then—then it got even worse.”
Sucking in a breath, Zelie rested a hand on the back of a wing chair that had seen better days. Writing a report wasn’t exactlybad—though she could grant it wasn’t Henri’s favorite pastime. “How so? Did you do so bad a job?”
“Bad?” He somehow managed to look both irritated and proud. “It was excellent. So excellent those blighters want tohireme to be their naval attaché in Madrid.”
For a long moment, she could only stare at him. “Wait. Vichy wants to turn you into an official? Would you be stationed permanently in Spain?”
“No, it would require travel.” He grimaced. “Said something about using me to carry their post. Turning me into a commonmailman, that’s what, and then making me do boring work on top of it, when we both know I’m needed here.”
He was, yes, but... “Henri.” Her tone must have sounded as excited as she felt, because his gaze snapped back to her, suspicion darkening his eyes. She couldn’t hold back a little laugh. “Don’t you realize what this means? If you took this job, you’ll have a free pass into and out ofSpain. You can coordinate with our allies there, work with Raoul Laurent and my brother and the others sneaking Allied airmen out of the country. You can help smuggle supplies back in—and those mailbags? They cannot legally be inspected by the Nazis. We could put anything in them.Anything.”
The suspicion faded, replaced by begrudging recognition. “I suppose knowing I was undermining them under their very noses would be entertaining. Thatmayoffset the boredom of the job itself.”
“It would be brilliant! Surely the man who wanted to scuttle the fleet instead of standing down can appreciate using Vichy’s own post and position to help Alliance. And I know MI6 has a man in Madrid. You could be our liaison to him there.”
Excitement edged out the last of the resentment in Boutron’s eyes. He grinned. “Thatwouldbe good fun. You make me glad I didn’t turn them down then and there. In fact, I’ll go give them my acceptance and get some more information on what all it will entail. I’ll be back this evening.” With a salute, he rushed back out the door.
“Ah, afternoon, Navarre,” he said as he exited.
Zelie’s shoulders went taut again, and irritation sizzled along her veins. When Navarre strode into the room, she expected relief to eclipse the frustration as it usually did.
It didn’t. She jammed her hands onto her hips, not caring in the least if she sounded like a nag as she barked out, “You called me away from important work in Paris to wait for you forfour days?”
Navarre waved a hand as if that alone would dispense witheach and every anxiety that had built over those interminable days while she worried for him. For all of them. The gleam in his eyes didn’t help either. “It will soon be irrelevant, Zelie. We won’t need any of this for much longer. The Brits were quite right to want us to focus on North Africa.”
Dread burrowed a hollow place into her stomach with its claws. “What are you talking about?”
He sat in his usual chair by the unlit fireplace, motioning her to take her own. He looked almost feverish with excitement, his dark brows riding high, his silver hair brushed back—military precision keeping every strand in place.
“I have found our ticket to freedom. Action, Zelie—action that will rid us of this Nazi menace for good. No more reports, no more encryptions, no more needingEnglandto save us.” He slapped a hand to his knee. “Another month, maybe two, and we’ll befree.”
Dread was a machine with a drill bit, chipping away at her very foundations. “Much as I would love that, you’ll have to forgive my doubt. What magical potion have you found in Algiers that will do away with all the Nazis?”
She ought to have known better than to speak to him like that, but the cracks were spreading too quickly.
