“That’s why we’re waiting.” Marcel’s face looked... odd. Troubled. “We’re going to see if he comes to us, and if so, what he volunteers.Withoutasking him questions first.”
Usually she had no trouble following him, but now she frowned. “Why?”
“Because...” He sighed, looked around them, and then nodded toward the bistro. “Not out here. Does he know about the bistro? That it’s ours?”
Her frown dug deeper. “I... don’t know. I don’t think so, I’ve had no reason to tell him. He only comes to Provence when he needs to pick up more equipment, and we never do those exchanges here.”
“Good.”
Rather than ask why, she let him lead the way into the restaurant. The moment they entered, people called out his name, and his face transformed from concerned to friendly. He greeted everyone, slapped backs, inquired after ailing mothers, and, when asked if he was going to serenade them, said only, “Maybe later.”
Zelie trailed a step behind. Only rarely had she entered through the front or come into its dining room at all. Her business wasalways upstairs, and her listening had been until recently in the alley.
He even shouted a greeting into the kitchen for the cooks and waiters before leading the way up the stairs.
She was more convinced than ever that she’d been brilliant to name him her chief of staff. But she had no idea what the problem was with Blanchet, so the moment she shut the door of the meeting room upstairs, she faced him and said, “Explain.”
He let out a breath, raked his hand through his curls—which was far too distracting—and sat on the edge of the table.
For a single moment, she flashed back to their first meeting. The hollow look in his eyes. The empty husk she’d thought him as he sat on Grigoryan’s end table.
How far they’d come.
“I’ve been reviewing the files you’ve given me,” he said. “That’s why I was coming to intercept you. The reports on the German chatter, how they’re calling us Noah’s Ark...”
“Yes?” She folded her arms around her middle because she had to think that whatever this was, she wasn’t going to like it.
“Blanchet called us that too. In September, the last time he was here. And we could find no trace of him in Normandy. And the radio Lucien gave him has ended up in the hands of the Abwehr. Now,” he went on, lifting both his hands when she opened her mouth to respond, “I know well that none of those things alone points a finger at him. But together?” He shook his head. “I’m not saying we accuse him. I’m saying we see if he finds us and what he says when he does. If he’d been taken prisoner, if he escaped, he’ll want to share that story. But if he acts as if nothing has happened...”
Her eyes slid shut. It couldn’t be true, could it? Blanchet had stopped her, saved her the night Emile betrayed them. And yet... Marcel had a point. It was either betrayal or that he’d been arrested, and his presence here now could indicate the former.“The implications, Marcel. The increased raids, the arrests, all the chatter about our call signs—if it isn’t just the new detection technology...”
Juste ciel.Would MI6 even believe her if she suggested such a thing? This wasn’t Emile, who’d been lured away by love and a coming child and money enough to make a fresh start. This was MI6’s leading expert.
But there was no need to jump to conclusions, even if the sinkhole opening up in her stomach said otherwise. “All right. If he seeks us out, it will be at the hotel. That’s the only place he’s been since we moved.”
“And the airfield.” His brows creased. “Perhaps I’m wrong. If he’s turned on us, why wouldn’t he have tipped the Nazis off about that?”
She scrubbed a hand over her face, wishing she could wind back the clock, undo the months of distance she’d put between them. There were so many things he didn’t know because she’d shoved him away. “We have multiple fields, we vary them randomly. The one you went to that night and brought him to—we’d only used it once before, and never since. Our scouts in the area reported people poking around after the drop that night.”
His face went hard, and when he said, “You didn’t tell me,” she thought the hardness was because of her. Until he shook his head. “I led a potential traitor right into the heart of Alliance. Again.”
“You did not.” Moving closer, she took his hands and ducked her head to intercept his gaze. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, Marcel. Wealltrusted him—why wouldn’t we? MI6 sent him. And if it weren’t for you, I’d have raced after him tonight and gushed about how relieved I was to see he was out of German hands, which would have given him exactly the information he needed to keep on playing us for fools.”
“If I’m right.” He squeezed her hands. “Let’s hope I’m not.”
But if he was... they needed to move again. If Blanchet hadn’tratted them out yet, it must be for a purpose, and that purpose was probably that he liked knowing where to find them.
She should have known better than to get comfortable in one place for too long. Even if Blanchetwasn’ta traitor, it should serve as a warning. “We need to relocate. Now.”
“Mon étoile...”Marcel’s grin was lopsided. “We have a rather large operation coming up. I don’t thinknowis quite possible.”
He was right—but that only lit a fire in the sinkhole. She spun, still holding his hands, and pulled him toward the door. “Ciel. We need to make sure he isn’t there to overhear anything! If heiswhat you think, if he catches wind of the plan with Giraud... the entire North African campaign could be ruined.”
Though her pulse didn’t slow for ten minutes after getting back to headquarters and finding no one there but who was supposed to be, Zelie praised God for the mercy.
And instructed everyone present to keep their lips sealed about Operation Minerva.
She positioned herself at the desk in the drawing room, Marcel opted for a chair instead of his usual piano bench—because Blanchet still didn’t know his real name, apparently, and they wanted to preserve that if possible—and Marguerite took over at the front desk.
