At least a third of most audiences were Germans now. Germans who were relaxing, guards down. Germans who were no doubt loose-lipped, assuming no one understood them. She planned to take advantage of that.
She needed agents in each of those sectors, people to listen to every idle phrase dropped from German lips and write down everything they gleaned, from troop movements to command structure to details about future plans. The smallest overheard detail could prove the key the Allies needed to counteract the German war machine.
There would be too many, their information too wide for her to process it all herself, of course—not to mention that she didn’t move in those circles to know whom to trust. That was where Marcel Laurent would come in.
She did have afewof her own contacts though, and a glance at her watch told her that she needed to leave now if she was to make her meeting with one of them. Anxiety swirled in her stomach as she rose to her feet. She didn’t know Georges Piers personally, but London had given them strict instructions to make contact with him in Paris as soon as possible. He was, they claimed, one of the most experienced field agents in France, and he’d already been patching together a network of agents.
Her work wouldn’t overlap all that much with his, London had said—but they needed to be aware of each other.
She reached for one of her fashionable, jaunty hats, a relic of a bygone era. Pinning it in place, she dragged in a long breath. Let it out.
Don’t tell him who you are,Navarre had said.Tell him you represent Navarre and POZ 55. Don’t tell him you are POZ 55. We don’t need anyone questioning us in London yet. Alliance is too new.
Wisdom she intended to obey, given how reluctant most men were to trust a woman in charge. She shoved her insecurities down and exited her room, locking it again behind her. Soon she was out of the house, strolling down Avenue Foch, and mentally reviewing all Navarre had told her to learn from this new contact.
A short metro ride and another quick walk later and she was taking a seat at a café near the Sorbonne. As she’d been instructed to do, she set a book on the table, back side up, and tugged off her white gloves, setting them atop it. Within a minute, a couple approached and took the other chairs—a man who looked to be in his late forties, and a blonde who looked far too young to be involved in this work.
The woman gave her a bright smile and leaned in for the customary cheek kisses, as if they were old friends. “Estelle, so good to see you again,” she said, using the name Navarre had told her to expect. She waved at the man. “This is my uncle, Georges. Hewas desperate for coffee so insisted on joining us. I hope you don’t mind?”
She wondered briefly if they were really niece and uncle or if it was just a handy cover. She smiled. “Not at all. Lovely to meet you, Georges.” She held out a hand.
Rather than shaking it, he kissed her knuckles. “Enchanted. I’m always eager to meet Corinne’s friends.”
Corinne. Georges. She had no idea if those were their real names, but she could appreciate how quickly they’d provided her with something to call them. “And I appreciate meeting her family. It’s been what, six years?” The code phrase she’d been instructed to give, so they knew she was indeed theEstellethey were seeking.
Corinne nodded and tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. She had the sort of bold beauty that would have been at home on the silver screen. “I don’t think I’d even gotten my professorship at the Sorbonne when last we spoke.”
Professor? It took all Zelie’s training to keep her brows from flying upward. Corinne didn’t look old enough to be a professor ... but if she was, then they were likely about the same age. “I can still hardly believe you managed a professorship. A woman, and so young.”
Corinne breathed a laugh. “Certainly wasn’t easy. And of course, the Sorbonne can now be closed at a moment’s notice whenever our new friends decide the students are too dangerous.” Though a glint entered her eyes, it vanished again within a heartbeat. “I decided to stay on at thelycéefor now, even after the university reopened. I can’t say as I trust it to stay that way.”
A few blanks filled in—their contact at MI6 had said these new colleagues she should meet had agents from academia and the student world. Now she knew how. Her gaze drifted to the uncle. “Are you a professor as well?”
Georges laughed, and something about the sound—free and uncensored—had her shoulders relaxing. “Me? No. I never evenwent to school as a boy. But I’m good at seeing opportunities, and at judging people.”
Interesting. She let the smile that had bloomed in response to his laugh linger on her lips. “Life skills as valuable as a formal education.”
He nodded, and when he looked at her again, she could feel the measuring rod in his gaze. His lips twitched. “I believe we have some mutual friends. Some of them are actually my family, believe it or not.”
If it was code, she didn’t know what for. But if he meant it at face value... was he trying to tell her that he was really English? Their only mutual acquaintances were their MI6 handlers.
She tilted her head. “Really?”
He nodded. “My older brother worked for the predecessor of the current organization, as did my sister’s sister-in-law.”
She couldn’t have contained her surprise had she tried. “A woman in that field? When was this?”
“The last war. She stayed on after, though. Helped found a school to train the current generation.” He paused, eyes sparkling. “Thought that might put you at ease a bit. She was the exception rather than the rule, but even so.”
He was telling her that MI6 already had women in the ranks. More, that women—or at leastawoman—had been involved in its foundation. Did that mean they wouldn’t judge her for her gender were it to be known? Or did it instead mean she’d have to prove herself as talented as that founding mother?
A waiter stopped by, took their orders for coffee, and vanished again. The interruption was just long enough for Zelie to calm the nerves in her stomach. She still didn’t know why Navarre had recruited her first. Other than being good with directions and organization and in possession of a keen memory, she hadn’t brought any raw skills to the table.
But he had chosen her, and now here she was. Given a chance to make a difference. She wouldn’t squander it.
“You’re not back in Paris to stay, are you?” Corinne asked.
Zelie shook her head. “Only for a week or two. I’ve been in Vichy, but we’ll be moving soon. I may visit friends in Pau for a while, but my family’s from Marseille, if you recall.” They needed contacts in occupied territory, but she and Navarre intended to keep running things from the Free Zone.
