The shopkeepers in theboulangeriewere hushed and wary, and the man who drove Fabrice the rest of the way was a coarse farmer who smelled of sweat and spoke little other than to relay instructions. There was no buoyant sense of camaraderie here, just fear and grim desperation. The farmer’s truck was old and uncomfortable, squeaking and lurching as though about to break down. He dropped Fabrice a mile from the base and told him to hike through the woods to the northeast and then to wait for the school bus to arrive.
The Nazi guards standing at the base entrance were almost as young as he. Fabrice hesitated when he saw them, but when a teacher yelled at him to get in line, he melted into a school group that had arrived for their visit.
The farmer had warned him that the head teacher was a Nazi sympathizer, but since there would be several different classes mingling together a new face was unlikely to be noticed. Fabrice prayed none of the students would notice that he was out of place.
Once they were through the gates, Fabrice relaxed. The Nazis were proud of their base, and of their submarines. They encouraged the students to ask questions, and within the large group it was easy enough to snap photos. He committed to memory the layout so he could draw a map afterward, and when the class was climbing back aboard the bus he slipped into the woods to await the farmer with his truck to take him to Nantes.
He felt triumphant. The whole endeavor had gone so smoothly Fabrice decided he would volunteer for more such missions, would embraceclandestinité, severing ties with his family and going all in for the remainder of the war.
Brutal reality came crashing down upon his fantasy when, on the return trip, the train screamed to a stop outside of Le Mans. Soldiersclambered onto the train, their boots treading heavily on the floor in ominous thunder. Along with most of the men on the train, Fabrice was searched. He had sewn the rolls of film into the lining of his hat, which lay safe and uninspected on the seat while they went through his satchel and frisked him, shouting questions at him. He repeated the story of visiting his good Catholic grandparents who lived in a farmhouse outside of Nantes, tearing up in fear when another man in the same train car was struck repeatedly by a soldier, then hauled off the train. The soldiers, disgusted by his tears, derided him and left.
The rest of the train ride was spent in stunned relief and humiliation, liquid fear still running through his veins.
But back in Paris, Fabrice realized that surely he was old enough now for Paulette. He felt a hundred years old, in fact.
When he showed up at the doctor’s office with the film, Paulette jumped up and ran across the reception room to embrace him.
“I’m so glad! Oh, Fabrice, I was so scared for you!”
It was all worth it. For this. Holding her in his arms. It was all worth it.
But they were not alone. The doctor came out and ushered Fabrice into the examination room. “You didn’t tell anyone where you went? Not even my secretary?”
“No, of course not. But surely she knows?”
“She knew you were going somewhere, but not the location or reason.”
“But—”
“My point is not to trust anyone. Notanyone.”
Fabrice nodded and pulled the film out of his hatband, handing it to the doctor, who nodded and smiled.
“Excellent,” he said.
“Also, I drew a map, and wrote down all the numbers and other pertinent information. Everything I could remember.”
“You are a hero, Garçon.”
“I am but a Frenchman,” Fabrice responded, feeling noble and patriotic, wishing Paulette could be there to hear their exchange.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
PRESENT DAY
PROVENCE
Cady
Cady stood in line at theboulangeriebehind a white-haired woman who couldn’t decide what she wanted for a large gathering of family visiting from Lyon. Once again, enveloped by the delectable aroma of fresh bread, and enthralled by the variety of tempting goods in the display cases, Cady didn’t mind waiting.
“What did I tell you?” a man’s voice said from behind her. “There is only oneboulangeriein town. It was just a matter of time before our paths crossed again.Bonjour,Cady.”
“Bonjour, Jean-Paul,” Cady replied. They exchanged kisses on the cheek. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“Do you like the place you’re renting?” Jean-Paul asked.
“Actually, I’ve had a change of address. I’m staying with your cousin.”
