Sure enough, as they passed the cathedral in the center of town, the needle fell back.
In the passenger seat, a Gestapo man talked into a short-wave radio. He was consulting with someone in a radio-detection truck a mile away. After a moment he said, “Northwest quarter.” followed. He went a hundred meters, then suddenly turned back. He stopped and pointed to a house. “That one,” he said. “But the transmission has ended.”
Dieter noticed that there were no curtains in the windows. The Resistance liked to use derelict houses for their transmissions.
The Gestapo man carrying the sledgehammer broke the door down with two blows. They all rushed in.
The floors were bare and the place had a musty smell. Dieter threw open a door and looked into an empty room.
Dieter opened the door of the back room. He crossed the vacant room in three strides and looked into an abandoned kitchen.
He ran up the stairs. On the next floor was a window overlooking a long back garden. Dieter glanced out-and saw Helicopter and Michel running across the grass. Michel was limping, Helicopter was carrying his little suitcase. Dieter swore. They must have escaped through a back door as the Gestapo were breaking down the front. Dieter turned and yelled, “Back garden!” The Gestapo men ran and he followed.
As he reached the garden, he saw Michel and Helicopter scrambling over the back fence into the grounds of another house. He joined in the chase, but the fugitives had a long lead. With the three Gestapo men, he climbed the fence and ran through the second garden.
They reached the next street just in time to see a black Renault Monaquatre disappearing around the corner.
“Hell,” Dieter said. For the second time in a day, Helicopter had slipped through his grasp.
CHAPTER 25
WHEN THEY COT back to the house, Flick made cocoa for the team. It was not regular practice for officers to make cocoa for their troops, but in Flick’s opinion that only showed how little the army knew about leadership.
Paul stood in the kitchen watching her as she waited for the kettle to boil. She felt his eyes on her like a caress. She knew what he was going to say, and she had prepared her reply. It would have been easy to fall in love with Paul, but she was not going to betray the husband who was risking his life fighting the Nazis in occupied France.
However, his question surprised her. “What will you do after the war?”
“I’m looking forward to being bored,” she said.
He laughed. “You’ve had enough excitement.”
“Too much.” She thought for a moment. “I still want to be a teacher. I’d like to share my love of French culture with young people. Educate them about French literature and painting, and also about less highbrow things like cooking and fashion.”
“So you’ll become a don?”
“Finish my doctorate, get a job at a university, be condescended to by narrow-minded old male professors. Maybe write a guide book to France, or even a cookbook.”
“Sounds tame, after this.”
“It’s important, though. The more young people know about foreigners, the less likely they are to be as stupid as we were, and go to war with their neighbors.”
“I wonder if that’s right.”
“What about you? What’s your plan for after the war?”
“Oh, mine is real simple. I want to marry you and take you to Paris for a honeymoon. Then we’ll settle down and have children.”
She stared at him. “Were you thinking of asking my consent?” she said indignantly.
He was quite solemn. “I haven’t thought of anything else for days.”
“I already have a husband.”
“But you don’t love him.”
“You have no right to say that!”
“I know, but I can’t help it.”
“Why did I used to think you were a smooth talker?”
“Usually I am. That kettle’s boiling.”
She took the kettle off the hob and poured boiling water over the cocoa mixture in a big stoneware jug. “Put some mugs on a tray,” she told Paul. “A little housework might cure you of dreams of domesticity.”
He complied. “You can’t put me off by being bossy,” he said. “I kind of like it.”
She added milk and sugar to the cocoa and poured it into the mugs he had laid out. “In that case, carry that tray into the living room.”
“Right away, boss.”
When they entered the living room they found Jelly and Greta having a row, standing face to face in the middle of the room while the others looked on, half amused and half horrified.
Jelly was saying, “You weren’t using it!”
“I was resting my feet on it,” Greta replied.
“There aren’t enough chairs.” Jelly was holding a small stuffed pouffe, and Flick guessed she had snatched it away from Greta rudely.
Flick said, “Ladies, please!”
They ignored her. Greta said, “You only had to ask, sweetheart.”
“I don’t have to ask permission from foreigners in my own country.”
“I’m not a foreigner, you fat bitch.”
“Oh!” Jelly was so stung by the insult that she reached out and pulled Greta’s hair. Greta’s brunette wig came off in her hand.
With her head of close-cropped dark hair exposed, Greta suddenly looked unmistakably like a man. Percy and Paul were in on the secret, and Ruby had guessed, but Maude and Diana were shocked rigid. Diana said, “Good God!” and Maude gave a little scream of fright.
Jelly was the first to recover her wits. “A pervert!” she said triumphantly. “Oh, my gordon, it’s a foreign pervert!”
Greta was in tears. “You bloody fucking Nazi,” she sobbed.
“I bet she’s a spy!” Jelly said.
Flick said, “Shut up, Jelly. She’s not a spy. I knew she was a man.”
“You knew!”
“So did Paul. So did Percy.”
Jelly looked at Percy, who nodded solemnly.
Greta turned to leave, but Flick caught her arm. “Don’t go,” she said. “Please. Sit down.”
Greta sat down.
“Jelly, give me the damn wig.”
Jelly handed it to Flick.
Flick stood in front of Greta and put the wig back on. Ruby, quickly understanding what Flick was trying to do, lifted the mirror from over the mantelpiece and held it in front of Greta, who studied her reflection while she adjusted the wig and blotted her tears with a handkerchief.
“Now listen to me, all of you,” said Flick. “Greta is an engineer, and we can’t accomplish our mission without an engineer. We have a much better chance of survival in occupied territory as an all-woman team. The upshot is, we need Greta and we need her to be a woman. So get used to it.”
Jelly gave a contemptuous grunt.
“There’s something else I ought to explain,” Flick said. She looked hard at Jelly. “You may have noticed that
