The gendarmes, both in their twenties, immediately struck up a conversation, delighted to have some girls to talk to during the long journey.
Their names were Christian and Jean-Marie. Both appeared to be in their twenties. Christian was handsome, with curly black hair and brown eyes; Jean-Marie had a shrewd, foxy face with a fair mustache. Christian, the talkative one, was in the middle seat, and Ruby sat next to him. Flick was on the opposite banquette, with Maude beside her, slumped the other way with her head on Diana’s shoulder.
The gendarmes were traveling to Paris to pick up a prisoner, they said. It was nothing to do with the war: he was a local man who had murdered his wife and stepson, then fled to Paris, where he had been caught by the flics the city police, and had confessed. It was their job to bring him back to Chartres to stand trial. Christian reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out the handcuffs they would put on him, as if to prove to Flick that he was not boasting.
In the next hour Flick learned everything there was to know about Christian. She was expected to reciprocate, so she had to elaborate her cover story far beyond the basic facts she had figured out beforehand. It strained her imagination, but she told herself this was good practice for a more hostile interrogation.
They passed Versailles and crawled through bomb-ravaged train yards at St. Quentin. Maude woke up. She remembered to speak French, but she forgot that she was not supposed to know Flick, so she said, “Hello, where are we, do you know?”
The gendarmes looked puzzled. Flick had told them she and Ruby had no connection with the two sleeping girls, yet Maude had addressed Flick like a friend. flick kept her nerve. Smiling, she said, “You don’t know me. I think you have mistaken me for your friend on the other side. You’re still half asleep.”
Maude gave her a don’t-be-so-stupid frown, then caught the eye of Christian. In a pantomime of comprehension she registered surprise, put her hand over her mouth in horror, then said unconvincingly, “Of course, you’re quite right, excuse me.”
Christian was not a suspicious man, however, and he smiled at Maude and said, “You’ve been asleep for two hours. We’re on the outskirts of Pans. But, as you can see, the train is not moving.”
Maude gave him the benefit of her most dazzling smile. “When do you think we will arrive?”
“There, Mademoiselle, you ask too much of me. I am merely human. Only God can tell the future.”
Maude laughed as if he had said something deliciously witty, and Flick relaxed.
Then Diana woke up and said loudly, in English, “Good God, my head hurts, what bloody time is it?”
A moment later she saw the gendannes and realized instantly what she had done-but it was too late.
“She spoke English!” said Christian.
Flick saw Ruby reach for her gun.
“You’re British!” he said to Diana. He looked at Maude. “You too!” As his gaze went around the compartment he realized the truth. “All of you!”
Flick reached across and grabbed Ruby’s wrist as her gun was halfway out of her raincoat pocket.
Christian saw the gesture, looked down at what Ruby had in her hand, and said, “And armed!” His astonishment would have been comical if they had not been in danger of their lives.
Diana said, “Oh, Christ, that’s torn it.”
The train jerked and moved forward.
Christian lowered his voice. “You’re all agents of the Allies!”
Flick waited on tenterhooks to see what he would do. If he drew his gun, Ruby would shoot him. Then they would all have to jump from the train. With luck, they might disappear into the slums beside the railway tracks before the Gestapo was alerted. The train picked up speed. She wondered whether they should jump now, before they were moving too fast.
Several frozen seconds passed. Then Christian smiled. “Good luck!” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Your secret is safe with us!”
They were sympathizers-thank God. Flick slumped with relief. “Thank you,” she said.
Christian said, “When will the invasion come?”
He was naive to think that someone who really knew such a secret would reveal it so casually, but to keep him motivated she said, “Any day now. Maybe Tuesday.”
“Truly? This is wonderful. Long live France!”
Flick said, “I’m so glad you are on our side.”
“I have always been against the Germans.” Christian puffed himself up a little. “In my job, I have been able to render some useful services to the Resistance, in a discreet way.” He tapped the side of his nose.
Flick did not believe him for a second. No doubt he was against the Germans: most French people were, after four years of scarce food, old clothes, and curfews. But if he really had worked with the Resistance he would not have told anyone-on the contrary, he would have been terrified of people finding out.
However, that did not matter. The important thing was that he could see which way the wind was blowing, and he was not going to turn Allied agents over to the Gestapo a few days before the invasion. There was too strong a chance he would end up being punished for it.
The train slowed down, and Flick saw that they were coming into the Gare d’Orsay station. She stood up. Christian kissed her hand and said with a tremor in his voice, “You are a brave woman. Good luck!”
She left the carriage first. As she stepped onto the platform, she saw a workman pasting up a poster. Something struck her as familiar. She looked more closely at the poster, and her heart stopped.
It was a picture of her.
She had never seen it before, and she had no recollection of ever having had her photograph taken in a swimsuit. The background was cloudy, as if it had been painted over, so there were no clues there. The poster gave her name, plus one of her old aliases, Francoise Boule, and said she was a murderess.
The workman was just finishing his task. He picked up his bucket of paste and a stack of posters and moved on.
Flick realized her picture must be all over Paris.
This was a terrible blow. She stood frozen on the platform. She was so frightened she wanted to throw up. Then she got hold of herself.
Her first problem was how to get out of the Gare d’Orsay. She looked along the platform and saw a checkpoint at the ticket barrier. She had to assume the Gestapo officers manning it had seen the picture.
How could she get past them? She could not talk her way through. If they recognized her, they would arrest her, and no tall tale would convince German officers to do otherwise. Could the Jackdaws shoot their way out of this? They might kill the men at the checkpoint, but there would be others all over the station, plus French police who would probably shoot first and ask questions later. It was too risky.
There was a way out, she realized. She could hand over command of the operation to one of the others- Ruby, probably-then let them pass through the checkpoint ahead of her, and finally give herself up. That way, the mission would not be doomed.
She turned around. Ruby, Diana, and Maude had got off the train. Christian and Jean-Marie were about to follow. Then Flick remembered the handcuffs Christian had in his pocket, and a wild scheme occurred to her.
She pushed Christian back into the carriage and climbed in after him.
He was not sure if this was some kind of joke, and he smiled anxiously. “What’s the matter?”
“Look,” she said. “There’s a poster of me on the wall.”
Both the gendarmes looked out. Christian turned pale. Jean-Marie said, “My God, you really are spies!”
“You have to save me,” she said.
Christian said, “How can we? The Gestapo—”
“I must get through the checkpoint.”
“But they will arrest you.”
“Not if I’ve already been arrested.”
“What do you mean?”
“Put the handcuffs on me. Pretend you have captured me. March me through the checkpoint. If they stop you, say you’re taking me to eighty-four avenue Foch.” It was the address of Gestapo headquarters.
“What then?”
“Commandeer a taxi. Get in with me. Then, once we are clear of the station, take the cuffs off and let me out in a quiet street. And continue on to your real destination.”
