Her heart beat furiously as the dark figures touched the ground and rolled. Maurice trotted out to the leader as Amélie started toward the other two jumpers. She watched as Maurice slowed his approach and proceeded cautiously. He whistled a faint tune and she heard the musical response. Then she saw the man in deep shadows. In the darkness, she could make out none of his features. As she passed by, he ran to unclasp and deflate his parachute while Maurice moved in to assist.
She went on to the second person, another man, and continued to the third, the female radio operator. She stopped in the darkness, her heart still pounding, whistled as instructed, and heard the correct response.
Another of Maurice’s men arrived at the same time. Together, they helped the woman out of her parachute harness and jumpsuit and gathered her equipment.
“We have a safe place for you to stay tonight,” the man told her. “You can transmit from there to let London know everyone arrived safely.”
“And did we?” the woman asked in French with a perfect Parisian accent. Her voice was calm but held an inflection of anxiety.
They looked around in the ambient light. All three parachutists were busily engaged, securing their equipment and preparing to move out.
“You did,” Amélie said, and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
The woman exhaled audibly. “Thank you. This was more nerve-wracking than I had thought it would be.” She grasped Amélie’s outstretched hand.
“You’re safe now,” Amélie told her. “The Germans haven’t yet come to this part of France. Hopefully they won’t.”
“I’m Brigitte,” the woman said.
“I’m—” Amélie hesitated. Maurice had briefed her that the woman would not use her real name, and he had assigned Amélie a code name. “I am Colibri.”
“Hummingbird. Nice,” Brigitte said in English. She tried to study Amélie’s face, even in the dark. Then, reverting to French, she asked, “Will I be staying with you tonight?”
“No. This reception ends my participation in your mission. You’ll meet the team to take you north tomorrow. I won’t see you again, but you are in good hands.”
“I’ve been impressed so far,” Jeremy said. The group conversed in French. “How was your treatment?” They were together in a farmhouse on the northern edge of Marseille. Maurice had taken them there, seen to it that they were comfortably settled in with the host family, and set out a guard. He had left with a parting comment that their escorts would arrive in the morning.
“Nicely done,” Brigitte said. “I met a young woman in the dark who goes by Colibri. She was very sweet and happy to see us. I’m almost sorry she’s not coming along. And the family downstairs is so nice.”
“I have to say, Brigitte,” Jeremy said, “I was surprised to see a woman on the team.”
She nodded. “Wartime exigencies. I was the most qualified and available on short notice. Officially, women are still not authorized to be in combat areas, so officially, I’m not here. There’s a lot of discussion taking place at high levels on the subject and the policy might change soon.” She laughed sardonically. “It’s amazing what can be done when there’s a need.”
Jeremy scrutinized her a moment. “Well, thank you for coming.” He changed the subject. “The leader uses the codename ‘Renard.’ He said that a team will meet us tomorrow to guide us north. There’ll be four members, one to help each of us move through enemy lines, and one to watch out ahead of the whole group when we travel. We’ll head north as far as we can on the east side of the country, and then turn west and travel behind the lines.”
The third member of the team, Théo, the courier, had so far not said a word. Now he spoke up. “We didn’t get much chance to talk before leaving England,” he told Jeremy, “but I overheard the sergeant who checked you out say that you’re weak in knowing details of your cover story. If you trip up, we could be exposed. Your codename, ‘The Fool,’ doesn’t exactly build confidence.”
Jeremy shot him a glance. Théo was a wiry man, in his late twenties, of medium height and build, and with a florid complexion and dark hair. His eyes showed no malice, but they bore a pugnacious expression that warned against nonsense.
“I think we’ll be all right,” Jeremy replied. “I left France less than a week ago. I was one of those left at Dunkirk. I think I’m good for another go. I’m on this mission because I already know the people there who are resisting the Germans. They got me out, and they’ll get us through. I’m ‘The Fool’ because I played the fool. That was my cover story.”
Théo stared at him. “Vive la Résistance,” he said at last. “I understand the mission is to protect a network,” he said, “give it some backup. Can you give us more detail?”
Jeremy nodded. “Sorry we didn’t have time to do that before departure.” He explained who the Bouliers were, that Ferrand had set up a network, and the success they had realized in aiding British and French soldiers as well as his own family members evade capture. “Their ability to communicate is going to be constrained as Germany destroys telephone hubs and lines, and they currently have no direct contact with Britain or any other networks.
“That’s where we come in. I’ll assess the needs. Théo, you’ll courier my messages to Brigitte”—he turned to face her—“and you’ll code and transmit the messages to London. One thing to know is that I won’t be with you long. As soon as we’re settled in, London will pull me back there for training.”
“You seem to be doing a fair job so far,” Brigitte cut in. “Why send someone else whom we don’t know?”
“You’re making London’s point,” Jeremy replied. “So much of the resistance effort will rely on trust. My replacement will
