‘I’ll wait here.’
‘No. It would be more helpful if you went back to the road and approached the house from the front. Make sure Mitch sees you, then he’ll know I’m here. Stay there ten, fifteen minutes and then come back. But stay on the service road, we can’t risk Beckman looking out of an upstairs window and seeing you, or my plan will be blown.’
Céline thought for a moment, then said, ‘Okay. But be careful.’
‘I will.’ The two women embraced, then went their separate ways.
Claire waited until Céline had reached the end of the service road before opening the back gate. Making herself as small as she was able, she crept into the garden. The trees and shrubs, only just coming into bud, gave little cover. She moved swiftly from one shrub to another until she came to the garden shed. Suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath, she relaxed and exhaled. Standing upright, with her back pressed against the wall, she sidestepped along the length of the shed until she arrived at the front. She stopped and poked her head around the corner.
The back door of the Mitchell house was on the side, accessed by a paved path. She had a clear view of it. She looked at the upstairs windows - one bathroom and one landing. You would have to stand in the bath to look out of the bathroom window - and then you’d only see the rooftops and chimneys of the neighbouring houses. The same with the tall window on the landing.
A movement in an upstairs window of the house opposite caught her eye. A glint of something metal was all she needed to see to know snipers were in place. She looked at the bedroom windows of the house next door. The same. She wasn’t sure whether she felt safer knowing trained marksmen were focused on Beckman or not. But she needed to trust they knew what they were doing, the way she had trusted her comrades in France.
In the muffled discussion coming from the road at the front of the house Claire heard Mitch’s voice, speaking into a loud hailer. ‘You wanted to talk to me, Professor Beckman?’ There was no reply. ‘Let my parents go and I’ll come in.’
Claire held her breath and inched forward. She looked to the left, then right. There was no cover on the left, but on the right there was an ornate wooden trellis. It stood six feet tall and masked the garbage bin from the street. From where she was standing she could see a space at the back of the bin where she could hide, where she would be near enough to see and hear Mitch. She crossed the narrow gap between the shed and the trellis and crouched down behind the bin.
‘Beckman? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes!’ The professor shouted, his voice sending shivers down Claire’s spine.
‘Let my parents go, and I’ll come in.’
‘If I let them go I have no bargaining power. Do you think I am stupid?’
‘No. I never have. But this is between you and me. My folks have nothing to do with it.’
Claire could hear a hushed conversation between Mitch and several other men. She got to her feet and peered through the diamond-shaped pattern of the trellis. The police chief was speaking animatedly. Listening to him was a high-ranking air force officer and two older men in civilian clothes who, Claire assumed, were from the Jewish Council.
She looked back at Mitch. His attention was suddenly taken by someone in the crowd. He looked, and looked again, then for the briefest moment he smiled. He has seen Céline, Claire thought. He knows I’m here. Claire’s heart began to hammer in her chest and the butterflies in her stomach took flight. She loved her brave husband as much today as she did when she first fell in love with him a decade ago. But, she told herself, if I am going to be any use to him, I need to use my brain not my heart.
‘I need to see for myself that my parents are alive,’ Mitch shouted. ‘Just bring them to the window.’
‘I cannot do that, Captain Mitchell. They are not in this part of the house,’ Beckman said.
There was a pause in the negotiations. Mitch consulted Chief Jacobs, then said, ‘How can I be sure they’re alive if you won’t let me see or speak to them?’
‘Because I give you my word.’
Mitch handed the loudhailer to Chief Jacobs and put his hands above his head. ‘Yes. Okay, I’m coming in.’
The ‘yes’ was for Claire. She watched Mitch walk up the drive towards the front door. Without looking in her direction, he coughed, looked down, and put his left hand to his mouth. She saw that his forefinger and middle finger were straight while the others were slightly bent. That was what she had hoped to see. Two fingers, two people. He looked down, which meant below floor level. Mitch had told her his family were in the basement, and she was to get them out.
When Mitch disappeared from view, Claire returned to the back of the shed and slipped unseen to the back door. She took out the set of lock-picking keys that Thomas Durand had given her in France and set about unlocking the door. She heard a click, turned the doorknob and pushed. It didn’t open. She put the picks in again and turned them again. A second click. The door opened.
Without making a sound Claire moved through the kitchen to the basement door. It was locked, but the key hung on a piece of string on the doorframe. She opened the door and with as much stealth and speed as she had
