“Aubrey, this is Carson. He’s with me.”
The man did not offer to shake hands, just nodded perfunctorily and went to the small table in the room. He had a briefcase with him and he set it on the table and opened it. A pile of papers was spread out on the bed.
Arthur said, “We want you to read these, Aubrey. These are terms of employment. They’re mandatory, I’m afraid.”
She picked up the papers and glanced through them. They were legal contracts of some kind.
“They’re an acknowledgement that you have read the Espionage Act of 1917. That you swear an oath of allegiance to this country, promise not to betray her to a foreign power.”
“But Unc—Mr. Walton. Haven’t I already proven my loyalty?”
“It’s necessary, Aubrey, before we brief you on your first mission.”
“Doesn’t sound like I’m being sent off to the steno pool,” she quipped.
“Gosh, no,” Walton said, raising his eyebrows. “Go ahead—read them thoroughly and sign if you want to continue. If you don’t, I have return tickets to Michigan. No hard feelings.”
“Pen,” Aubrey said. Carson produced one and Aubrey rifled through the papers to the final one and signed it. She handed them back to Carson along with the pen.
“I’m in.”
“Excellent. Carson, over to you.”
John Walton went over to the window and looked down on Manhattan while Carson talked to her for the next hour.
“You want me to go back?” Aubrey said when he was finished.
“Yes,” Carson said.
“To Germany? I barely made it out alive the first time.”
Carson looked embarrassed. Maybe he wasn’t privy to the details of the operation to lift that spy out of the Nazi Reich. She didn’t give a damn.
Walton spoke up. “This will be different. Nothing dangerous, I promise. All we want you to do is attend this aviation exhibition. The Germans are anxious to show off their tremendous leaps forward in aeronautics. You’d be representing the United States.”
“Me? Little old me?”
“You’re a celebrity in Germany.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It’s true.”
John Walton produced a glossy magazine with German writing on it. It had a picture of Hitler on the cover, naturally. He flipped to the middle of the magazine.
“There’s an article here about you; nice picture. Women flyers are celebrities in Europe. You must have experienced some of that when you were in Poland.”
“True.” She wouldn’t admit it, but she had loved the attention the Poles had lavished on her. “But surely someone bigger than me could go. Maybe Earhart? She did solo the Atlantic.”
“We tried. Her husband, Putnam, that hustler, has his eyes set on bigger things for her. Hollywood, perhaps. Personally, I think you’d make a bigger splash on the west coast than Amelia Earhart.”
“Why, thank you.” She mock-preened. “So, what am I supposed to do at this exhibition?”
“Look at the new aircraft Messerschmitt and Focke-Wulf are producing. In particular, the new Bf 109. We know hardly anything about it. It’s still in prototype phase, and but it’s going to be the main fighter of Hitler’s Luftwaffe. We hear it’s fast.”
“Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”
“This operation will be run by the Brits.”
Aubrey put her cup down; she remembered the last British intelligence man she’d met.
“Look, they’re the best at this sort of thing.”
“Thought I was just supposed to look around.”
“Maybe take a photo or two. They’ll teach you how to do that. Ask the right questions, probe. We want to know about stall rates, rates of climb, fuel consumption, speeds at takeoff, range, armament. This information could be vital in the years to come. You can’t deny that you’re perfectly suited for this assignment.”
“And how am I supposed to get this information out of Germany?”
“The Brits will show you how. We can’t expect you to memorize everything.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“You’ll catch a steamer to Cherbourg, France. The exhibition just started; you’ll be a little late.”
“Good planning.” She rolled her eyes.
Walton shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Boy, that’s clever.”
“So…”
“I guess when my country calls, I answer it.”
“Fantastic. I have the tickets here. You’ll meet a man named Purnsley in Paris. Here are the contact details. Follow them to the letter. You have the rest of the night to memorize them. They’ll have to be destroyed afterwards.”
“I was supposed to do a little shopping.”
“I had one of my girls do it for you. The clothes are in the closet.”
“Do I get a code name?”
“No, you’re going as Aubrey Endeavours, the famous aviatrix.”
“Right, forgot. Aviatrix and spy. What if I get arrested?”
“What for?”
“That earlier trip to Germany,” she said.
“They haven’t the foggiest that it was you that night. The crash in Belgium—they bought the whole thing. There was an outpouring of relief that you were unhurt. All of Europe expressed it.”
“Guess I missed that.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just concentrate on the job at hand.”
“It will be a little difficult. I mean, they did try to kill me; they came awfully close.”
“It’s the nature of our profession.”
Our profession. She liked the sound of that.
She was left alone for an hour. Carson left the Paris contact details for her on the promise that she would burn them in the tub after reading them. They were simple enough; she suspected they were keeping it as uncomplicated as they could for her.
6
John Walton returned alone and got her loaded into the car for the short drive to the New York docks on the East River. The steamer was of the P&O Line, she was booked in tourist class.
“What about salary?” Aubrey said before boarding.
“It’s about time you asked me,” Walton said.
“You know what? I totally forgot.” She’d received a hundred dollars for the snatch job out of Germany.
“You’re a freelance journalist. Just starting out in your new career. You’ve got contracts with several magazines here in the States to publish your articles and your photographs under your own name. Here are the details.” He handed her a sheaf of papers. “You can familiarize yourself with them on board.”
She flipped through the paperwork, noticed the dates were two weeks old. Were
