“We’re off duty.”
“Are we—I mean you… Are you ever off duty, really?”
“No, never. But I’ll suspend training for the evening. Besides, what’s the point. You’re either ready to fly solo or you aren’t.”
“And if I’m not, it’s curtains for me.”
“Possibly. Listen, don’t worry. It’ll go off without a hitch.”
Aubrey nodded, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Hewitt, when that man I took out of Germany was dying in that field, he said something to me.”
“I think I remember you telling me something.”
“He said that Lazarus must get out. Does that mean anything to you?”
Purnsley sipped his wine.
“Hew?”
“Don’t call me that. My sister calls me that. Little Huey. I hate the name.”
“Okay, Hewitt. Lazarus—ring a bell?”
“He’s a scientist, I believe. Brilliant. They’re starting to flee Germany in droves. Someone called it a brain drain in the paper the other day. Seems appropriate.”
“Why wouldn’t Germany, Hitler, want to keep these brilliant minds in the country?”
“Because most of them are Jews. Either that or they’re Reds. This Lazarus does something with molecules, some sort of physics. I was never one for hard science.”
“Me neither, except when it came to flying, of course.”
“What goes up must come down, that sort of thing?”
She smiled. “So, what about him? Can he be gotten out?”
“Doubtful. If he can, he’ll have to do it on his own.”
“What about picking him up, like I did with the other guy? I could fly in…”
“Nonsense. Besides, that was all arranged. That was one of ours. We were in contact with him. Do you think he could have evaded the Gestapo without having sufficient training?”
“But they were on to him—they shot at us. Was he betrayed?”
“Probably. We’ll never know. Anyway, enough about this Lazarus. Just concentrate on the job at hand. Your train leaves in two hours.”
Aubrey was booked on the overnight to Berlin. The trip would take eight hours. They finished their meal, and Hewitt Purnsley said his goodbyes as he hailed a taxi for her. Aubrey thought he would return with her to the hotel but evidently, he wanted to make a clean break right there. She took no offense.
She had not fully unpacked for her short stay in Paris. As she put the few things back into her suitcase, she noticed something at the bottom of it. Something she had forgotten she had. She pulled the Colt .45 out of her bag and held it in her hands. It had been a last-minute decision, nicking her father’s pistol. She had decided it was the only way she would have peace of mind, knowing that her father didn’t have access to a loaded handgun. She stared at it speculatively. Or had there been another reason?
She was, after all, going into hostile territory. Had she felt some subconscious need to take it? She hadn’t mentioned it to Hewitt. Although they’d only spent two days together, she could tell what his reaction would be. He would have called her a damn fool for trying to bring a weapon into the Reich. He might have even confiscated it, or, worse, called the whole thing off.
She didn’t even have a holster for it. Only her tan flying coat had pockets big enough for it. She could hardly wear that to an elegant ball. But then again, what need would she have to bring a loaded pistol to an elegant fancy-dress ball? The pistol went back into the bag, stuffed down into the bottom.
The compact Hewitt had given her was packed last, after she’d sat down on the bed and fiddled with it for a while. The false bottom was hard to undo but eventually, by sticking her thumbnail in it, she got it open. She practised it a few more times; the last thing she wanted to do was be caught fiddling with it in the washroom of the Air Ministry of Nazi Germany.
She boarded the train to Berlin and a fat man in a wrinkled grey suit shifted his seat to allow her a window view. She thanked him, speaking in what little German she had. She’d taken it at Rockingham Girls’ Collegiate. She’d had no need of the French classes, of course; she spoke that better than the instructor.
She gazed out at the busy platform in Paris and noticed Hewitt Purnsley standing a hundred feet back from the train, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. For a moment they locked eyes. Then the train hooted and started to chug forward. Hewitt faded into the crowd and was gone.
As the train rolled across the French countryside, falling asleep proved an impossible task at first. Finally, the rhythmic clicking of the wheels over the tracks lulled her and she dreamt of Michigan and Ferguson and her father. The dream was abruptly ended by the slamming open of the compartment doors. A thin man no older than she was entered, carrying two battered suitcases. He was wearing a faded grey suit two sizes too large for him. The suitcases went on the rack over his head and he plunked down opposite her. The man who’d given up his seat had been awakened by the newcomer as well. Aubrey saw him cast a disapproving eye at the young man.
The thin man unwrapped something strong-smelling from some waxed paper and the compartment was instantly filled with the odour. The man looked sheepishly up at Aubrey from his meal and offered it across to her. It looked like pâté. Her stomach grumbled; she was tempted to try it, but shook her head and smiled at the man. He was charming; his smile back showed a mouthful of pearly white teeth, and he had an
