The Darkest Hour, page 4
When Tilly speaks again, she fights to steady her voice. “The Nazis took Delphine?” There’s the smallest flicker of hope in her words. “She’s alive?”
“For now, yes. That’s the news that Laurent has relayed to me,” Harken says.
Silence falls over the room again like a death shroud. Under the table I squeeze Tilly’s hand, but her fingers go limp next to mine. Delphine is one of our most seasoned agents. She’s stationed in Vichy, the new seat of the French puppet government, but she stops in at headquarters every month to deliver supplies that the OSS has parachuted into the countryside. My mind flies back to the last time I saw her, just two weeks ago. She had come to deliver our newest parcel: a pile of forged francs for bribe-making, a dozen pistol pens, and a sack of potatoes to supplement our rations. But that wasn’t all. In her usual Delphine way, she had brought small gifts for us, too: a precious flask of cognac for Harken; a handkerchief full of summer berries for Sabine and me; and a Barbusse novel for Tilly. Despite their ten-year age gap, they had become fast friends at the boarding school that Tilly attended and where Delphine worked as a literature teacher.
“What happened to Delphine?” I say, asking the question burning on my tongue. On all of our tongues. “Why were the three of them even sent to Reims?”
“Because I sent them there, that’s why!” Harken barks. His hands slam against the table so hard that the wood shudders.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Should we give you a moment alone, sir?”
“Do I look like I need a moment alone?” he snaps. Just like that, he has wiped his face clean and replaced it with his usual mask. “I called this meeting for a reason. Now, listen here. Our agents were undertaking a special mission in Reims—a mission that Delphine had spearheaded under my direction. This is all highly classified, understood?”
The three of us bob our heads.
“Good,” Harken goes on. “About six weeks ago, we received a message from the local Resistance group in Reims. They believed that the Nazis have a secret operation in the works, one that they’ve kept very hush-hush. The Resistance in Reims had tried for months to mine more information about it, but they kept coming up empty aside from one key piece of intelligence.” His gaze flickers toward me. “The Nazi code name for it was ‘Operation Zerfall.’ ”
A chill pinches my spine, and I hear Travert’s cries echoing in my ears: I’ll tell you about Zerfall. It’ll change the course of the war.
“Zerfall,” Sabine says, testing out the word. “That’s the German word for decay, is it not?”
Harken nods. “It is.”
“What does this operation entail?” Tilly asks.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Harken says with a drawn-out sigh. “Could Zerfall be an airstrike? A U-boat attack? We were working around the clock—Delphine and I—but not getting anywhere. Until Delphine made a discovery. She uncovered a very promising lead in the hotel room of a Nazi lieutenant general.”
“How did she manage that?” I ask.
Harken strides to the corner table to pour himself some cognac, but at the last second he reaches for the wine, likely remembering who had brought him that cognac in the first place. He throws back a long sip. “Delphine had befriended this general.”
Befriended. My mind quickly fills in the blanks.
Harken continues, “She found a coded telegram that was intended for the Führer himself. It took a few more weeks for us to decipher it, but we did so with OSS help. The message said: Zerfall near completion. Launch in August.”
“Did the telegram mention anything else?” says Sabine. She has scooted to the very edge of her seat, ready to process Harken’s words as soon as he utters them. “Early August is a month and a half away.”
“Our thoughts exactly. Delphine was convinced that she could discover more information if she went to Reims. That’s where the Nazi lieutenant general she ‘befriended’ had an office.” Another sip of wine. “She decided to break into it.”
“She did what?” Tilly blurts out.
Harken ignores her. “I didn’t like the idea, but hundreds of thousands of Allied lives could depend on this one lead, and Delphine was sure that she could sneak in and out without anyone noticing. I sent Margot and Agnes with her—Margot to keep watch and Agnes to distract the guards if necessary. It was supposed to be a simple black-bag job. Break in, grab the goods, and go. After it was all over, they would radio Laurent or me. That was two days ago. I thought maybe they had trouble getting to a safe house but …” He trails off and doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
Tilly hiccups, and I squeeze her hand again, but I know that we’re thinking the same thing. Delphine may be alive, but for how long? She could have days, maybe weeks. She might even survive a month if she can withstand the torture, but if she breaks before then, the Germans will easily put a bullet through her head. I want to tell Tilly that everything will be all right, but even I can’t lie that well. Two agents are dead and Delphine might soon join them. Nothing has been “all right” since this war started.
Though maybe we can change that.
I look up at Harken. “We need to go to Reims, sir. I know it’s against protocol, but we can’t leave Delphine to the Nazis. She knows too much.”
“Lucie’s right,” Tilly jumps in. I glance at her to find iron in her eyes instead of tears. “We can be ready to leave in half an hour.”
Sabine crosses her arms. “If you go to Reims, you’ll be walking into your own murder. The Germans will have dozens of soldiers guarding Delphine’s cell.”
“Then what do you propose?” I say. “That we sit here and do nothing?”
“That’s not what I said. I was merely pointing out that we shouldn’t act in haste, as you’ve done tonight with Monsieur Travert.” Her gaze cuts me like the knife in my rosary, but it softens when she turns to Tilly. “I’m sorry, Matilda, but we must be realistic. I very much respect Delphine, but if the Nazis have captured her, then the question must be asked: What if she is already dead?”
I wish I could yank out Sabine’s tongue. “We can’t assume that!”
“And you shouldn’t assume that she’s alive,” Sabine replies.
“Enough of this!” Harken roars, making all of us jump. “Are you two finished flapping your lips yet? Or shall I wait?”
The heat cools from Sabine’s eyes, but not by much. “My apologies, Major.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble through clenched teeth.
“What are we going to do about Delphine?” Tilly says at last. “Can we reach out to Betty and Virginia? How about Georgiana or Germaine?” she asks, referring to the other agents of Covert Ops. “We could recall them and have them help us.”
“You could send them a coded radio message,” I add, pointing at the Type 3 Mark II transceiver tucked in the corner that we use to contact our agents as well as our OSS colleagues stationed in London. Only Harken knows how to use the device, but he has been teaching Sabine how to operate it, too.
“They’re all embedded too deeply,” Major Harken mutters. “I need them in the field right now. Betty is making headway in Zurich, and Virginia is too valuable to take out of Brussels. The same with Georgiana and Germaine. It has taken months to get everyone in place, and I can’t get most of them out without jeopardizing their covers.” He takes in a long breath and slowly releases it. “That leaves it to us to find Delphine.”
My head snaps to his, as do Tilly’s and Sabine’s.
“We’ll be outnumbered—” Sabine starts, but Major Harken raises his hand to quiet her.
“Like Blaise said, Delphine knows too much. We can’t risk the Germans finding out about OSS or Covert Ops. If she tells them what she knows, it would put everything we’ve done in danger. It’s not only our lives on the line—it’s the lives of thousands of Allied soldiers who need us to cut the Nazis’ feet from under them.”
“Delphine wouldn’t break,” says Tilly.
“Everyone can break,” Major Harken says darkly. “That’s the truth.”
“There’s the suicide pill, though,” says Sabine.
“She would’ve used it by now. The Nazis must have found it and disposed of it,” Harken replies. “So that’s that. We’re going to Reims. We have to determine if she gave up anything during interrogation and if we’re now compromised. If we can rescue her, too, all the better.”
“I’ll get my things straightaway,” Tilly says in a rush, but Harken raises his hand again.
“We’re not leaving tonight. There aren’t any trains running and we don’t exactly have a car at our disposal. We’ll leave in the morning. Once we reach the city, we’ll ascertain the situation first. If there’s an opening to free Delphine, we’ll take it.” He glances at Tilly. “If not, we’ll bring enough powder to blow the jail entirely.”
Tilly freezes. “Sir—”
“It’ll be our last option. If it does come to that, I’ll be the one to light the fuse.”
The thought of taking out one of our own—even if it’s mercy to give her a quick death instead of the one the Nazis have in store for her—sickens my stomach, but we joined Covert Ops knowing what we were signing up for. If we were in Delphine’s shoes, we’d choose a bomb, too, over the Nazis’ little games.
“When do we depart?” Sabine says.
“We’ll take the noon train to Reims. Make sure you’re packed well before then.”
I sit up straight. He had said we, hadn’t he? Or was that a slip of the tongue?
Major Harken seems to sense the question I want to ask him. “You won’t be coming with us, Blaise. You’ll stay here at headquarters to keep watch.”
That’s another punch to my gut. “But—”
“The decision is made, especially considering what happened tonight. You may have topped your class, Blaise, but you’re not living in a training exercise anymore.”
My throat grows tight with shame, and I look down at my hands that failed me tonight with Travert. I don’t reply to Harken. What would I say to him? One botched mission is forgivable, perhaps it’s even expected, but two? This isn’t something my instructors had prepared me for.
Tilly clears her throat. “Sir, we may want Lucie with us in Reims. It might not be a bad idea to have a lookout.”
Major Harken waves her off. “The three of you are dismissed.” When we don’t move fast enough for his liking, he shouts, “That’s an order.”
We leap out of our seats, but when I reach the doorway, I have to turn back. How am I supposed to stay here at headquarters when Delphine is in prison? Even if I went as a lookout like Tilly said, I could offer something to their mission. “Sir—”
Major Harken elbows me out of the room and slams the door on me, just an inch from my nose. I stumble back, but Tilly is there to catch me.
“Are you all right?” she whispers.
I straighten my shirt, hold my chin high. No tears, I tell myself.
“I’m fine,” I say.
But both she and I know that it’s a lie.
August 3, 1942
Dear Luce,
It’s been nearly a month since you saw me off at the train station, but it feels like ages. How’ve you been? Miss me yet?
Guess where I’m writing you from? Right smack dab in the middle of the ocean. We weren’t at base for long before they packed us into a big sardine can of a boat. I sure do wish that you and Ruthie could keep me company. We could play rummy and Ruthie could win every hand. Truth be told, though, I’m glad the two of you are at home, where you’ll be safe. Besides, it’s beginning to stink like an armpit in our bunkroom, and I don’t think you girls would appreciate the smell.
We’ve been at sea now for three days, and I wouldn’t mind switching out bunkmates for our old friend Sir Chive right about now. The bunkmate I do have—Gordon Paul—snores like a foghorn, but he shared his chocolate ration with me, so I guess we’re square.
Other than the chocolate, the food isn’t much better than pig slop. If the Germans don’t kill us first, then the baked mutton will. It would be downright patriotic if Maman mailed me one of her galettes au beurre, but none of the officers will tell us where we’re headed. I’m guessing █████. Abner thinks ████. Gordo says ███████. Can you imagine that? Me, sleeping next to a camel?
Sergeant Stanton is telling us lights out, so I better make this quick. Could you do me a favor and swing by Ruthie’s place? Give her a hug for me and a big old kiss on the lips. I’m ragging you about that last part, but tell her not to worry. I’ll knock off a few Nazis and be home to the two of you before you know it. Love to you both.
Theo
That night I lie awake on my cot. Hours have passed since the briefing and all of headquarters has gone quiet, but I can’t sleep. The eyes of the dead won’t give me any peace tonight.
Travert’s eyes come to me first, all wide and watery and begging me for mercy. I try to swat the fresh memory of him away, but as soon as I chase it off, I see Margot and Agnes. I imagine them in Reims, their eyes grim as the Nazis close in on them. I wonder if they had gone out fighting, emptying their pistols until their chambers clicked hollow. Or maybe they took the suicide pills that every agent is given before a mission, marked L for lethal. One swallow and you’re gone. Nobody wants to use an L pill, of course, but sometimes you don’t have a choice.
I grind my teeth and try not to think about the two of them, and I especially don’t want to think about Delphine and what the Germans might be doing to her right now. So I force myself to focus on something else, anything else, and that’s when my thoughts turn to Theo, like they always do when sleep eludes me.
Sometimes I think I’m forgetting his face, so I try to remember every detail. Theo often had this glint in his eyes, like he was thinking about a joke that our parish priest would rap his knuckles for repeating. He also had a bump in his nose and long hair that hung past his earlobes, which Papa hated. When Theo did finally cut his hair, it wasn’t for our father’s benefit but to join the service.
The last time I saw him alive, he was sporting that freshly clipped hair along with a new army uniform that hung past his wrists. He had already spent weeks in basic training and had come home for three days before he had to ship out. Our family went to the train station to see him off. The memory of that day has stayed crisp in my mind, like a newly developed photograph.
Papa was hungover like always, and we reached the station late, just in time for the conductor to cup his hand to his mouth and shout down the platform: “Last call! All aboard!”
Papa shuffled forward to give the first good-bye, a rough pat on Theo’s back and a quick bon courage with his wine-stained breath. Maman went next. She started weeping into her handkerchief while Theo gave her a peck and told her how much he’d miss her crepes. Ruthie hadn’t come to the station. She and Theo had said their good-byes late the night before, but I saw him scanning the crowd for her anyway. Hoping.
There was no more time to search for Ruthie, though, not with the conductor motioning toward us. Theo threaded toward the nearest car, and I sprang after him, leaving our parents behind in the busy throng.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Theo said, smacking his gum and tucking a knuckle under my chin.
“ ’Course I will.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he mussed my hair because he saw the tears brimming in my eyes. “Don’t worry that little head of yours, either. I didn’t forget about California.”
I blinked at him.
“What do you think I plan on doing with the cash Uncle Sam is going to give me?” he said.
So he hadn’t given up on our plan. “What about Ruthie?”
“Shh,” he said, and jutted a thumb in our parents’ direction. They didn’t know that he had a girlfriend, much less a Jewish one who Papa would never approve of. Not that Theo cared much about pleasing our father those days. He had signed up for the war without mentioning a thing to our parents. “Ruthie will come with us, too. Oh, don’t make that face. You like her. Admit it.”
It was true. I did like Ruth Green. I was all prepared to hate her for stealing away Theo’s heart, but she won me over when she made him study for his tests and single-handedly brought his C average up to a B+. She was nothing like Theo at all. She was serious while he was all jokes. She kept the books at her mother’s sewing shop, and Theo couldn’t save a nickel if he wanted to. But somehow they fell for each other, and they’d been glued at the hip for almost a year.
“When I get back,” he said, “we’ll all hop on a bus, the three of us. Just you wait.”
“You promise?”
He grinned. “When have I ever broken a promise to you?”
The train started to move, and Theo gave me a fierce hug before he jumped onto the car, a smooth move straight out of the pictures. As the engine chugged and ushered him away from me, he winked and called out, “Say a Hail Mary for me every night, won’t you, Luce?”
I shouted back to him that I would, and I did him one better. When I woke up every morning, I said a prayer for him. When I folded dough after school, I whispered another. Then late at night, when I tried to ignore Papa’s drunken shouts, I said two Hail Marys for Theo just as I’d promised.
Until the telegram came.
I remember that day, too. January 14, 1943. Maman collapsed onto the kitchen floor, weeping; Papa left the house and didn’t return for two days. All the while the telegram sat on our dining table like a shard of glass, untouched. A Western Union emblem was printed at the top, followed by the lines: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Blaise, The Secretary of War expresses his deepest regret …
After the funeral, I dreamed of Theo for weeks. It was always the same—of him lying on a sandy battlefield in North Africa with his mouth blue and his beloved uniform shredded. It was his eyes, though, open and lifeless, that would make me wake up screaming. Maman would rush into my room while Papa would yell at me to shut my mouth. Months passed before that nightmare went away, but tonight it comes back to haunt me. This time, though, instead of Maman waking me up, it’s Sabine.
