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  “That’s how it is?” she whispered, shocked.

  He nodded.

  “What are these concentration camps?” she asked after a long moment. “I thought they were work camps.”

  Karl shook his head and laughed briefly. “Perhaps, at one time, they were. They’re little more than over-crowded prisons now, where anyone who opposes the Nazi Party ends up.”

  Evelyn stared at him, her heart mind spinning.

  “What are you going to do? If they followed you here, they must know something.”

  “I don’t know. I have to go back to Munich. Beyond that, I just don’t know.”

  “What? You can’t do that. They’ll arrest you!” she hissed. “Can’t you stay in France?”

  He looked at her, his lips twisting sardonically. “Relocating to France is not that easily done. Aside from that, if I am at risk, my family is at risk. I must get them out of the city and somewhere safe.”

  “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Twenty-four hours if we move quickly.”

  She was quiet for a moment.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the mountains. We will be safe there temporarily, until I can make other arrangements.”

  The waiter returned then to set down two cups of coffee. Evelyn waited until he departed again, reaching for her cup automatically.

  “How will you give me the package if he’s watching?” she asked after sipping the strong coffee.

  “I won’t.” Karl reached for his coffee. “It’s too dangerous.”

  She stared at him. “Then what do we do?”

  “I’ve hidden it,” he told her quietly. “It’s in the National and University Library, behind a book on entomology. Second floor, last stack on the right. QL458.I29. I lost him long enough to do that, but when I came out of the library, he was in the street waiting for me.”

  She nodded, committing the call number for the book to memory.

  “This is all very well for me, but what are you going to do about you?” she demanded. “You can’t be serious about going back.”

  “I have no choice. To not return would put my family in immediate danger. I must go back.”

  Evelyn bit her lip. She could tell by the resigned tone in his voice that he knew what would happen as soon as he crossed the border back into Germany. She tossed her head, scanning the café across the street as she did so.

  “Which one is he?” she asked.

  “The one in the black suit with the paper.” Karl frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “He is from Munich?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Hans Voss.”

  Evelyn drained her cup, swallowing the strong coffee for fortitude.

  “I’m going to go talk to Herr Voss,” she told him, standing. “I’ll be right back.”

  He jumped up and grabbed her arm.

  “Are you insane?” he hissed. “You can’t do that!”

  She looked down at his hand gripping her arm coldly and he released her awkwardly.

  “I can, and I will,” she said. “Don’t worry. He won’t do anything in the middle of the street, and especially not to me.”

  Turning, Evelyn moved away from the table with more confidence than she felt. Her legs were trembling and her gaze wavered as she looked across the street at the man sitting at a table with a paper. As she looked, the paper shifted and she found herself staring into a pair of icy blue eyes. Swallowing, she stepped off the curb and crossed the road.

  William crossed the hallway to pick up the telephone. While he was answering the correspondence from London, Francois had come to tell him he’d received a call. Picking up the heavy, white receiver, he glanced at his watch.

  “Yes? This is William Buckley,” he answered.

  “Is that Bill?” a deep voice asked through a heavy amount of static. “Good Lord, what a terrible connection. Bill? Are you there?”

  “I’m here, George. Can you hear me?”

  “Barely, old man,” came the cheerful answer. “We have a rubbish connection, but it can’t be helped. Have you heard anything from Strasbourg yet?”

  Bill frowned. “Not yet. I don’t expect to hear anything until later today. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that we got a strange transmission an hour ago from Kehl,” George said. “It came from a man we have at the border. We just decoded it. The message says that a Gestapo agent followed your man there.”

  Bill grew very still and stared at the wall blindly. “What?”

  “A Gestapo agent,” George repeated, raising his voice in attempt to make himself more clear. “He went across the border after your man.”

  “He didn’t stop him at the border?” Bill demanded, a scowl on his face. “He let him go into France?”

  “That’s what makes it so strange. If the Nazi’s are onto him, you’d think they’d want to keep him in Germany.”

  The scowl on Bill’s face grew darker.

  “Not if they want to know who he’s passing the information to,” he said grimly. “They may be trying to identify his contacts. Do we have a name?”

  “No, nothing like that. Just that he was Gestapo and he followed him across the border into France.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you think old Rupert can handle it?” George asked. “He’s a seasoned man. He’ll spot him miles away.”

  “No doubt he would,” Bill agreed, “if he were there. But he’s in hospital having his appendix out.”

  “What? Then who’s meeting Karl?”

  “Someone who’s never done anything like this before.”

  “Well what the hell did you go and do that for?” George exploded.

  “What else could I do? Karl was already on his way, and who knows when we would have got the chance again. As it turns out, if the Nazis are watching him, this is our last shot to get those scouting reports.” Bill rubbed his forehead tiredly. “This is our only shot.”

  George was quiet for a moment and Bill listened to static on the line, his mind spinning. Little Evelyn was going to run right into a Gestapo agent in Strasbourg, and there was no way to warn her. He looked at his watch. Even if there was, it was already too late. She was due to meet Karl ten minutes ago.

  “Do you think there’s a chance this new courier will be able to get the package out?” George finally asked.

  “Under those circumstances? With a trained Gestapo soldier watching? I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Have they at least been briefed on what to do if they’re followed?”

  Bill felt a sinking feeling in his gut. “No. It didn’t seem necessary for a simple pickup.”

  George let out a curse. “Let’s hope they don’t lead the Germans straight to you, then,” he said. “Ring me as soon as you hear something. If the worst happens, we’ll get you and Marguerite home without delay.”

  “I will, but let’s not panic just yet,” he replied. “We may end up being pleasantly surprised.”

  “Or we may end up with the first casualty of your shiny new network,” George retorted ruthlessly.

  “In Strasbourg?” Bill scoffed. “Even the Nazis wouldn’t dare kill an English national on French soil.”

  “I hope you’re right, Bill, otherwise we’re going to have a mess on our hands and no intelligence report to justify it.”

  Chapter Five

  Hans Voss had sandy-colored hair and deep-set, cold blue eyes. His nose was narrow and his face lean, giving him the air of a sophisticated and patriarchal weasel. Or at least, that was the thought that flitted through Evelyn’s mind as she crossed the road in a break of traffic, her eyes on his.

  She must be out of her mind. What did she really think she would accomplish? Swallowing, she admitted to herself that she hadn’t thought this through at all, but he had seen her and now she was committed, for better or wo
rse.

  God-willing it wasn’t for worse.

  As she approached, Herr Voss tossed his paper onto the table and rose politely to his feet.

  “Good day,” Evelyn said with a light cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Herr Voss?”

  She spoke in German, her Berlin accent impeccable. He bowed slightly from the waist, his eyes locked on her face in surprise.

  “Yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Fräulein—”

  His voice was smooth and it sent a shiver of warning down her spine clear to her toes.

  “Richardson,” Evelyn said, holding out her hand. “Maggie Richardson. I’m with the Evening Standard.”

  He shook her hand automatically, staring at her in bemusement. “The Evening Standard?”

  “Yes. It’s a newspaper. In London.” Evelyn gave him her best smile, the one that had melted Marc Fournier’s heart along with countless others. “May I join you?”

  He seemed to suddenly snap out of his stupor and he motioned to the other seat.

  “Of course.” He waited until she was seated before taking his own again. “Are you from Germany?”

  “No. I have distant relatives in Berlin,” she said easily. “I spent some time there as a child. It’s a beautiful country.”

  “Yes, it is.” Hans crossed his legs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Fräulein?”

  “I’ve been writing a series of articles on the economic growth and development of Germany under the Third Reich,” Evelyn told him, her voice even. “Herr Gerst, across the street there, has been kind enough to help me. He’s been able to give me examples, you see, as a layman source within Munich.”

  Hans’ eyes narrowed sharply. “Examples of what?”

  Evelyn widened her eyes at his tone.

  “Why, of how well business is doing and how the unemployment has plummeted since the Nazis took over. It’s all so impressive! You see, my goal is to illustrate how Adolph Hitler has improved Germany and the quality of life for her people.”

  He visibly relaxed and raised an eyebrow in interest.

  “Is that so?” he asked, glancing across the road to Karl. “And Karl Gerst is your source?”

  “Classified source,” she qualified. “He wishes to remain anonymous. He seems to think he might get in trouble for sharing his observations and experiences, and those of people he knows, with a foreign correspondent. I thought he was being rather silly, but then he told me that you followed him from Munich. Tell me, are you really Gestapo? He said you are, but you’re nothing what I imagined the Gestapo to look like.”

  “I’m an Untersturmführer in the Sicherheitsdienst, the Security Service.”

  “And how does one address an Untersturmführer in the Sicherheitsdienst?” Evelyn asked with a twinkle.

  “You may address me as Herr Untersturmführer,” he answered somewhat stiffly.

  “Very well, Herr Untersturmführer. Would you be willing to give me a few words? The people of London would love to have a direct quote from someone of rank within the Third Reich.”

  “I cannot. Many apologies.”

  “I promise it will be delivered in a favorable light,” she coaxed. “As I said, I want to show the English people that there is nothing to fear from the Nazi party, or from Hitler himself.”

  “What would they have to fear from us?” he demanded. “We are merely rebuilding our country from the ashes of the Versailles Treaty.”

  “Exactly! And that is what I will say. May I quote you?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “Even if I do it as an anonymous source? As I am for Herr Gerst?”

  Hans wavered. “Well, if it is truly anonymous, perhaps.”

  “Agreed!”

  He looked at her. “But you have no pad and pencil. You are not taking notes.”

  Evelyn laughed. “Oh, I don’t need to do any of that. I have a fantastic memory. When I’m finished with my lunch, I will go to the library and write it all down, don’t worry.”

  “Why go to the library? Why not write it now?”

  “It’s the way I work, you see. I listen and absorb everything, then go away and write it all down. I’ll write most of the article right then, while it’s still fresh in my mind. I find libraries are the best places to write. The smell, the books, and of course, the quiet all allow me to do some of my best work.”

  Hans stared at her for a moment.

  “How many times have you met with Herr Gerst?” he asked, withdrawing a cigarette case from his pocket and offering her one.

  Evelyn shook her head, declining the cigarette, and watched as he extracted one with long fingers. Her heart was pounding as she frantically tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t compromise either Karl or herself. She had no idea how many times Karl had crossed the border into France!

  “To be completely honest, this is my first time,” she finally said when the silence had grown uncomfortably long.

  Hans raised his eyebrow, lifting his eyes from his match to glance at her.

  “I thought you said he had been supplying you with accounts for your articles?”

  “Well, he has, but not in person.” Evelyn shot him a flustered look that she didn’t have to feign. “You see, he’s been meeting with another journalist who writes for the Daily Mail.”

  He lifted the match to the end of his cigarette, never taking his eyes from her face. Once the cigarette was lit, he tossed the match into the street.

  “I don’t see how that helps you with your articles.”

  “This is rather embarrassing to try to explain,” she said, leaning forward. “You see, I found out about the idea from a typist over at the Daily Mail. The reporter that Herr Gerst has been meeting is putting together a string of articles to publish next month. His articles will paint the Nazis in a very different light. He will be presenting the idea that the German people are being oppressed.”

  “What nonsense,” Hans snapped.

  “Precisely! Which is why I’m writing a series of articles to come out at the same time and to present the true picture to my readers.”

  “You stole this other reporters source?”

  Evelyn managed a guilty look.

  “I know some would say that it’s not quite ethical to do, but I don’t see anything wrong with it. You know, all’s fair and all that. Herr Gerst is telling me the exact same things he told the other writer. I’m simply presenting them as he states them to my readers, and the Daily Mail will be twisting and distorting it to fit their views.”

  “And so you will be writing the truth while they will be printing lies,” he finished, blowing out a stream of smoke.

  “That’s certainly the plan.”

  “How did you find out Herr Gerst was his source?”

  She swallowed. “I did what any reporter worth her salt would do: I followed him.”

  A glint of amusement lit his eyes and, for the first time since she sat down, his face was softened by a smile.

  “Did you indeed? All the way from London?”

  “Goodness, no!” Evelyn laughed. “Even I am not that intrepid. I’ve been in France for the past two months. Last month, I covered the Tour de France. Afterwards, I stayed on to do some articles on Paris high society.”

  “And now you write about foreign political and economic change,” he murmured. “I had no idea reporters in England had free reign to write on such a variety of topics.”

  Evelyn felt a flush trying to creep up her cheeks. “My editor is very open-minded.”

  “Tell me, how did you convince Herr Gerst to meet with you today and not this other journalist?”

  “I told him the truth.” Evelyn glanced across the street to where Karl was smoking and staring down at his bread and cheese. “He was appalled when he realized how his stories would be used. Herr Gerst is a very loyal National Socialist.”

  “Hm.” Hans made a noise that was non-committal. “And you? Why are you so eager to set the record straight and show the strides
Germany has made under our Führer’s guidance?”

  Evelyn opened her eyes very wide.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s inspiring what your country has been able to accomplish in such a short period of time. Why, your unemployment rate alone is outstanding. You went from thirty percent unemployed to less than one percent in five years!”

  “You know your statistics, Fräulein,” Hans said, inclining his head. “The Führer promised that all Germans would have work and bread, and he has delivered.”

  “I’m sure there is much that we can learn from your country, and I hope to open our readers’ eyes to see just what is possible.” Evelyn swallowed, resisting the urge to grimace at her own sugary enthusiasm. Good heavens, what complete drivel she was coming up with!

  Hans studied her for a long time in silence, his cold blue eyes boring into hers as if he could read her soul. Evelyn remained still in her seat, refusing to squirm, and met his gaze squarely. She had no idea who his family was, but hers was one of the oldest in England and she would be damned if she would allow herself to be intimidated by a Jerry in a black coat.

  “Tell me, Fräulein Richardson, when was the last time you were in Berlin?”

  Hans finally broke his silence, dropping the cigarette stub onto the pavement and moving the toe of his shoe over it to crush it out.

  “Oh, not for years,” she answered, waving a hand vaguely. “Goodness, it must have been close to ten years now.”

  “You haven’t forgotten a single word of your German. It’s really quite impressive. You must have spent quite a bit of time there when you went.”

  Evelyn smiled tightly. “I stayed for a few months at a time, and I’ve always had a fondness for languages. I’ve been told I have an ear for them.”

  Those cold eyes touched on her face thoughtfully for a moment, then he stood up.

  “I would love to show you Berlin as it is now,” he said. “You really must arrange to visit your family. I think you’ll find that it has changed for the better since you were last there.”