Chapter Eleven #3
She chuckled. He always had dreamed big, this boy of hers. “At this point . . . about a hundred fifty.”
“Oh là là! Maman, that’s not Scarlet Pimpernel, that’s . . . that’s a spymaster.”
She’d called Navarre that, but somehow she hadn’t paused to consider the title now belonged to her.
It didn’t fit quite right, did it? She was no master, that masculine word.
But spymistress didn’t sound right either.
Perhaps . . . perhaps she was just the spy keeper.
She glanced over at him as they paused where this little rutted lane met up with the bigger road that wound round the chateau.
Gone was the resentment, the gloom. “Which means if they ever find out how I’m involved, they won’t only come after me.
They’ll come after you. That’s why I can’t write to you.
It’s why I can’t visit often. I don’t want to lead my enemies to you. ”
He nodded vigorously. “I understand. Wow, Maman. You are so much more interesting than Francois’s mother.”
Laughter filled her throat as she turned toward town. “We are each doing our part. No one would expect that this is mine . . . but that’s how I can do it.” She flashed him a grin. “In fact, I thought we could do a bit of spying today.”
Blaise’s eyes, hazel like Jacques’s, went wide. “Me too? Where? How? What will we do?”
“You know that Luftwaffe base outside of town? None of Tante Vivi’s friends have been able to get inside. But I bet we can.”
“How?” His fingers dug into hers with excitement.
“Simple. We’re going to pose as a French mother and her son, who is interested in airplanes.” She sent him a wink. “Do you think you can play that role?”
He could never see Antoine without peppering him with a dozen new questions, gleaned from the reading he’d done since their last visit and the balsa wood models he built from kits. He grinned back. “I think so. Am I allowed to say my uncle is a pilot?”
She considered for a moment, nodded. “I think that would lend credence to our claim. Just don’t mention what he’s doing now. If they ask, say he’s got a desk job somewhere and you don’t know what he does.”
Blaise snickered at the thought. Antoine behind a desk was even more ludicrous than a woman in charge of Alliance.
“And let’s say, if they ask, that our last name is Bridou.” Neither would have any trouble answering to her maiden name. “First names can stay what they are.”
Blaise nodded.
They parked a fair distance from the airfield and then walked toward it as if out for an autumn stroll, nothing more. Still a ways off from the gate, they paused beyond the fence to watch a plane land.
“That’s a Messerschmitt Bf 109,” Blaise said, gripping the rings of the fence in the same way his sister had gripped the side of the piano, pure admiration in his eyes.
“Well. Let’s see if we can get a closer look, shall we?” Hand on his shoulder, she led him toward the gate and its booth—slowly, letting him watch as the Messerschmitt taxied toward a hangar.
The guard at the gate straightened as they approached. Zelie pulled out the smile Maman called all charm. “Pardon me,” she said slowly. “Do you speak French?” She was passable with German, but she’d rather not show that card.
“A little,” the guard said. He looked to be a few years younger than her, perhaps twenty-five, but from the appreciative gaze he gave her, he didn’t mind her extra years. “Can I help you?”
Zelie sent a fond look to Blaise and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Perhaps. My son is fascinated by aircraft. He loves to watch them take off and land, and I thought . . . well, it’s his birthday tomorrow, you see. I thought it would be a swell gift if he could see an airplane up close.”
Another sweet smile, a bat of her lashes, a demure dip of her chin. She was but a perfect wife and mother, striving to please her son. And Blaise played right along, grinning and craning around for another look at the planes within view from here.
The guard smiled. “Birthday. Boy loves airplanes.” Good, he’d picked up the important details anyway.
“One moment.” He lifted a telephone and dialed something, then spoke into it in German.
“It’s Klein at the front gate. There’s a beautiful woman here with her little boy who would love a tour for his birthday.
Anyone want to take them around? Yes?” He smiled anew and hung up, turned back to them.
His words were in clumsy French again. “One moment. Someone comes. Show you around.”
“Really?” Zelie clasped her hands together in delight while Blaise let loose an excited squeal. “Oh, thank you, monsieur. Thank you so much!”
A minute later an officer appeared, and the guard waved them through the gate. The officer was all smiles—and to his credit, they were aimed as much at Blaise as at her.
And that, she thought as they followed him into the heart of the base, is how the impenetrable Luftwaffe’s secrets will make their way to the Allies.
She kept her eyes wide and her smile firmly affixed for the entire, hour-long tour.