Chapter Twelve #2
He expected Zelie to leap up. Instead, she leaned closer, so that only a few centimeters separated them.
“I’ll hurry back to warn everyone, but it’ll take me an hour to get there.
If the police are already on their way, I could be too late.
I need you to go back to your studio. Get out the radio I gave you for Gabriel.
Tune it to our frequency and send a message to the villa.
With any luck, Lucien is at the radio there and will get the message. ”
The chances of that were slim. Lucien only turned the radio on at preset times, to send or receive messages.
The Germans had new technology that they could drive around, hunting for illicit radio signals, and they’d been using it far too much.
Short, sporadic use of the radio was all that kept them from being discovered.
Marcel’s breath escaped him. “This requires more than luck, ma chérie. This requires faith. The Lord’s protection.”
They never spoke of faith, not directly. But her sheer surprise at his mentioning it told him hers was rusty, at best. Renounced, at worst. If ever he thought she returned his affections, it was a conversation they would have to have.
Pointless though, in truth. He couldn’t keep himself from loving her, but he knew it was useless.
No. Perhaps it wouldn’t ever be satisfying. But it had a purpose, he believed that. If that purpose was simply to pray for her, then he would thank the Lord for the reminder to do so, every time his heart pounded at the thought of her.
Her chin edged up a degree. “Then pray. We’ll see, I suppose, if the Lord really sees us and cares.”
“Zelie.” He let her pull her hand away but didn’t lean back.
“I am no radioman. It’s going to take me forever to tap out the Morse code.
” He had their frequency written down, their own codes, and a copy of Morse code too—all to hand off to Gabriel.
But he’d never thought he’d have to use it himself.
He’d rather planned on laughing at the look sure to overcome Gabriel’s face at realizing he would have to learn.
“Then I guess you better pray for speed for yourself while you’re at it.” She scooted to the outside of the bench and stood.
He followed suit, then trailed her through the crowd and out the door, not daring to say anything more until they were outside.
Then, he bade her pause with a soft touch to her elbow.
When she turned to face him, he flashed back to that night in Paris, after she’d met Gabriel and Anne.
The way she’d smiled. How hopeful she’d looked, as they put another cog into place.
The lack of that hope in her eyes now pierced him anew. “I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault.” No hesitation, but still her countenance was all hard lines.
“He’s my cousin.”
“And responsible for his own action. This isn’t just about family, Marcel—it’s bigger than your family. You came to me. You’re not the one to blame.”
The right words, but they did little to ease the knot of guilt and shame. Then a new wave of fear broke over him.
This was real. His cousin had betrayed him, her, all of them, everything he’d been working for since the surrender.
It was real, and Emile had put them all in danger.
“Be careful.” He knew she would be, but he couldn’t hold back the words.
“You’re going to need to escape, lie low.
If you see the police are already there, don’t approach the villa. ”
Common sense—so why did her throat bob like that?
“I have to go back, Marcel. Maman is there. She came to get the Christmas presents I found for the children. Blaise will be coming home from school tomorrow, his friend Francois is bringing him. She’d—she’d planned to be back in time.
One day, that’s all she was going to be here. One day.”
New dread unfurled. “Even so, Zelie—don’t walk into the trap. We need you—France needs you, Alliance needs you, everyone needs you.” I need you. “You’ll do your children no good if you’re caught too.”
She pulled away. “I’ll do what I must.”
He kept pace. “You certainly will. You’ll remember that this is bigger than you. Bigger than your family, if it’s bigger than mine. Zelie.” He caught her elbow again. “You must survive. If none of the rest of us do, you must. You’re the only one who can regroup, rebuild.”
She pulled away again, and he knew. He knew that’s what she would always do. Pull away. Risk her life but protect her heart.
Understandable. She’d lost a husband, one she must have loved with all her soul. Who was Marcel to think he could ever inspire her to choose something different?
A fool, all the more so for wasting time on such thoughts now, when every second counted. “God go with you,” he said. Before he could think of anything to add, she broke into a run.
He stood there for a second, mind awhirl.
He should go with her, make sure she didn’t dash headlong into danger to save her mother.
He should confront Emile, get him to call the whole thing off.
He should find somewhere to hide, because if Emile had really turned over the entire list of Alliance members, that would include him.
He needed to do exactly what la patronne told him to.
So he retraced his steps, right down to the dart through the fateful alley, and let himself back into the building they rented for the orchestra, with its modest stage for local performances and practices, its cramped practice room, the recording and broadcasting studio, and his office.
Once inside, he held still in the darkness for a long moment, waiting for gendarmes to jump out.
Silence. He flipped on the lights, scanned every corner and possible hiding place, but still silence.
He turned more lights on as he went, until he was in the recording studio.
Everything was exactly as he’d left it half an hour ago—how had the world come unraveled in thirty short minutes?
—including the small transmitter Zelie had slipped him last week.
His hands shook as he pulled it out and set it on the table, using its accompanying wires and cables to get it powered on—lessons she’d given him so that he could teach Gabriel.
He sent up a plea to heaven, first in Latin, then in French.
His hands steadied as he sat down and flipped to the pages he needed.
He tuned the radio to the right frequency, slipped the studio headphones onto his ears, and drew in a long breath. The message needed to be short.
B-E-T-R-A-Y-A-L, he tapped out.
BETRAYAL STOP POLICE EN ROUTE STOP FLEE STOP