The Darkest Hour(39)

“We could go back,” Dorner says.

“No, we can’t. The mission always comes first,” I echo Sabine. I search through our pouch for a canteen, but find mine empty. I sigh and toss it aside.

“Here, have some of mine,” Dorner says, offering his own canteen that he has attached to his belt loop.

“Save it for yourself,” I say reluctantly. I’ve been trained to go without water, but Dorner hasn’t.

“There’s plenty.” He nudges the canteen into my hand and won’t drop the matter until I draw in a slow sip. “How much farther until we reach the submarine?”

“Not far,” I lie. We’ll be cutting it close. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there.”

“That isn’t my main concern.”

I almost choke on the water because if that isn’t his main concern, then there must be something he isn’t telling me. “What is your concern then?”

“The British. Once you hand me over to them, they could arrest me. Throw me in prison.”

“Tell them what you’ve told me. Show them the photographs.”

“Will that be enough?” He swats his hand against the damp grass and peers at me from the corner of his eye. “Perhaps you could put in a good word for me. You must have a contact with them if you were able to arrange for my transport across the Channel.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. What matters is what’s in your folder.”

He chews on that for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.” His mouth kicks up into a half smile. “Although a good word can’t hurt. I’d sincerely appreciate it, Marie-Louise.”

“We’ll see.” I suppose I could radio the SOE once I get back to headquarters—if I can get back there, that is—but I meant it when I told him that what I have to say won’t matter much in the end. His evidence will have to speak for itself.

Dorner seems to drop the matter for now. “Do you have any more of those pen contraptions in case we run into the patrols again?”

“You used my last one.”

“A pity. I’ve never seen anything like it. Does the Resistance make them?” He tilts his head like he’s puzzling out the results of an experiment. “They seem rather handy.”

“They are handy,” I say, but I don’t tell him where I got the weapons. His question might be innocent, but I can’t spill Covert Ops’ secrets. “By the way, good shot tonight.”

“It was nothing.” He wipes his glasses again, and I see that one of the lenses has cracked down the middle. “I was lucky.”

“I wouldn’t call it lucky. I’d call it good aim.” Excellent aim, really. I point at his glasses. “You only had use of one eye with that lens cracked.”

“It’s not a strong prescription,” he demurs, and tucks the glasses in his shirt pocket as if to prove his point. “And you give me too much credit. I haven’t shot a gun since I was a boy, back when my brother took me hunting.” His voice cracks. “He was drafted by the Nazis a year ago. I hope that he’s all right.”

I nod, though I can’t quite echo his sentiments. What if his brother’s regiment had fought Theo’s? It’s a miniscule possibility, but it’s still there, reminding me of the fact that Dorner and I stood on opposite sides of this war just a month ago. That makes me wonder, too, what Theo would think if he saw me sitting here and sharing a canteen with a former Nazi scientist. He’d probably call me crazy, even if I explained everything about Zerfall to him. Watch your back, Luce, he’d tell me, and that thought makes my heart ache. I only wish I had been the one watching Theo’s back the day he was shot. I wish I had been there to push him out of the way—because he would’ve done the same for me.

I get back onto my feet and offer my hand to Dorner. Maybe I can’t take a bullet for my brother, but I can deliver Dorner to the SOE and get the coordinates to the laboratory. It’s too late to save Theo, but it won’t be too late to save the thousands of soldiers and civilians who could die of Zerfall.

We hit our grueling pace once again with only the crashing of the waves to keep us company. For a man who has seemingly spent most of his time in a laboratory, Dorner manages to keep up with me. When we stop again, I’m the one who needs more water and not the other way around.

Dorner rests his hands on his knees while he steadies his breath. “I don’t mean to slow us down.”

“You haven’t,” I say.

“You don’t need to lie for my sake. If it weren’t for me, I’m sure you would have swam across the Channel by now.” He sees me smirk and goes on. “It’s true. I’ve yet to see you make a mistake.”

I almost snort, wishing Major Harken could hear that. “Tell that to my supervisor.”

“You two don’t get along, I take it?”

“Not always.” I wait for him to ask me more, but he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know that it isn’t his place, but the silence between us stretches and swells—and the memory of my Class 3 infraction stretches and swells with it. I never even told Tilly about what happened that night. I was too ashamed.

That’s why it takes me by surprise when I hear myself tell him, “I was supposed to take out a target a few months ago. It … didn’t go as planned.”