The Darkest Hour(76)

His tone doesn’t brook any argument, and his soldiers herd Tilly and me toward a row of parked vehicles not far from the pier. We have no choice but to climb in, and no matter how many questions I ask—Where are we going? What’s going to happen to us? Where is Dorner?—Colonel James remains as silent as Queen Elizabeth’s tomb.

We drive all the way to London. At the sight of the city, my gaze glues to the window. It’s in worse shape than Paris, with rubble littering the sidewalks and entire buildings left smashed, courtesy of the German Luftwaffe. We zigzag around the debris until the car turns onto Baker Street, depositing us in front of a building with a brown-brick fa?ade that resembles a nice hotel. But a hotel it is certainly not.

Colonel James accompanies Tilly and me to an awaiting team of doctors and nurses who pepper us with questions of the biological sort and poke at us for hours on end. They deem me malnourished and slightly anemic but otherwise physically fit, and so they pass me back to Colonel James, who hands me a fresh set of clothes and leaves me in a third-floor bedroom that smells faintly of ammonia.

“What about Tilly?” I say when I see that the room only holds one cot. “Where are you putting her?”

“The doctors hope to run a few more tests. We’ll update you shortly. Until then, please wait here for further instructions.” He exits the room before I can reply.

Hours pass before Colonel James returns. When he comes back again, this time with a folder tucked underneath his arm, I’m in a foul mood.

“Where have you been?” I demand, leaping to my feet to meet him halfway. “I’m a Covert Ops agent! I’m an American citizen! Why’ve you locked me up in this cell?”

He simply clears his throat at my outburst. I doubt he’d flinch if a grenade exploded ten feet away from him. “This isn’t a cell, Miss Blaise. You were free to step out at any time, were you not?”

“That’s beside the point,” I say darkly. “I didn’t risk my neck a dozen times getting out of France to be put in this cage.”

“My apologies, but the processing of your arrival required certain protocols. We needed to look into your background. Surely you can understand why we needed to take precautions.”

I scowl, because that’s easy for him to say. “What have you done with Tilly?”

“She remains under the care of our physicians. As you mentioned, she has required significant medical attention.”

“I want to see her.”

“You may see her at any time, but I prefer that you wait until you’ve answered my questions.”

I frown. “What questions?”

“Earlier today, you spoke of an Alexander Dorner.”

“Where is he? Is he in London?” The questions shoot out of me, and I can’t stop them. “How much have you told him about the SOE and the OSS?”

Colonel James puts up his hands to slow me down. “One at a time, please. First, let’s sit.” He takes a seat on the lone metal chair in the room and gestures for me to sit on the bed. Reluctantly I do so. “Let’s start a bit further back.” He opens the folder and scribbles a note on the papers inside. “We learned a couple weeks ago that Covert Ops’ headquarters in Paris was compromised and destroyed. It was assumed that all of the agents there had perished.”

I swallow the bitter memory of that night. “Yes. The Nazis discovered us, so we set the fire to protect our operation. Major Harken was killed, but three of us survived.”

“You, Miss Fairbanks, and … ?”

“Sabine Chevalier.” My throat cinches. “She was killed in the line of duty later on.”

He flips through a few pages in his folder. “We do have a record for Sabine Nassima Chevalier. Daughter of Fran?ois and Amina?”

I nod, though I never knew the names of Sabine’s parents or even her middle name. Even in death, I’m learning more about her than I knew in life.

“My condolences,” says Colonel James softly before he returns to his usual clipped tone. “Where did the three of you go after your headquarters was compromised?”

The weight of his question threatens to smother me. I don’t want to relive the memories of the laboratory, nor do I wish to reveal everything to the SOE, even if they are our allies. Don’t I owe the intelligence to the OSS first? But until I can see an OSS agent, Colonel James is my best bet in hunting down Dorner. So I take in a long breath.

“We followed a lead given to us by Alexander Dorner. We went to Verdun searching for a Wunderwaffe facility … but it turned out to be a lie.”

He sits forward, his interest heightened. “There was no facility?”

I sidestep the question and throw out an accusation instead. “Dorner isn’t who he claims to be.”

“So, you see, that’s where this discrepancy lies. It wasn’t long ago that Covert Operations vouched for this very same gentleman.”

“Well, he completely fooled us.” My blood simmers as the explanation tumbles out of me. “His real name is Elias Reinhard. Hauptsturmführer Reinhard to his colleagues. He’s the mastermind behind a massive Nazi operation to infiltrate England and get into the SOE’s good graces.” Shame causes my cheeks to burn scarlet, because I was part of that, but I will make things right. “I’m sure Dorner—or Reinhard, rather—told you about Operation Zerfall and how it’ll change the entire course of the war.” By the way Colonel James’s eyes flare wide, I know I’ve hit my mark.