The Darkest Hour(8)

“Where’s Travert’s body now?”

“In the river. He fell in after I shot him.”

“He drowned?” He shakes his head and stares at the door. “Agent Chevalier!”

There’s a slight pause before Sabine pokes her head into the room. “Sir?”

“Make sure that the building is secure. Go now. Understand?”

“Understood.” She heads out the door but glances back at me before it closes behind her. Her eyes linger upon me with pity, as if I’m a spider that she’s about to smash with one of her fancy shoes.

I look back at Major Harken and all of my frustration with Sabine gives way under his disappointed stare. “I’m sorry, but I took out Travert like you asked me. I might’ve gotten a little sloppy but—”

“Sloppy isn’t the half of it! You had a simple mission: Interrogate the witness, then kill him.”

“I did both!”

“Hardly. If he drowned, then the Seine killed him, not you.”

“He’s dead either way,” I offer weakly.

“A dead body floating down the Seine is not what I had in mind when I sent you on this mission. What happened to discretion?” He kneads his fingers against his temple. “We’ve already dealt with a Class Three with your first mission a couple months back. I’d expected much more from you this time around.”

“This isn’t a Class Three, though.” Not even a Four or a Five, I want to add, but I know better than to say that.

“I can’t have this, Blaise. On paper, you should be one of the best agents that Covert Ops has to offer. You know the language back to front. You’ve passed your training with flying colors. But you’re not pulling your weight compared to the others. Tilly has worked for six months without any mix-ups, and Sabine has had a perfectly clean record.”

I want to tell him that he isn’t being fair, that the three of us are so different, but the truth is that he’s right. If Tilly and Sabine can pull off their duties, then why can’t I? Despite everything I’ve gone through to get here—even bled through—I don’t measure up. Tears pool in my eyes. I can’t get kicked out of Covert Ops. I can’t stomach returning to my parents’ apartment where Papa’s drunken ramblings shudder through the walls each night and where Maman never says a word about it. I can’t move back into the room that I shared with Theo, staring at his cold and empty bed. When I was little he’d whisper stories to me whenever our father’s yelling grew too loud. Then when we were older he’d tell me about his plans to run away to California. We’d go together: him, me, and his girlfriend, Ruth. Don’t you worry, Luce, he’d say. We’ll go somewhere where Papa will never find us.

But those plans shriveled once Theo died. There will be no California without him. That’s why I have to convince Harken to let me stay.

“I’ll do better next time,” I tell him. “I promise you that, sir.”

He slams both fists on his desk. “We won’t win this war on promises.”

“Please—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But Travert mentioned Operation Zerfall!”

Harken freezes at the mention of that last word, dumbfounded. “What did you say?”

“Travert started talking about an ‘Operation Zerfall’ tonight.”

His eyes darken. “What do you know about Zerfall?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing at all, but I’ve seen the word on one of your files.” I gesture at the folder right on his desk. “I thought it must be important.”

“What did Travert tell you exactly?”

“That he overheard his handlers talking about the operation, and … and that it’s going to change the course of the war.”

Harken does something I’ve never see him do before—he pales. “What else did he say?”

“He mentioned a name. Supposedly there’s a man named Reinhard who’s in charge of the whole thing.”

In the dim light, Harken gropes for a pen and paper. “I need you to tell me, word for word, what both of you said tonight.” He’s about to settle down onto his chair when there’s a knock on the door. Sabine slides inside and I toss her a frosty glare, but she doesn’t notice me. She’s focused wholly on Harken.

“Major,” she starts.

“What is it?”

“It’s Monsieur Bordelon. He’s just arrived. He says he needs to speak with you.”

Harken doesn’t look up. “Tell Laurent to wait.”

“He said that he brings news. About the mission in Reims.”

My head darts up. A mission in Reims? I hadn’t heard a thing about that. Reims is a city east of Paris, about halfway to the German border. Covert Ops has had a few missions there, mostly to collect downed Allied airmen and deliver them to safety, but by the look on Harken’s face I somehow doubt that Laurent has brought news of another retrieval mission.

“Send him in,” he says to Sabine before his gaze rakes over me again. “We’ll continue our conversation later, Blaise.”

“But …” I pitch my voice lower so that Sabine won’t hear me. “Please give me another chance. I can’t go back home—”