The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(81)

“Enjoy your drive, mademoiselle.” He rose, clicked his heels together, and bowed. “Au revoir.”

Before he could turn away, Maggie rose impulsively. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. “Au revoir—et merci, Christian.”

—

Maggie drove while Sarah navigated, lying down on the backseat in case any of the other cars were looking for a vehicle with two women. She was using a map they’d found in the glove compartment. As the gray of the city segued into bright green countryside, Maggie kept checking the rearview mirror, making sure they weren’t being followed. Sarah finally spoke. “Maggie—when they were questioning you, did they…know things?”

Maggie thought back to von Waltz and shuddered. In the tension of the escape, she hadn’t had time to think about all she and the Obersturmbannführer had exchanged during her interrogation. “He knew about Beaulieu. And about Arisaig.” She rubbed at one eye; a piece of grit had gotten in.

“He knew my real name. And Hugh’s, too. And”—Sarah faltered, remembering—“he’d read my letters home. He referred to specific things I’d written to my mum. Very specific.” Sarah looked to Maggie. “Did he read any of your letters?”

Alas, my branch has fallen from the family tree. Once again, Maggie checked the mirror. “I didn’t send any. And he didn’t know my real name—at least as far as I know.”

“But how could he have read my letters?” Sarah mused aloud. “The Germans must have someone in London…”

Without taking her eyes off the road, Maggie blinked hard until the mote finally came out. “—or someone in Paris.” Oh, God. She felt dizzy. “Jacques’s associate—Reiner—picks up the letters from all the agents that are left at Bar Lorraine. When there’s a departure, Reiner puts them on the returning plane. He could stop off at any time—have them transcribed or photographed…Taken the copies straight to von Waltz.”

“If Reiner’s working for the Nazis, every agent coming into France is compromised.” Her eyes widened. “But why aren’t we all getting picked up at drop sites? Or shot down? Why are they letting agents leave?”

“Because—because they’re letting us go on purpose. Because they’re playing the long game.” Her thoughts roiled. “The Luftwaffe must be working with von Waltz, Sarah—they’re letting us get through. If he allows the SOE networks to grow under his watch, they’ll know a lot more about what our side has planned, including—”

“Oh, Maggie!” Now Sarah, too, knew what was at stake.

“—the location of the invasion.” Maggie glanced once again at the mirror. “When we get back to London, we’ll report Reiner. But first we need to get Elise.”

—

When Maggie and Sarah arrived at the convent, Elise made sure they ate, then waited for them to bathe and change into clean clothes—novices’ dresses and veils, the same as Elise wore. When the two agents met up in the Mother Superior’s parlor, they startled at the sight of each other, then laughed.

“Of all the costumes I’ve had to wear…” muttered Sarah. “And I’ve had to wear quite a few over the years.”

The Mother Superior knocked, then opened the door. “Welcome, ladies,” she said. Elise stood beside her.

“Thank you, Mère St. Antoine, for your kindness,” Maggie told her. “We know the great risk you and the sisters are taking—”

“You are quite welcome,” the nun replied. “And thank you for helping our…guest. Elise tells me you’ll all be leaving soon. Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Mère,” Maggie repeated. “If it’s possible, I need access to a wireless today. The BBC makes coded broadcasts about the flights’ departures. I must be certain our flight is still scheduled before we make the trip to the airfield.”

The Mother Superior gestured to Elise. “Please show them to the radio our guest is using.”

“Also,” Sarah said, “how will we all get to the airfield? Won’t we all be conspicuous?”

Elise smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll go in coffins!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry?”

“Coffins,” Elise repeated. “You see, we have an infirmary. The enfants are here for life. And so we have a morgue and, well…coffins.”

“If they are without family, we bury them here, of course,” Mère St. Antoine added. “But sometimes their families wish them to be in ancestral plots or mausoleums. And so one of our sisters will drive the body, in its coffin, to the enfant’s church. They handle the arrangements from there.”

“And how do you transport the…coffins?” Sarah asked, face pale. Maggie knew she was thinking about Hugh, so recently dead.

“We have a funeral coach, of course.”

Maggie and Sarah looked to each other. “Of course.”

—

“No, I’m not going in a coffin,” insisted Gus. Maggie, Sarah, and Elise were all in the pilot’s room in the chapel near the morgue, listening to Gilbert and Sullivan on the wireless:

Things are seldom what they seem,

Skim milk masquerades as cream;