The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(91)

“It’s bitter consolation.” Then, “Who finally realized there was a problem?”

“That’s under internal investigation,” Bishop evaded smoothly.

“I want our agents to be safe,” Maggie insisted.

“Of course—as do we all, Miss Hope.” Martens glanced down once again at his notes. “You had a special dispensation to look for your sister. Did you manage to find her? What happened?”

“I did find her. But she decided to stay in France.” Maggie swallowed. “She’s doing important work there.”

Martens studied her face a moment, then rose. “Thank you, Miss Hope. We’ll ask you for a longer, written report later. After we’ve spoken to Miss Sanderson, someone will drive you both back to London.”

“Thank you,” Maggie replied. “May I use a telephone to call the hospital? I’d like to see if there’s any news on Gus—the injured pilot.”

“Of course.” Martens nodded. “There’s a telephone in the front office you can use.”

Bishop turned back to the window. “Before you make the call, would you please let Miss Sanderson know we’d like to speak with her?”

Maggie stopped at the door. “I want you both to know—I’d like to go back.”

Martens raised one eyebrow. “To France? Despite your experiences with the Gestapo?”

“Yes. I’d like to be useful. Do my duty, as they say. Qui n’avance pas, recule.”

From his position at the window, back to the room, Bishop translated, “?‘Who does not move forward, recedes.’?”

“Exactly,” Maggie said. “Sir.”

“Understood, Agent Hope.” Martens nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”

—

“Please sit down, Miss Sanderson.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Would you like a cigarette?”

She nodded. Martens pulled out a case from his jacket pocket and opened it, letting her pick one out. He lit it for her.

“You’re a patriot, Miss Sanderson. We can’t thank you enough for your actions in France. And, of course, for those of your partner.”

“We never got the names of the French automobile companies,” she said dully.

“Your original mission is nothing compared to bringing back Agent Calvert’s bag safely,” Martens told her.

“Did you look inside?” Bishop asked.

“No,” Sarah replied.

The two men exchanged glances. “Did Jacques Lebeau look inside at any point?”

“No. He never even touched it. But, whatever’s in there”—she took a long drag on her cigarette, her hand trembling—“I hope it’s bloody well worth it.”

“Yes,” Bishop assured her. “It is.”

“What’s going to happen to Jacques now?” Sarah asked. “Will he be executed? I’d like to kill him myself.”

“He will be dealt with,” Martens assured her. “Miss Sanderson, we need to know—would you ever be willing to go back?”

“Never.” She flicked ash to the floor, unconcerned. “I’d work in a factory making bombs or drive a tractor before I’d do anything like this again. Are we finished?”

—

“Close the door,” said Bishop after she’d left. Martens did.

“Neither of them knows what’s in that bag—which is good,” Martens began, walking back to the desk. “Where is it now?”

“I’ve sent the sand samples off to our lab for analysis.” Bishop paced the length of the room. “They’ll be able to find out quite a bit about the beaches of Normandy, information that will help us immensely as we go forward with Fortitude.”

Martens sat, then straightened his papers. “Still, that information cost two agents’ lives.” He looked up to Bishop, now staring thoughtfully at his reflection in the tarnished mirror. “I must speak with Colonel Gaskell—inform him of everything that’s happened and alert him that he needs to disregard anything and everything coming from Agent Thompson’s radio. And then we have to transport Lebeau to the Tower. I predict he’ll be shot for treason before the new year.”

“No.” Bishop turned away from the mirror. “Not so fast.”

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“But I think you do.”

The silence between the two men stretched.

“There’s something you should see.” Bishop took a manila folder out of his briefcase and handed it to the younger man. “Read it. Then ask yourself about sacrifice.”

Martens pressed his lips together as he read the folder’s contents. Finally, he raised his head and closed the file. “I see,” he said slowly.

“I’m glad you do. We’ll work together on this, then?”

“Yes.” Then, “I’m going to return to London. I’ll take Miss Hope and Miss Sanderson with me.”

“We need to win this war, Martens. Chivalry died with the poison gas and trenches—when we attacked cities and civilians. There is no nobility now—only victory. Or defeat.”

Martens nodded as he stood. “What about Gaskell? We can’t keep him in the dark forever. Eventually he’ll figure it out.”