The Librarian Spy(29)
Truth be told, it could be terribly boring. Open a newspaper, adjust the image. Click. Wind the machine to ready the next exposure. Repeat. On and on through the course of the afternoon.
She still skimmed through the documents for anything she thought might be pertinent to bring to attention for those poring through their compilations in DC. It wasn’t only newspapers and periodicals, but texts and manuals and other foreign reading materials they could find, but had thus far not uncovered anything. Through it all, her thoughts continued to wander back to the refugees—not only those in line wrapping around the embassy, but those in Rossio Square—languishing in wait of escape.
Surely there was more that could be done for them.
It was that thought that finally propelled Ava toward Mr. Sims’s closed door. She rapped upon the glossy surface and waited to be called in, which eventually came in a gruff, irritated tone.
All the carefully practiced, articulately prepared words fled her mind, chased away by his uninterested glower. “I’d like to do something to aid the refugees,” she announced.
He didn’t look up from a folder in front of him. “You are helping already. By sending information to DC. Acquiring these international publications opens the door to intel we might not receive otherwise.”
“There has to be more we can do.”
“The Allied forces, specifically America, are putting a lot of funding behind Lisbon for the refugees. As are local Jewish communities.” His tone was flat, bored by his own speech. “The World Council of Churches, the Portuguese Red Cross, the International Red Cross, the Quakers, plus a bunch of acronyms like JDC, USC and COMASSIS and more that I don’t remember.” He flicked the file closed and gave a weary sigh as he dragged his gaze toward her. “Miss Harper, you’re here to gather newspapers and books. Everyone doing their job makes the war end faster.” He lifted his palms up to indicate that his lackluster presentation was finished.
She nodded and closed the door, chastised but undeterred, for surely there truly was more she could do.
Several days later while perusing the crowded counter space of a stationery store, she caught sight of a familiar face—one she had been anxious to see.
“James,” she said as she approached.
He turned and smiled. “Miss Harper, seeing you is a delightful surprise.”
“I’ve been hoping to run into you,” she said quickly, perhaps too eager in her delivery, for his smile widened further still. Either way, she needed his assistance with figuring out what happened to the man from her building. And possibly even with helping the refugees.
“Then I’m quite glad to be found.” He inclined his head with a slight bow, his manner cordial. “What can I do for you, Miss Harper?”
She glanced at the store whose shelves were crammed with merchandise, but whose aisles were empty of patrons, save one elderly man who appeared to be comparing various sheets of paper. Though she had only been in Lisbon for three weeks, she already knew every building had ears and eyes and every seemingly innocent person could very well be a spy.
“Would you mind if we spoke outside?” she asked.
“By all means.” He indicated she should walk first and so she did, leading him from the small shop.
Outside, the May sky was cloudless, the sun fully ablaze. Being in the middle of the walkway with the heat glaring off the limestone gave one the sensation of being in an oven.
James squinted up before turning his attention back to her, a sheen of sweat already beginning to glisten at his brow. “Have you tried capilè? It’s wondrously refreshing, and I happen to know a lovely place not far from here.”
He offered her his arm, but she gave a slight shake of her head. His shoulder lifted in a shrug that indicated he was not offended, and together they strode down the blazing limestone-and-basalt-checked patterned walkway in search of a cool drink. Away from those who would listen in on their conversation.
“Is something wrong?” he asked when they were fully alone.
“Yes.” A torrent of dreadful emotions whirled in her stomach at having to say it aloud. “I...that is...my neighbor... I...” She paused, frustrated with herself. For not being able to say what she needed to, for having to be in this situation at all, and for her own egregious folly from the start.
He drew her toward the side of the street bathed in shadows. The sun’s rays immediately lost their vigor and a cool breeze swept over them. “Take your time, Ava.”
She inhaled deeply. “Do you remember that Nazi from the kiosk?”
“I do.”
“I mentioned my neighbor...” The burden of her guilt stacked upon her like boulders, crushing the breath from her lungs. “How he asked me for a copy of Time magazine that I happened to have and how enthusiastically he’d received it. The next day, the PVDE came to his apartment where they beat him and abducted him in the middle of the night.” She looked away, too ashamed to see James’s reaction to her harmful mistake. “It was so stupid, I know, but I... I am so awkward sometimes and there was this gap of silence in the conversation... It just popped out.”
“Taking a copy of Time magazine from you is not illegal in Portugal,” James replied in so gentle a tone, she glanced up at him.
His face was earnest, his eyes lacking the censure she so justly deserved. “In fact, there are several people who help the Allies obtain certain periodicals as trade for Life and Time. The PVDE was there for some other reason.”