The Librarian Spy(69)
James must have had a similar thought and indicated she lead the way.
“Have you been to Sintra yet?” he asked abruptly.
She frowned and shook her head. “I confess, I haven’t even read much about it, aside from the palace being located there.”
“You cannot come to Portugal and never experience Sintra.” He paused by Alfonso’s kiosk and exchanged a greeting with the owner.
Once Ava had the stack of newsprint tucked in her messenger bag, all of which now fit neatly with a flap that closed without issue, thanks to James, they resumed their walk toward Rossio Square.
A car approached, and they both waited for it to pass before crossing the street. “I’m attending a dinner party at Monserrate Palace in two days and would be honored if you’d consider accompanying me,” James said.
The car zoomed past, the wind in its wake tugging at Ava’s skirt and ruffling her hair. She swept her hand self-consciously over her victory roll. “A palace? How could I possibly say no?”
“I rather hoped that might be your answer.”
They turned onto Rossio Square, and James was immediately pulled away by a nearby table of Frenchmen who greeted him with a wave.
James was correct in predicting her difficulty in securing passage for the mother and child. She knew that. But while the idea of helping Lamant all those months ago had shown her everything she’d done wrong, she had even less of a shot now.
“What do you mean you don’t know their names?” Peggy inquired with a frown.
“It was from the article I mentioned before, the one in Combat,” Ava explained.
“I wasn’t aware you didn’t even know their names.” Peggy’s right leg was crossed over her left, and now it swung back and forth as she pursed her lips in thought. “I have no idea how you can even begin the process without that information. You have to swear to their character in a moral affidavit to assure on your honor they are good people. How can you do that when you don’t even know what their names are?”
While it was a good point, it didn’t ease Ava’s rising frustration. “Is there any way I can begin this process before their arrival?”
Peggy’s leg stopped swinging, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
“They at least need transit visas.”
“To who would they be assigned?” Peggy queried.
Really, she should have said “to whom,” but Ava refrained from pointing that out in the interest of her precarious situation.
“We work for the American Embassy,” Ava protested. “Surely we have some clout.”
Peggy shook her head, sending her sandy curls swinging around her face. “It’s going to take a while, even if you are here pulling for them. You’ll need a support affidavit to show they can afford to live without financial aid once in America plus the moral affidavits I mentioned as well as six copies of Form B of your request.”
“Six?”
“It’s a few pages, front and back.” Peggy’s red lips stretched in a line of sympathy as she nodded. “I can help you fill them out when it’s time.”
Ava gave her a sad, but grateful nod.
“You also may want to try to make friends with the clerks and officers downstairs in legation.” Peggy shrugged. “They’re overworked and on edge. I’m sure a little appreciation will go a long way.”
Though they were all in the same building, Ava scarcely ever saw the other embassy employees. When she did, the men and women were rushing by with clipped steps somewhere between a walk and a run, coated in a sheen of sweat and with a furrowed brow.
“And you can ask the PVDE what you can do to prepare for their arrival.” Peggy got to her feet and put a hand on Ava’s shoulder. “They may be able to at least let you know what to make ready. All refugees have to go through them to remain in Portugal. You’re going to have to go to them regardless. Might as well get some info now.”
It was another good suggestion, and as soon as Ava finished photographing the books and periodicals she and Mike had accumulated the last several days, she made her way to Chiado where the PVDE headquarters were located on Rua António Maria Cardoso.
Ava strode up the incline of the street and entered the large building, feeling as though she were walking into the belly of the beast.
We have not to fear anything, except fear itself. Julius Caesar’s quote resounded in her thoughts, pushing her onward.
Her heels clicked over the polished floor and echoed off the cold walls. A man sitting at the desk in a black business suit looked up, his face blank with disinterest.
He was middle-aged and slightly out of shape, with a glint of silver in his dark hair. Despite the benign appearance, Ava knew better.
Anyone who had spent more than a month in Portugal knew of the secret police and their brutality. It was rumored they had been trained by the Gestapo in their torture techniques. As kind as the Portuguese people were to the refugees, the PVDE could be just as cruel. Merciless with their rules, pedantic with the details, and swift with the execution of punishment. When people entered prison, they did not always come out, and even the ones who did had terrifying tales to tell.
She suppressed a shiver and addressed the officer in Portuguese, asking if there was a way to register the mother and child now and provide their names later or if there was anything she might do to prepare for their arrival. She intentionally omitted the details of how they were coming and how she knew of them. The PVDE was supposed to remain impartial to either side in the war, maintaining Portugal’s claim of neutrality. Not everyone followed rules, however, and it was not uncommon to find some siding with the Allies and still others with the Axis.