The Librarian Spy(92)

Mr. Smith narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to remind you of the fifth columnist?”

He did not. She was quite familiar with the phrase that referenced a Nazi sympathizer who might slip into the States as a refugee. The word was whispered in America with fear, and the newspapers mentioned it often enough that it practically became quotidian.

“This is a mother and child,” Ava said with exasperation. “One whose husband is already in New Jersey now working as a doctor. Their support affidavits and moral affidavits were received and accepted well over a month ago. They should be free from this scrutiny and this prejudice.”

Mike strode into the small room and stopped to listen, leaning against the door frame with his arms casually folded over his chest and a smirk on his lips.

Mr. Smith tossed him an irritable glare.

“I will stop by every hour on the hour if you do not do this now,” Ava threatened. “Day after day after day.” She added some extra sugar into her already saccharine smile.

“She’s nothing if not persistent.” Mike bit into an apple and chewed noisily as he watched Mr. Smith with a bemused grin.

Mr. Smith sighed, a heavy, defeated exhale that informed Ava she had won.

“They’re approved,” he ground out. “You’ll receive them in a month’s—”

“Today,” she interrupted. “I expect to receive the visas today or we will be speaking regularly.”

“Very well.” Mr. Smith spoke through his teeth. “But the visas will only be good for two weeks.”

That would allow for plenty of time to secure a boat to New York. “That’s perfect.”

“Is that all, Miss Harper?” The question was one of sarcasm rather than genuine helpfulness.

“Why, yes,” she replied brightly. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Smith.”

She hadn’t even finished speaking when he stormed out of the room, muttering something about his sympathies for her future husband.

Mike grinned at her. “Well done.”

Ava nodded, more pleased with herself than she cared to admit. When she walked out of the break room, Peggy was only a few steps from the doorway and gave her two thumbs-up.

“You did it,” she squealed.

Yes, Ava had done it. Finally.

But what about all the other stranded refugees who did not have an American to fight the battle for them? It was no wonder their visas took months to be approved while most were forced to wait. Despite Ava’s victory, it was impossible in that moment not to think of Otto. Of how desolate his future must have been with each rejection for a chance at freedom.

No matter what she managed to achieve, she would always be haunted by what she could not do for Otto.

As promised, the American visas for Sarah and Noah were sent upstairs by the afternoon along with the day’s mail. Much to Ava’s disappointment, there was nothing from Daniel. It had been almost a month since his last letter and though she tried to brush the worry from her mind, it niggled at her thoughts with each passing day.

At least she had the visas.

A week later, on a particularly sunny day, those visas were safely tucked in the purse squeezed beneath Sarah’s arm. Ava led her and Noah into the Cais Do Sodré district of Lisbon where throngs of people stood in a chaotic squeeze that scarcely resembled lines.

It was Sarah’s third attempt to obtain tickets on one of the ships and time was running out. They approached the American Export Lines office and joined the pressing crowd. Without shade, the June sun swiftly became merciless. It would be especially so to those in line in their winter coats, loathe to leave any of their belongings behind when they had so few.

The first time Sarah had been turned away from the booking office, the employees claimed they did not speak French and stated others whose visas were expiring before her own took precedence. The second time, Sarah said a man with blond hair had interrupted them, whispering something to the clerk. The woman’s demeanor changed afterward and they were denied tickets. When Sarah described the man as handsome and tall with a dimple in one cheek, Ava understood with a sinking realization exactly who had interfered.

Lukas.

He was her bad penny, showing up randomly and leaving her wary of where and when he might be next.

It didn’t matter if he appeared now or not. This third attempt would be the final one, and Ava would not leave without success.

Worry etched Sarah’s features while Noah played distractedly with a small boat Ava had given him in an effort to quell his anxieties on being out on the open water. Only last month, the Serpa Pinto full of refugees from Lisbon had been taken by a U-boat, the crew and passengers all held captive. If rumors were to be believed—and many in this war were proving to be true—a baby had drowned amid the chaos.

“Everything will work out,” Ava assured Sarah.

They had become close in those last months, and it had been difficult for Ava to witness the gradual transition as Sarah moved through the phases all refugees in Lisbon seemed to traverse. The wide-eyed awe of so much food, of ready, hot showers and clothes and the freedom to walk about.

But soon that awe gave way to anxiety when visas were not promptly approved. The perpetual state of fraying nerves. If freedom could not be had in that drawn-out stage, it was then replaced with despondency and hopelessness.

Like Otto.

Ava’s heart flinched.