Echoes

“He's very important,” Serge admitted, referring to the British agent. “He can do the mission alone if he has to, but it will provide a diversion if he has a ‘wife.’” He looked at her honestly then. “You're the only one who can do it.” None of their other operatives spoke German as fluently as she did, and could pass for German. Even if they spoke it well, which some did, it was obvious that they were French. Amadea looked completely Teutonic. Not only German, but Aryan to the nth degree. As did the officer she'd be working with. Like her, he was half German, although not Jewish. His mother was a Prussian princess, well known as a great beauty when she was young.

“Who is he?” She was curious about him now and, in spite of herself, intrigued by the mission.

“His code name is Apollo.” She knew she had heard the name before, and thought she might have met him once. It rang a chord of memory, but she could not place the face that went with it. And then suddenly it hit her. He had landed there once before. She had met him with Jean-Yves. Rupert Montgomery. He was one of the men who had started the Kinder-transport. “He's a British lord.”

“I've met him.” Serge nodded. He knew that she had.

“He remembers meeting you, too. He thought it would be a good match. You're the right look.” And the right personality. Although she wasn't aware of it, in times of crisis, she had nerves of steel and exquisite judgment. Everyone who had worked with her said so. There was an endless silence as they walked back to the farmhouse. The air was getting cold. Winter was coming early. And as they reached the gate in the fence, Amadea looked at him with a sigh. It was what she owed them all, and perhaps the only reason why she had been spared so often. To serve the Lord, no matter how frightening. “I'll do it,” she said softly. “When does he come?”

“I'll send you a message,” he had said at the end of the week. As they stood there, it was Monday. She looked at Serge with troubled eyes. He knew it was a lot to ask of her. Maybe too much. But she was willing to do it. Any price for victory and freedom, even if only to save one life.

“I'll be waiting,” she responded and Serge nodded. She had made an impression on Colonel Montgomery, too. He had remembered her code name. Teresa. They used it for messages, and on the shortwave. She would be listening for it now.

“Thank you. He's careful. He knows what he's doing.” She nodded. She had decided to do it because of what he had done for the Jewish children. She wanted to help him.

Serge hugged her then, and went into the barn where he was staying, as she walked home alone. She wasn't afraid of anything in the countryside of Melun. In spite of what they did there, she felt safe among the farms. And the Germans were pretty tame here, except in the case of reprisals.

“Go with God,” she said before she left him, and he nodded.

She heard her code name on the shortwave radio two days later. It said only “Teresa. Samedi.” Saturday. Which meant Friday. Their missions were always a day earlier than stated. They would start watching and listening for the tiny plane around midnight. And as always, they would have to work fast.

The following Friday night she was in the field with seven of the others. There were two groups of four working together, holding flashlights. And then they heard it, the dull purring of the little Lysander. They spread out and switched on their torches. The plane came in fast, landed hard, and taxied for a short distance. Before it stopped, four men got out. They were wearing rough farm clothes and wool caps. The plane was in the air again in less than three minutes. The drop had been perfect. And within less than two minutes, the locals had disappeared and returned to their farms. The three men Colonel Montgomery had brought in went with them. They were on other missions, and would not see him again until they were back in England. They were dispersing to the south later that night. He was working alone, as he often did. With Amadea this time. She led him back to the farm where she lived, without saying a word. And took him to an old horse stall at the back of the barn. There was a trapdoor in the floor that she pointed to, in case he heard someone coming. There were blankets, and a jug of water under the trapdoor. They were to drive to the outskirts of Paris the next day to meet with Serge.