Jackdaws

A moment later the woman saw Flick’s face at the window. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened, and she lifted her hand to point at what she had seen. The two men began to turn.

Flick pulled the trigger. The bang of the gun seemed simultaneous with the crash of breaking glass. Holding the gun level and steady, she fired twice more.

A second later, Ruby fired.

Both men fell to the ground.

Flick threw open the back door and stepped inside.

The young woman had already turned away. She was making a dash for the front door. Flick raised her gun, but too late: in a split second the woman was in the hail and out of Flick’s line of sight. Then Jelly, moving surprisingly fast, threw herself through the door. There was a crash of falling bodies and breaking furniture.

Flick crossed the kitchen and looked. Jelly had brought the woman down on the tiled floor of the hall. She had also broken the delicate curved legs of a kidney-shaped table, smashed a Chinese vase that had stood on the table, and scattered a spray of dried grasses that had been in the vase. The French woman struggled to get up. Flick aimed her pistol but did not fire. Jelly, showing remarkably quick reactions, grabbed the woman by the hair and banged her head on the tiles until she stopped wriggling.

The woman was wearing odd shoes, one black and one brown.

Flick turned back and looked at the two Gestapo men on the kitchen floor. Both lay still. She picked up their guns and pocketed them. Loose firearms left lying around might be used by the enemy.

For the moment, the four Jackdaws were safe.

Flick was operating on adrenaline. The time would come, she knew, when she would think about the man she had killed. The end of a life was a dreadful moment. Its solemnity might be postponed but would return. Hours or days from now, Flick would wonder if the young man in uniform had left behind a wife who was now alone, and children fatherless. But for the present, she was able to put that aside and think only of her mission.

She said, “Jelly, keep the woman covered. Greta, find some string and tie her to a chair. Ruby, go upstairs and make sure there’s no one else in the house. I’ll check the basement.”

She ran down the stairs to the cellar. There on the dirt floor she saw the figure of a man, tied up and gagged. The gag covered much of his face, but she could see that half his ear had been shot oft

She pulled the gag from his mouth, bent down, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. “Welcome to France.”

He grinned. “Best welcome I ever had.”

“I’ve got your toothbrush.”

“It was a last-second thing, because I wasn’t perfectly sure of the redhead.”

“It made me just that little bit more suspicious.”

“Thank God.”

She took the sharp little knife from its sheath under her lapel and began to cut the cords that bound him. “How did you get here?”

“Parachuted in last night.”

“What the hell for?”

“Brian’s radio is definitely being operated by the Gestapo. I wanted to warn you.”

She threw her arms around him in a burst of affection. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

He hugged and kissed her. “In that case I’m glad I came.”

They went upstairs. “Look who I found in the cellar,” Flick said.

They were all waiting for instructions. She thought for a moment. Five minutes had passed since the shooting. The neighbors must have heard gunfire, but few French citizens were quick to call the police nowadays: they were afraid they would end up answering questions at the Gestapo office. However, she would not take needless risks. They had to be out of here as soon as possible.

She turned her attention to the fake Mademoiselle Lemas, now tied to a kitchen chair. She knew what had to be done, and her heart sank at the prospect. “What is your name?” she asked her.

“Stephanie Vinson.”

“You’re the mistress of Dieter Franck.”

She was as pale as a sheet but looked defiant, and Flick thought how beautiful she was. “He saved my life.”

So that was how Franck had won her loyalty, Flick thought. It made no difference: a traitor was a traitor, whatever the motive. “You brought Helicopter to this house to be captured.”

She said nothing.

“Is Helicopter alive or dead?”

“I don’t know.”

Flick pointed to Paul. “You brought him here, too. You would have helped the Gestapo capture us all.” The anger sounded in her voice as she thought of the danger to Paul.

Stephanie lowered her gaze.

Flick walked behind the chair and drew her gun. “You’re French, yet you collaborated with the Gestapo. You might have killed us all.”

The others, seeing what was coming, stood aside, out of the line of fire.

Stéphanie could not see the gun, but she sensed what was happening. She whispered, “What are you going to do with me?”

Flick said, “If we leave you here now, you will tell Dieter Franck how many we are, and describe us to him, and help him to capture us so that we can be tortured and killed… won’t you?”

She did not answer.

Flick pointed the gun at the back of Stéphanie’s head. “Do you have any excuse for helping the enemy?”

“I did what I had to. Doesn’t everyone?”