The Agony of France (Alex Kovacs thriller series Book 6) by Richard Wake

Author:Richard Wake [Wake, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Manor and State, LLC
Published: 2020-06-09T22:00:00+00:00

Part III

26

I passed the information on the orphanages, as oblique as it was, up the chain after speaking to Leon. He agreed with Alicia, that there was no responsible reaction other than to assume the worst. Two days later, we were summoned to the meeting by way of a note slipped under our door. “7 p.m.” is all that it said. It was written in reddish ink.

The basement of the cafe was more crowded than usual — 20 people, maybe more. Hannah was on the far side of the room with her group, including the poor fool whose balls she had adjudged to be the size of mouse droppings. I stared at her until she saw me, and she stared back for a second before showing the briefest of smiles. I felt that smile in my chest, and lower down.

“You want to join her, lover boy?” Leon said.

“No, let’s stay here.”

“Cold feet already, huh?”

“The opposite, actually,” I said. “But there’s no room over there. I’d look desperate.”

“You mean more desperate than usual.”

“Whatever.”

Crowded, smoky — and no alcohol, either. Once again, I was pretty sure I was the only Gentile in the place. From what I had gathered in the previous weeks, this was — based on the faces and backstories that I knew, or thought I knew — a collection of the most rabid of the rabid Commies in our corner of the Resistance, the reddest of the red. Even Leon said something about it after he took a quick scan. “Holy shit,” he said. “Everybody’s here but Stalin himself.”

“I think that’s who we’re waiting for,” I said.

“Whoever we’re waiting for, I hope he brings a few bottles.”

A minute later, Brick — wearing the same gray coat and black fedora — walked in empty-handed. This was not a social occasion, clearly. A dozen conversations stopped when they saw him.

Brick looked at me and then began, “It’s come to our attention that the Gestapo is considering a raid on the orphanages.”

A burst of invective filled the room, then died almost as quickly as it was born. Five seconds, 10 seconds, and then it was quiet again.

“We have compared notes with some others,” Brick said. “And our whiff of information agreed with their whiff — or at least close enough to be a real concern. So we’re working on a plan with them now.”

“Who’s them?” It was a woman’s voice in the back. Hannah. Even if I hadn’t recognized her voice, I’m pretty sure she was the only woman in the cellar.

“Who? You know,” Brick said, and there was another burst from the room. It must have been the Gaullists.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. Then he turned his head and explained more to placate the nosiest corner of the cellar, on the far right where Hannah was. I didn’t hear what he said, but by the context of the questions, he had mentioned a name — a woman’s name.

“What kind of name is that, anyway? Is she French?”

“Belgian, I think,” Brick said.

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