Operation Locksmith by Hannah Howe

Author:Hannah Howe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, 1940s, suspense, spies, france, french resistance, undercover, second world war, secret agents, special operations executive
Publisher: Goylake Publishing

Chapter Nine

That night, more nightmares, this time featuring my escape over the Pyrenees. Michel also appeared, as a figure in the distance mocking me.

I woke up in a pool of sweat, rolled over and found Major McAllister standing in the bedroom.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, coming to my senses. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Vera Penrose stood beside McAllister, presumably as a chaperon. Even so, what gave him the right to invade our privacy, to disturb our sleep? What fresh hell was this?

My protests woke Mimi. She blinked, propped herself up and turned towards McAllister, her stare revealing her confusion.

“We’re checking on your sleep patterns and night-time habits,” McAllister explained. “You, Duchamp, talk in your sleep, in French. That’s good. You, Beringar, grind your teeth.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s a habit I’ve had since childhood. I grind my teeth when I’m stressed.”

“Are you feeling stressed right now?” McAllister asked.

I rolled my sleepy eyes and said, “I imagine that any woman finding you in her bedroom would feel stressed.”

McAllister offered me a tight smile and an involuntary twitch of his neck. Of course, he was dressed in his officer’s uniform. He probably slept in his uniform. If he suffered a paper cut, he probably bled in khaki.

“Our night-time tests are complete,” McAllister said. “I don’t foresee any problems. I wish you both a good night.”

“Bloody cheek,” I said as our intruders’ footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Mimi stood. She walked over to her dressing table, raised a pitcher and poured herself a glass of water. She offered a second glass to me. However, mindful of sleeping on a full bladder, I declined.

“What do I talk about in my sleep?” Mimi asked, easing her slender frame on to the end of my bed.

“I won’t go into the details,” I said, “but the sooner you meet up with François the better.”

Mimi blushed, turning a beautiful shade of scarlet. “You’re kidding me,” she said, gulping her water to hide her embarrassment.

“Yes, I’m kidding you,” I laughed. “I can’t make sense of your words, and I doubt that the Gestapo would be any the wiser.”

Mimi sighed with relief. She drained her glass, enjoyed a bathroom break, then returned to her bed.

I visited the bathroom too. Wide-awake on my return, I slipped into my uniform.

“Bugger this for a game of soldiers,” I said. “I’m not playing by their rules any longer.”

“Where are you going?” Mimi frowned.

“I want to know what they’ve written about me. I’m going to raid my file.”

“You can’t do that,” Mimi said, her body arched forward, her expression intense, her eyes wide and staring. “You are cra-zee. If they catch you, they’ll throw you off the course and into the cooler.”

“They won’t catch me,” I said.

“You have rocks for brains,” Mimi said. She lay on her bed and pulled a pillow over her head. “I’m not part of your madness.”

The Mad House was quiet. Apart from the sentries in the courtyard, everyone was asleep. I tiptoed down the elegant staircase to the ground floor.

The ground

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