Family of Spies, page 7
Gavin crossed his arms. “Ellie’s onto something. Everything was working fine, but as soon as we typed in S.O.E. and Great-Granddad’s serial number, both computers locked up. You should reboot yours too, Ford.”
“Yeah, that’s a weird coincidence.” Ford turned his laptop off.
“But what if it isn’t a coincidence? What if—” said Gavin, but he stopped with a jump as a deep voice rumbled behind them.
“Excusez-moi. What are you doing?”
It was the rude librarian who ditched the cousins for lunch! His nose wrinkled as he stared at Ford, Ellie, and Gavin. Just like earlier. Surely they didn’t actually smell. Ford resisted the urge to sniff-test his breath.
“Oh, pardon Monsieur. I am assisting these patrons with some research,” Marie-Claire answered, her face flushed bright red.
“Mademoiselle LaFleur, how often must I remind you?” he said, his moustache twitching. His index finger tapped his pursed lips as he shook his head and tsk’d.
“Oh dear,” Marie-Claire whispered. “Monsieur, excusez-moi.”
Monsieur Bouchard inhaled, his lips further pursing. He now resembled a man-sized goldfish. He slowly released his breath. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the high counter.
“No patrons on this side of the divide. Vite, vite.”
“Okay, okay,” Ford muttered, stuffing his laptop into his bag as Ellie and Gavin scooped everything on the floor into Ellie’s backpack. “We’re hurrying already.”
“Mademoiselle, a few moments, s’il vous plait,” Monsieur Bouchard said and guided Marie-Claire by the elbow to the far corner of the information booth, out of earshot.
“This guy is a serious control freak,” whispered Ellie. “Poor Marie-Claire.”
“He’d be the worst boss ever,” agreed Ford. “Do you think she’s in trouble?”
Gavin pointed to Marie-Claire, who was walking towards them. “Guaranteed.”
“What do you think he said to her?” Ford whispered as Monsieur Bouchard turned on his heel and climbed the spiral staircase that led to the second floor.
“I dunno, but it can’t be good. Look how pale she is,” Ellie said.
Ford glared at Monsieur Bouchard’s retreating back. “He’s a complete fun-sucker.”
“Mes amis,” Marie-Claire said. “Forgive me. I must return to my work.”
“I hope we didn’t get you into trouble,” Ford said.
“Do not worry. It is just—”
“Your boss is a grouch. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ellie said, interrupting Marie-Claire.
“Ah, ma chérie. He is not always right, but he is in charge. So, we find a way to work around his rules.” She straightened her back, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and smiled. “Please take my business card.” Her voice was low and determined. “If you need me, please call or return, but that would be best when Monsieur Bouchard is at lunch.”
“Thank you for all your help,” Ellie said.
“It is my pleasure. You are very sweet. I hope you find some answers. Au revoir.” She kissed Ellie on both cheeks and waved to the boys.
“Au revoir,” said Ford wishing Marie-Claire would hug him goodbye as well.
“Wow,” Gavin whispered. “She was sure nice.”
“So nice,” Ford agreed.
“Good grief,” Ellie muttered as she walked towards the library doors. “Seriously. How am I related to you two?”
Ford sped past her and out the doors. Ellie, close on his heels, frowned at the darkening sky. “Better run if we don’t want to get drenched.”
Heavy black clouds cast shadows across the pavement. The cousins sprinted through the parking lot towards the bus stop.
Ford kept pace with Ellie. “How long were we in the library?” he asked.
“Longer than Monsieur Bouchard liked, that’s for sure. What a grump.”
Gavin struggled to keep up as he looked at his watch. “It’s 3:50. We have plenty of time to get back to the apartment before our parents get back.”
Ford slowed as they approached the bus stop. “Can you believe our great-grandfather was a spy? A real live undercover agent. Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. How cool is that?”
Ellie nodded. “It is pretty cool. Now we just have to figure out why the air force refuses to release his war records.”
Ford plunked down on a bench. “He must’ve done something pretty important.” Ellie sat next to him.
“And dangerous,” Gavin added, puffing. He massaged his side. “Remember what Marie-Claire said. ‘The S.O.E. is not a child’s game.’”
Across the street, a patch of blue broke through the clouds in the sky above the Pantheon and a sunbeam streamed down across the stairs. Colourful banners showcasing the latest art show hung between the tall marble pillars. A shadow of a memory tickled in Ford’s mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was something about that building. Something he needed to know. Now. He opened his eyes and stared at the Pantheon, trying to stop that déjà vu feeling from flitting away.
“Ellie, can I see the Pantheon stuff?” he asked.
“Sure. Just don’t touch it.”
She slid her bag from her shoulder and pulled out the stack of documents. She leafed through a half dozen or so before sliding out a letter. It was written on thin blue paper and was half the size of a piece of printer paper. “It’s a letter from a Mr. W. Müller, but it’s addressed to someone named Francis St. James.”
She held it up in front of them, so Ford could see it. He leaned closer and squinted to decipher the handwriting. “Who the heck is Francis St. James and how is anyone supposed to read this?” He pointed at the slanted words.
Gavin moved to stand behind Ford and Ellie. He looked at the letter. “Handwriting, just like the English language, has changed a lot in the past seventy years.” Ford’s eyebrows shot up. “No kidding. Too bad they didn’t have email.”
Ellie flipped it around and cleared her throat. “It is pretty worn, but it’s still fairly legible. Dear Mr. St. James,” she read out loud, “…I regret to inform you…that I must cancel our engagement to attend the public reading of M. Chapeut’s novel at the Pantheon at three o’clock. Please do let us reschedule our appointment. It’s dated January 3rd, 1944.”
“Huh,” Ford said. “Why would this note between these two people be important?”
Gavin pointed at the signature. “Look at the dots above the name Müller. Pretty sure that’s a German last name.”
Ford shrugged. “I guess, but what does this letter have to do with Great-Granddad?”
“Well…” Ellie began and thought for a moment. “There has to be a reason for him to have this, right? Maybe Francis St. James was a friend or a fellow spy.”
“Maybe.” Ford stared at it. “But if this Francis guy was a spy, then maybe he was meeting this German for secret information.”
“That would make sense. Remember, Paris was occupied by Nazis by then, so it would’ve been extremely dangerous,” Gavin added.
“Maybe Mr. Müller was their inside source,” Ellie said.
“I think you may be right. That is what spies do, after all. They infiltrate enemy defences. We need to see if this letter has any real meaning.” Ford took a deep breath. He let it out slowly. “We need to see if I get a vision when I touch it.”
“Out here on the street? Are you sure?” Ellie asked.
Gavin wrapped his arm around Ford’s shoulder. “He can do it.” His brother sounded so certain that all Ford’s doubt disappeared. He stood and dropped his backpack onto the bench seat.
Ellie stood in front of Ford. “Tell us everything you see and try to speak loudly so we can hear you. No muttering this time. I’m going to take notes.” She turned on her phone.
Once ready, she passed Ford the letter. He gripped it in both hands, as a now-familiar whispering of déjà vu flooded his senses. The paper slowly rippled in and out of focus, then vanished.
Ford looked across the street. The long art banners that draped between the pillars shimmered and faded. Long red flags slowly materialized in their place, becoming more vivid with each second. An instinctive shiver of fear snaked down Ford’s spine as angry black swastikas appeared. Nazi flags.
Ford glanced down the street. Current-day pedestrians faded to mist, while German soldiers emerged from the gloom, taking their place. Nazis now stood at attention on every corner. Ford looked to the other end of the street. Only a few civilians remained and they were dressed in 1940s fashions: men in dark suits and fedoras, women in dresses with high heels and overcoats. All walked quickly with purpose, never making eye contact with the occupying force.
“Nazis,” he said, remembering to speak clearly for Ellie. “Write this down. Nazis are everywhere. The French people look scared.”
A military jeep slowed to a stop across the street. The driver jumped out and ran to open the door for the officer in the passenger side.
“I think an important German just arrived. Soldiers are saluting him.” Ford watched the officer pull his cap low on his forehead as he dashed through the rain across the sidewalk and up the wide, wet stairs of the Pantheon. Rain. He held out his hand. The raindrops passed through. Ford felt nothing. “It’s raining here. But I’m still dry.”
A tall gentleman with a dark brown fedora stood at a newsstand near the end of the block. He kept glancing over his shoulder, first one way then the other.
“Ellie, there’s this older guy, maybe forty years old and he’s in a brown suit. He looks super nervous, like someone’s watching him. Or maybe he’s looking for someone.” Or was Ford just imagining things? Maybe all this talk about spies had him paranoid.
Ford searched for similarities between the old photos he’d seen at home and the man he saw from his restaurant vision. “I don’t think it’s Great-Granddad.”
A deep cough made Ford jump sideways as a man hunched into a black trench coat stepped past him. The man coughed much louder this time and made a great show of opening a large black umbrella. Ford gawked at the man in front of him.
“Come along, Wilhelm. Gotta keep moving,” the man muttered under his breath. Could it be? The man glanced at Ford. His grey-blue eyes seemed to look right through Ford.
“You guys, I found him. Our great-grandfather is standing right in front of me!”
Chapter 16
Ford reached with trembling fingers towards their great-grandfather, his hand slipped through Great-Granddad’s forearm, and disappeared up to Ford’s wrist. Warmth spread up his arm, snaking towards his shoulder. He yanked his hand back. Pins and needles prickled his fingers, like they’d fallen asleep. His vision clouded, his head spun.
Note to self: avoid all contact with people when in the past.
Great-Granddad stared hard at the tall man at the newsstand. “Wilhelm. Put the paper down and follow me, you fool.”
Ford smiled. “He talks to himself. A lot. And he sounds…gruff…no, not exactly gruff. More…irritated.”
Finally, Wilhelm turned and bobbed his head in their direction. He folded his paper and stuffed it under his arm and strode their way.
Great-Granddad shook his head and sighed. “A complete imbecile, but you get what you get when there’s a war on.”
“Definitely irritated,” Ford said loudly, so Ellie would hear.
Great-Granddad turned on his heel and began walking slow enough that Wilhelm could keep up, but fast enough that they didn’t look like they were together.
“He’s made contact with a man named Wilhelm,” Ford said, keeping in step with him. They took a left down the first alleyway and immediately their great-grandfather sprinted through the narrow lane. Ford dashed after him, racing through mud puddles. He looked over his shoulder. Wilhelm ran too.
“We’re running like mad now. I’m not sure where we’re going.”
They came to another alley and this time their great-grandfather turned right, only slightly slowing as he rounded the corner. Ford’s feet pounded hard on the wet pavement.
“We’re in a back lane, running between old buildings.” Ford wanted to relay anything that might seem important later. “It really stinks, like rotten fish. We’ve come to a dead end, I’m not sure…”
Ford screeched to a halt and gawped as his great-grandfather leapt through the air and grasped onto the bottom rung of a rusted fire-escape ladder. He pulled himself up with what looked like little effort and climbed until he reached a wooden staircase zigzagging up the side of the building. He took the rickety stairs two at a time.
“He is ridiculous! He just scaled a fire escape like he was James Bond!”
As Ford considered how he was going to follow, Wilhelm flew past him, leaping through the air towards the metal rungs.
“Now that Wilhelm guy is doing it too! These guys would be perfect for Cirque du Soleil.”
Ford reached up to the first rung of the ladder. His hand melted through the metal as Wilhelm’s pounding footsteps echoed high above him.
“I’m falling behind.” Ford hoped Ellie was taking accurate notes. “If I lose them, I won’t find out why Wilhelm is important.” And Ellie would never let him forget he messed up. “I’m not sure wh—” Ford gasped as he lifted off the ground. He lurched upwards as if a cord was attached to his chest pulling him through the air after the two men. He gained speed. The ladder rungs raced by faster and faster. His heartbeat raced in time.
What the…?
Right when Ford was sure his heart was going to burst through his chest, he pitched forward and skidded across a small cement landing, stopping only inches from the side of the building. With legs shaking, he stepped to the edge of the fire escape and peered over. It was a long way to the ground. What would’ve happened if he had fallen? Would he have died? He wasn’t sure and no way did he want to find out. He took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down.
“You guys are never going to believe this, but I just flew—like in the air—up the side of a six-storey building. There’s an open doorway leading inside. Pretty sure that’s where Great-Granddad and Wilhelm went.”
He stepped inside and blinked to adjust to the dim light. A pungent smell of roasting garlic stung his nose. “They couldn’t have gone too far.”
Closed doors dotted the hallway in front of him, each one numbered, each one with a peephole. “I’m in an apartment block,” Ford said. “The carpets are worn down to the floorboards.” He picked up his pace and quickly travelled the length of the hall and sailed around a corner and right through Wilhelm. Tremors arced through his entire body. Heat engulfed him. Ford shook his legs and arms, hoping to return normal sensations to his limbs.
“That was gross. I just—” Ford paused. “Wilhelm is giving Great-Granddad a light brown envelope.”
Was he watching spies in action? What could be in that envelope?
Great-Granddad tucked it into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a folded slip of blue paper and held it in front of Wilhelm’s face. “I can’t express this strongly enough, Wilhelm. You must be more careful. This note you sent me could’ve exposed our entire mission. Agents, many agents, are at risk.”
“Ja. Ja. I understand Francis,” Wilhelm replied, his words heavily accented. Ford stared at the letter. It wasn’t old or stained, but he still recognized it.
“Great-Granddad is holding the letter we used to see this memory and Wilhelm just called him Francis, which means…Great-Granddad is Francis!” Ford yelled. “It must be his undercover alias.”
Wilhelm removed his hat. Wisps of toffee-coloured hair framed his head in a circle, making him resemble a monk.
“I too have much at stake. My wife, my children…” He pulled a kerchief from his lapel pocket and wiped perspiration from his balding head, then carefully folded the cloth and placed it back in his pocket. He held his hat at his waist, his fingers clenched the brim, misshaping the fedora.
“Yes, I know. We have not forgotten your sacrifices.” Great-Granddad’s eyes tracked Wilhelm’s every movement. Wilhelm did not raise his head. Great-Granddad’s gaze did not leave Wilhelm’s hands. Ford could feel tension radiate from Wilhelm.
Wilhelm cleared his throat. “Gut. Gut. I must go now.”
“Wait, Wilhelm. Before we part. Tell me again of your children. I miss my own terribly. What were their names? Helga and…” His brows knit together. “Hans?”
“Yes, that is it. Helga and Hans.”
“And…how are they?”
“They are good, yes. Very good children.”
“Are they enjoying school?” He leaned towards Wilhelm, his head cocked to the side, eyebrows high.
Ford frowned. “I think he’s interrogating Wilhelm. I don’t think Great-Granddad trusts him.”
Wilhelm paused before answering. “Ja, ja. They are very good pupils.”
“How old are they? My memory is somewhat shoddy.”
Wilhelm stepped back. “These questions I have answered before. Furthermore Mr. St. James, you have a perfect memory.”
Great-Granddad tipped his head back and laughed. “Well, for most things yes, my memory is impeccable. But for some reason the details regarding your children escape me. Do they attend a Berlin school?”
“Nein. They are in the countryside with my wife’s family. It is safer.”
“Yes, it would be. Just like the schoolchildren in London, shipped out of the city to keep them out of harm’s way.”
“Ja. Kinderlandverschickung—relocation of the children to the countryside.”
“Yes. And in order for us to keep them safe, we need to know their exact location.”
Wilhelm nodded his head, his fingers digging deeper into his hat.
Ford stepped closer. “Wilhelm sounds German and he seems to be getting more and more nervous. For some reason, Great-Granddad is asking about Wilhelm’s kids. I don’t think Wilhelm wants to answer.”
