She wondered if she’d made the right choice in calling this man.
The bookshelves were full and a large globe perched on a stand. She caught sight of herself in a gilt mirror over the sofa and looked down at her greasy hands and stained factory pants. Well, what did Stepney expect? Not that she cared.
“Mrs. Rees, are you prepared to sign the Official Secrets Act?”
This sounded serious. “What exactly would I be signing?”
“You’ll be agreeing to never disclose any information regarding security and the intelligence services under the Crown. Basically, you will never speak of anything we ask you to do from this moment forward.”
“I assume it’s a condition of the job?”
“I’m afraid we have nothing more to discuss unless you do.” The piercing gaze from his keen mottled green eyes turned to a look of amusement. The expression reminded Kate of the poker players in Sands Flats. “And I believe you’re the right candidate.”
What did she have to lose? The pen scratched on the fibrous paper as Kate wrote her name. “You brought me here because I can shoot, right?”
“There’s a mission for you. You’ll go through an accelerated training, since unfortunately we don’t have much time.”
For the first time she noticed the bald patch he’d carefully combed over, just visible under the overhead light. How he favored his left leg. “What kind of mission?”
“War work for your special skills.” He tapped his walking stick. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you could do it.”
Kate looked around the drawing room, out the tall windows to the sloping lawn. She’d entered another world. Sensed there were different rules. She still didn’t know what she was getting into.
“As long as I have a chance to get back at the Germans, fine,” she said, realizing it sounded like a line from a dime novel. But it was true. “But does this mean I’m joining the military?”
“We’re only accountable to the prime minister,” said Stepney. “My group, Section D, doesn’t exist officially.”
Not just another world, a covert world. “So—you’re spies?”
He considered her for a moment, then said, “All our operations are deniable. But I never told you that.”
Deniable. She turned the word over in her mind. It meant that if she failed at whatever they wanted her to do, her life would most likely be forfeit. That no one would ever know what had happened to her.
She was in over her head.
Had that ever stopped her?
“Still interested?”
“When do we start?”
In the next room, which was even larger, a deal table was covered with maps. Stepney indicated a chair and they sat down. Kate spotted a much-thumbed street map of Paris by the foot of yet another large globe.
Stepney cleared his throat to get her attention. “We have limited time, Mrs. Rees. Please, listen closely and try to remember everything I say. If nothing else, remember these letters: RADA.” He gave her a half-smile. “No, it’s not the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, but that will help you remember. Burn the letters in your brain, make them second nature. RADA: Read, Assess, Decide, Act. This stands for: read the situation; assess possible outcomes; decide on options; act on your decision. Can you repeat that?”
She did.
“You’ll have practice examples later. Think those letters, RADA, to yourself constantly, every moment of every hour; wherever you are, walking on the street, in the shop, boarding the Métro. Any moment a German soldier might stop and demand your papers. It’s impossible to avoid them so you need to be prepared. Always have a story ready, but be flexible according to the situation. Use your intuition. Your instinct.”
Kate shifted in the hardback chair. “So you’re sending me behind enemy lines.”
“That depends on how well you do in training,” he said. “But I believe you’re more than capable based on what I’ve seen. You’ve got what you Americans call moxie, Mrs. Rees.”
“In Oregon we call it hellfire.”
“Thinking on the fly is essential,” he said. “Improvising. Wherever you go, a shop, a café, you’ll need to always look for the back way out. Know the closest bus stop, and always have a carnet of tickets, one ready in your pocket. Mingle in crowds, blend in, never do anything to draw attention to yourself. The minute you open your mouth—well, it’s not a good idea.”
Stepney stood and went to the door, then turned around.
“Do you have any friends or acquaintances in Paris you still correspond with?”
She nodded. “One or two, but . . .”
“Who?” Stepney’s voice rose. For the first time she saw wariness on his thin face.
“Actually, they were Dafydd’s friends,” she said. “My classmates in the Sorbonne were international—Polish, Swedish, German, Austrian. I have no clue if they’re still in Paris now. With the war, I doubt it.”
Stepney blew air from his mouth. “Avoid the temptation to look them up,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere near your old lodging, the bakery you used to visit. Do not say hello if you see your old concierge. You don’t want to contact or compromise anyone.”
“What do you mean by compromise?”
“Paris has changed under the occupation,” said Stepney. “So has everyone you once knew. Some may have German sympathies, or need a job with the occupiers, or just need to keep their apartment, protect their family—there are a million reasons a former friend might turn you over to the Germans. Money, of course, is the simplest. Trust no one.”
At his words, the reality of the situation began to sink in.
“Would anyone remember you?” Stepney was saying. “A teacher at the Sorbonne perhaps?”
“There were tons of students, but I don’t think anyone would remember me. Haven’t even kept in touch with my old tutor.” She’d been oblivious to everything else after she’d met Dafydd. She’d spent every day at their café sipping wine while Dafydd sketched. “Why?”
Irritated, Stepney stared at her with those flecked green eyes. “Anyone you knew could point you out. Things have changed, you must understand that. We’ve lost two agents in the last few days.”
Lost two agents . . . maybe that was why there was a job opening for her.
“Don’t trust anyone,” he said again. “I can’t stress this enough. It’s lonely, I know, I’ve done this myself. One friendly face from the past and the mission is ruined. Speak to no one. It’s safer for you and for them. Never return to the same place twice. Wherever you go, think about a place you can hide. A bolt-hole.”