“Here.” Eleanor passed Marie a purse. It contained a compact, lipstick and wallet. Marie realized these were not simple toiletries, but devices like those she had seen in Professor Digglesby’s workshop at Arisaig House during training, tools she might need to survive once deployed.
They passed an RAF sentry holding a lantern and stopped at the edge of the aerodrome. Marie stepped from the car and walked to the boot where the driver was unloading bags. She picked up the case containing her radio, but Eleanor reached out and stopped her. “I don’t understand...”
“The radio is too heavy for the Lysander. It will be dropped separately.”
“But...” Marie was dismayed. She had grown used to the radio being by her side these past few months, felt attached to it. It was like a kind of armor and without it she would be exposed. She let go of the radio reluctantly, then looked up toward the tarmac at the tiny Lysander. How could a plane be unable to manage her thirty-pound wireless set but transport her safely to France?
“It will be dropped from a separate flight,” Eleanor promised.
“How will I find it?” Marie asked, dubious.
“They will get it to you,” Eleanor reassured her. “Don’t worry. They’re very good.”
Whoever “they” were, Marie thought. All she had heard was one code name: Vesper. She knew no one.
They stood on the edge of the airfield, the dampness of the grass soaking through Marie’s nylons at the ankle. The sickly sweet smell of early dogwood roses wafted moist across the field. Eleanor checked Marie’s cuffs to see that they were folded just so. She was calm as ever, nonemotional. But her hand trembled slightly as she fixed Marie’s collar and there was faint perspiration on her upper lip—little signs of nervousness Marie wished she had not seen because they scared her more than anything else had.
At last Eleanor led her toward the plane. The words batting order were chalked on the side of the plane, followed by names she didn’t recognize. “What’s that?” Marie asked.
“The priority of persons to be extracted if they are at the landing site. We can only fit three and the plane can’t wait more than a minute.” Inwardly, Marie blanched. Even as she was going over, there were countless others trying to escape. She wondered when she would be on the return flight home to Tess. She had to believe it would happen in the end, or she wouldn’t be going at all.
“Here.” Eleanor passed her a neat stack of francs, wrapped with a rubber band. “Half your pay comes in cash when you are in the field to use for things that you need. The rest will be paid for you in pounds sterling when you return.
“And one other thing,” Eleanor said. She held out her hand, palm opened and upturned. Marie knew she was asking for the butterfly necklace, the reminder of Tess that she secretly wore.
Reluctantly, Marie took it from her neck. Then she hesitated. It was the one bit of her old life Marie had held on to these lonely months of training. Now it was being stripped from her. But she knew she had no choice; it was time to let go.
“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Eleanor said, her voice sounding as though she was talking about something much larger. Marie let her take the necklace from her fingers. “You’ll want this instead.” Eleanor produced a necklace with a silver bird charm and held it out. Marie was surprised. But it was not a gift; Eleanor twisted the necklace and it unscrewed to reveal a cyanide capsule. “The final friend,” Eleanor declared. “You have to chew it quickly because the Germans know the smell and will try to make you spit it out.” Marie shuddered. She had trained for it, of course. If she found herself captured and unable to hold out from talking, she was to end her life. But she could not imagine actually doing it.
Marie took a last look at Eleanor. “Thank you.”
Eleanor stiffened, a slight dip of her chin the only response. “Thank me by getting the job done.” She took Marie’s hand and pressed it a second too long. Then she turned and walked off across the field.
Marie approached the plane warily. She had never flown before and even this small plane, a metal contraption with a glass dome top, seemed strange and intimidating.
A man sat in the cockpit. He gestured to her impatiently to come aboard. She had expected a military pilot but the man’s hair was longish, curling against the neck of his American-style brown bomber jacket. His face was stubbled with whiskers. Was this the man who was to fly her to France? As she squeezed through the narrow door of the plane, Marie looked back over her shoulder for Eleanor. But she had already disappeared across the airfield.
Marie took the narrow seat behind the pilot and felt for a seat belt but found none. She had scarcely sat down before the ground crew closed the door from the outside. “Change of plans,” the pilot announced without introduction, his accent Irish.
Her skin prickled. “What is it?”
“You’ll be landing blind.” He turned to the controls, dozens of unfamiliar dials and gauges. Through the front windshield, Marie saw the propeller on the nose of the plane begin to turn. The plane rolled forward, jostling her as it rolled over the uneven earth.
“Blind?” she repeated before the meaning caught up to her. That meant she would be on her own, without the customary reception committee to meet her and help her rendezvous with her circuit. “But I was supposed to be met.”
The pilot shrugged. “Nothing goes as planned in the field. Something must have happened and it isn’t safe for them to come.” Then how, she wondered, could it possibly be safe for her to arrive? For a minute, she wanted to ask to turn back and cancel. But the plane was picking up speed, the engine growing to a deafening roar. She fought the urge to cry out as the ground seemed to slip from beneath her. Feeling the strange sensation for the first time, she almost forgot to be afraid. She looked out the window, hoping to catch sight of Eleanor. But she and the Vauxhall had already gone. The separation between Marie and England grew greater by the second. There was no turning back now.
As the plane shot up at a steep angle, Marie’s stomach dropped, and it occurred to her for the first time that she might be one to get airsick. Taking shallow breaths as they had been instructed in training, she looked down at the houses below, muted by the blackout. She imagined if she gazed far enough north she might see the old vicarage in East Anglia, Tess asleep beneath a thick plaid duvet in the attic room with the sloping rafters.
Neither Marie nor the pilot spoke further, for there was no chance of being heard over the incessant rattling of the engine that caused Marie’s teeth to chatter painfully. The air inside the plane grew colder, almost frigid. Below the earth was a sheet of perfect black. A silver ribbon broke through like a beacon, the Channel waters illuminated in the moonlight with a brilliance that no rules or blackout could dim.
The plane dropped suddenly, then listed sharply to the left. Marie grasped the seat hard to avoid being sent sprawling by the unexpected jolt. She had not imagined flying to be this rough. She tried to conceal her nerves, but a cool sweat broke out on her skin. “Is anything wrong?” Marie called. She tried to see the pilot’s face, searching for some sign of panic.