As they got closer, he smiled. The stocky man was OSS. He’d been at the training facility when Gerard had arrived. He searched his memory for the man’s name.
Beside him, Emily gasped. She apparently recognized the man, too.
He glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at their fellow agent but rather stared at the blond as if facing a ghost. How did she know the man?
“Emily?”
“That’s the guy from the train.” She barely moved her lips as she spoke. “The SS officer who helped me.”
Gerard froze. Was the man Resistance or Nazi trying to infiltrate the Underground? The next few minutes would be very telling.
Chapter Thirty
Hummingbirds took flight in Emily’s stomach. Was Merkel-if that was his name-truly on their side or trying to make them believe in his loyalty to their cause?
“I’d ask if you were sure about this man’s identity, but from the look on your face, that would be a foolish question.” Gerard stuffed his hands into his front pockets. “Let him indicate if he recognizes you. Otherwise, I’ll see what I can find out from the other guide. Do you remember him from the training facility? You may not have run across him during your stay.”
Her gaze shot to the other traveler. She narrowed her eyes. His hair was different, shoulder length now, and the goatee softened the angle of his chin, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was one of the instructors she’d not been subjected to. “If you hadn’t said anything, I might not have noticed. I’m definitely interested in what he has to say about Merkel, or whatever name he’s going to use with us.”
The pair drew close.
Emily pinned what she hoped was a nonchalant expression on her face. “Bonne journée.” Her toes curled. Would she have the stamina to run if necessary?
“Bonjour.” Merkel’s eyes widened, and he grinned. He took Emily’s hand and bowed. “We meet again, madame. I told you not everyone is as they seem. Apparently, that is true for you as well. Is this your so-called dead husband?”
“I—”
“What is your game?” Gerard whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the man. “She says you’re a German, an SS officer.”
Merkel released Emily’s hand and raised his arms. “I am the product of a mixed marriage. My mother is French, and my father is German, therefore I speak both languages like a native, which means I’m of great use to the Resistance. I managed to penetrate the Schutzstaffel. It took months for them to accept me. But now I use my SS connections to travel unrestricted and gain access to important information.”
Emily searched his face. His eyes were clear, his expression smooth. She wanted to believe him. “Is your name really Merkel?”
“Oui. But while out of uniform, I am referred to as Caron, my mother’s surname.”
“Do the Germans know of your French heritage? That would put you under suspicion.”
“Fortunately, my mère comes from Vichy, which seemed to count for something. I love Germany, but she can be a great nation without overrunning all of Europe and exterminating ethnic groups.”
“Where were you raised?” Gerard stood ramrod straight, revolver still pointed at Merkel.
“We spent six months of each year in Berlin, and the other half of the year in Vichy. My parents were killed during what has been called the Night of Broken Glass.”
Emily gasped. “Kristallnacht.” The incident sent shock waves around the world when it came out in the newspapers. Two long days of terror rained down upon Jews throughout Germany. Synagogues torched, windows smashed, homes and shops vandalized, and Jews murdered while authorities turned a blind eye to the atrocities. “You’re Jewish or at least partially. Surely, the Germans would have ferreted out that information.”
“There’s something you’re not telling us.” Gerard’s voice was hard.
The OSS officer moved between Merkel and Gerard. “Enough. He has been vetted through the Home Office. That is all you need to know. Now, put away your weapon, and let’s get moving before we lose more daylight.”
Emily swallowed, her eyes darting from man to man. Who would give way first?
“I outrank you, so I suggest you do as you’re told. You may call me Lynx.”
“The bobcat, eh? Clever.” Gerard tucked the pistol in his back waistband. “You may call me Renard.”
“The fox?” Lynx shrugged and glanced at the sky. “We’ll walk until dark then hole up for the night. I will leave you at Mouthe, and Merkel will guide you over the border into Switzerland.”
The muscle in Gerard’s cheek jumped, and he gestured for the men to take the lead.
Her breath hitched. She’d been with him long enough to recognize that he was making a show of acquiescence, but watched them like the fox he claimed to be.
j
Emily opened her eyes and sat up. She stretched in an effort to ease the kinks in her body from lying on the hard ground. The men were already up and moving around. She scrambled to her feet, caught Gerard’s eye, and jerked her head toward the deep forest.
He nodded and mouthed, “Not too far.”
There were many things she would never tell her mother, one of which was spending the night with three men in the woods. She clomped to a thick clump of bushes. Would society ever know about the many women who broke protocols and customs in their effort to save a world at war? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Much too philosophical this early in the morning.
Moments later, she returned to camp, if that’s what it could be called. Gerard tossed her a hunk of bread, and she tore off a piece with her teeth. She tucked the rest of the lump in her pocket, rolled up her blanket, and stuffed it in her pack. Pulling out her brush, she unsnarled the knots in her greasy hair, and grimaced. Oh, for the day when she would be fully clean again. Would she have any chance of dipping in a river sometime soon?
She slid her arms through the straps on her satchel and swung it onto her back. “Ready when you are, gentlemen.”
As one, they nodded, donned their packs, then began to tromp up the incline through the trees.
Three hours later, they arrived at Mouthe, and Lynx stopped. “This is where I break off, and you will continue on through the Grand Risoux forest which is a little over twelve square kilometers. From here you must be extra vigilant. The Nazis patrol the border day and night. Anyone found within two kilometers is shot on sight.”
Emily performed the conversion of kilometers to miles and sighed. Just over seven miles. The end was in sight, albeit nearly eight treacherous, enemy-filled miles. A border between France and Switzerland, the small three-foot-high drystone wall decorated with fleur-de-lis separated the two countries. The Germans were wise to guard the area.
Gerard and Lynx shook hands. Emily waved her hand. “Godspeed. Thank you for your help.”
Lynx returned her farewell then clapped Merkel on the shoulder. “Keep them safe, my friend. I will come back to find you if anything happens to them.”
Merkel touched two fingers to his head in a salute. “I have not lost a réfugié yet.”