Well, we’ll see, Victoria thought, entering the building. It occurred to her that she did not know Karl’s last name, so she must address him only as monsieur. “Herr Karl” seemed too familiar, beyond a latitude of friendliness she felt comfortable to go. She sensed him a man of many titles in the service of his lord and master—driver, aide, confidant, body guard, torturer, assassin—whatever duty required. He was always unerringly polite to her, thoughtful even. After the premiere, he had produced a blanket to wrap around her against the cold—his idea, not his boss’s. Thank you for your foresight, Karl. I am sure mademoiselle is most grateful, the colonel had complimented him in German.

Victoria reluctantly climbed the stairs to the top floor of the fencing school. She was wearing her usual coat after a long deliberation about whether to exchange it for another and resew the L pill in its lining, or to continue wearing it with the hope that her worry was unfounded. If in fact the colonel had felt it and the capsule was missing, the lining obviously resewn, he would have proof to support his suspicions. In any case, both options would doom her should he investigate further.

The salle was deserted. Victoria had expected to find him in his whites, whipping the air with his foil.

“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Colbert,” the colonel’s voice called out from the conference room. “I am in here.”

Mademoiselle Colbert. Cautiously, Victoria drew toward the open door of the room and halted at its entrance. Colonel Derrick Albrecht was in civilian clothes—tweed, corduroy, leather—the kind of attire the Virginia hunting gentry wore on their country estates. A tweed cap such as the sort worn by a golfer lay on the table. “You’re early,” she observed.

“I wished to arrive before you dressed for our bout.”

“I thought we were fencing today.”

“It’s too beautiful an afternoon to be indoors, don’t you think? So, no we’re not. I took the liberty to arrange a little trip.”

“A trip?”

“A trip. Prepare for a surprise.”

“A surprise,” Victoria repeated. There were surprises and then there were surprises. A surprise from a suspicious colonel in the SS could hold very unpleasant connotations. “What kind of surprise?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

“Where to?”

“Part of the surprise.”

With Karl at the wheel and the top of the staff car lowered to allow the sun on their faces, Victoria watched Paris slip by with growing unease. It was one thing to be an American innocent caught behind enemy lines, quite another to be caught as an American spy. “Where is Karl taking us?” she asked when they entered the countryside. She pretended casual disinterest, but she could not hear the wind for the drum of her heartbeat in her ears.