The soldier had dropped his binoculars, raised his arm, and slipped off the falcon’s leather blindfold. The raptor awakened. It flapped its large wings and surged skyward. Ollie saw its target. A bird, high above a row of pines, less than a hundred yards away. And he knew, from his brief time with Susan, that it was a pigeon. The falcon closed in. The pigeon, unaware of the predator, continued its westerly flight toward the Channel. Within seconds, the falcon had shot out its talons and snagged the pigeon in midair flight. It glided to the ground with its prey in its grasp. As the falcon ripped away flesh with its beak, Ollie hoped that Duchess wouldn’t fly near the airfield. Despite being an agile pigeon, she’d be no match for a falcon.

Ollie pressed his pencil against the paper. The air inside the barn was thick with the smell of manure. He struggled between truth and faith, whether he should include details about the fate of the pigeons or believe that the mission, despite its losses, would eventually be successful. In the end, he omitted news on the pigeon casualties.

He finished his note and slid it into his pocket, then rubbed the ache in his foot. The past few days had done him some good. The swelling had receded. Although he had trouble raising his elbow, he was able to remove the sling and walk with his arm at his side. He was feeling better, perhaps even enough to make the escape attempt. But he couldn’t say as much for the lieutenant.

Boar’s eyes were still bandaged. It’d be two more days until the doctor returned to examine him. Over the past week, Boar and Ollie had stayed away from each other, as much as two men sleeping in the confinement of a crawl space could. It was clear, at least to Ollie, that there was no changing Boar’s dislike toward him, an American corresponding with an Englishwoman. And the daily messages from Susan only seemed to fuel Boar’s envy.

As Ollie was about to leave the barn, he heard an engine. The ping of pistons grew. He stopped. Crouched. The engine stopped. He peeked through a crack in the siding. A Nazi officer got out of his vehicle and adjusted his cap over his partially missing ear. In contrast to his dark uniform, his waxen skin appeared to glow.

Dietrich. Ollie froze. His mind raced. Would Madeleine have time to hide Boar?

The Nazi’s jackboots crunched over gravel. He stepped to the door and knocked.

Shivers shot up Ollie’s spine.

Dietrich slipped off his leather gloves and knocked harder.

Ollie scanned for a place to hide. A minuscule pile of hay. A mound of rotten potatoes.

The cottage door opened.

“Herr Dietrich,” Madeleine said.

The Nazi pushed her aside. He stepped inside and shut the door.