He took in deep breaths to gather his strength, then propped Dietrich against the well. Refusing to look at the man’s face, he covered him with the coat. His back strained as he lifted the body. With one huge heave, he rolled Dietrich, trench coat and all, into the well. He expected to hear a splash. Instead, he heard a revolting thud.

He tossed Dietrich’s cap, along with the tunic, into the well. Frigid air bit at his exposed skin, making him regret that he hadn’t brought his jacket. He returned to the car, then ripped branches from a pine to cover the vehicle. In time, the car and Dietrich would be discovered. Hopefully, it would look like the work of the French Resistance, not a sweet woman who collected truffles. He removed the pistol from the car and placed it in the back of his trousers. As daylight faded, he worked his way through the forest, hoping he was headed in the right direction.

* * *

Returning to Airaines was far more difficult than any of Ollie’s previous nocturnal excursions. Shortly after disposing of Dietrich’s body, it began to rain. What started as a light drizzle turned to sleet. Without a coat, he struggled to keep his teeth from chattering. Storm clouds hid the moon and stars. With no markers to guide him, Ollie was forced to travel near the road. As headlights appeared, he hunkered on his belly in the underbrush. Ice pellets stung his neck. After each vehicle passed, he stood and continued his trek, knowing that, within a few minutes, he’d likely be back on his stomach.

The road swarmed with military traffic. Either the Nazis were searching for their missing officer or the Wehrmacht were adamant about maintaining their strict nightly curfews, regardless of the inclement weather. And high above the storm clouds, Luftwaffe bombers droned as they continued their nightly efforts to pulverize Britain.

What should have taken a couple of hours took almost four. It was late in the evening by the time Ollie reached Madeleine’s cottage. He shivered. Wet clothes clung to his skin. He knocked, unable to feel his frozen knuckles rapping on the door. A moment later, a blackout curtain moved, exposing a flicker of candlelight.

The door swung open. Madeleine helped him inside and placed a blanket over his shoulders.

“Were you spotted?” Boar asked, sitting at the table.

Ollie shook his head. He tightened the blanket around his body and looked at Madeleine, a patch of her hair crusted with dried blood. “How’s your head?”

She shrugged, then poured him a cup of warm water from a kettle.

Ollie gripped the cup, allowing the warmth to thaw his fingers. He sipped, then noticed Madeleine, her head lowered and staring at the floor. “What’s wrong?”

Madeleine’s lip quivered.

“Your bird came back while you were gone,” Boar said.