Major Reed glanced down at the paper he still held in his hand but didn’t answer her question. “I think, Sophie Kowalski, that you are fighting the wrong battle in this war,” he said.

“I am only a translator. I don’t have any other special skills,” she blurted.

The major’s lips twisted. “I disagree.”

“But I can’t just leave my position at Bletchley.”

“You can.” He looked at her and handed her the paper. “You’ll stay on at Bletchley for a bit but, once the wheels are in motion, you won’t be back.”

Sophie glanced down at it. Inter-Services Research Bureau was neatly printed across the top. She’d never heard of the bureau. “What is this?”

Major James Reed did smile then. “An opportunity to do more.”

Chapter 8

Chapter
8

Estelle

Paris, France
15 July 1942

Estelle watched the travellers as they exited the train station, each moving with a grim swiftness that she had never seen before the war had started, because in the cheerful morning sunshine, the Gare du Nord was a terrifying place. It was a locale where the grey blight converged, a morass of Wehrmacht, SS, and Gestapo uniforms, all peppered with black spots of police. It was a place where tragedy and casual violence struck when one least expected it.

To avoid attention, those who flowed around the occupiers were careful to keep their gaze on the ground, answered questions with single syllables only when necessary, and had their papers in a place from which they could be produced without delay. Only misfortune came from lingering in and around a Paris train station these days.

Estelle adjusted the bright red flowers affixed to her hat and glanced casually at her watch as she did so. She strolled along the pavement in front of the station, her heels clacking unhurriedly, scanning the thinning crowd. There. Right on time. A familiar man in a threadbare suit, emerging from the station and walking deliberately toward her, a paper folded under his arm. A discreet distance behind him would be the airman.

Estelle slowed even further as he approached. Jerome walked by her, meeting her eyes for only a fraction of a second with his own. Estelle stopped and opened her handbag, pulling out her compact as though she was fixing her hair. In the mirror, she saw Jerome veer off toward the row of makeshift cabs that lined the street.