She staggered, then collapsed on the stone floor.

  Here she was in the middle of a war, and her life, maybe even the whole time continuum, was being ripped to shreds by a couple of meddling kids.

  Chapter 11

  Interrogation

  Sarah and Matt were ushered into a rather spacious farmhouse beside one of the runways. A kitchen, bathroom, living room, and den comprised the first floor, but on their way up the hall, Sarah noticed the living room and den had been converted into offices with a number of desks, chairs, and filing cabinets. The men led them into the kitchen where flies swirled around piles of unwashed dishes in the sink.

  Sarah had shivered so violently upon entering the house that Red had dashed upstairs to hunt for dry clothes, returning a few minutes later with a couple of spare flight overalls. With Red’s encouragement, Sarah and Matt took turns changing in the bathroom, Sarah exchanging a worried glance with Matt as they switched positions. When they were dressed, Joe made tea and they sat down at the kitchen table with their cups.

  Sarah couldn’t help but stare at Joe. She’d pictured him as a wizened old man, with rotting teeth and grey hair. Of course, he was nothing but bones in a casket in her time, but here he was, a young man, vital and brave, flying bombers and delivering agents into occupied countries. Even though he’d grilled her earlier, his soft brown eyes gave her a warm feeling inside.

  Matt began talking airplanes with Red as soon as they sat down. Red’s real name was Kenneth McDuff, from the Highlands of Scotland. He had just finished describing the bomb doors in the bottom of the aircraft when Matt interrupted him.

  “So, you jettison people instead of bombs.”

  “Yes,” said McDuff.

  “No,” said Joe.

  “Oh, come on now,” said Matt. “We know what you do here. We’re not going to tell anyone. We’re on your side.”

  “Fine,” said Joe. “You’re not going anywhere, anyway.” Sarah shivered at his tone. “We jettison people through a hatch in the bottom of the plane, not the bomb bay. And they’re parachute-trained people,” he snapped.

  Matt bit his lip, but ignored Joe’s menacing tone and continued. “Where does one become parachute-trained?”

  “Not on your life,” said Joe. “They don’t train kids.”

  “All right,” said Matt. “If we can’t do anything over there, then maybe we can do something over here. There’s a lot of agents’ lives at risk.”

  Joe crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Is there?”

  “You have to stop sending agents into Holland.”

  “Do we? And why is that?”

  “Matt,” hissed Sarah. She booted him under the table, but he ignored her.

  “Because the Nazis caught the agents over there. Every last one of them.”

  “Really?” said Joe with a chuckle. “And how do you know this?”

  Sarah booted him again.

  “I— I just know,” he said, glaring at her.

  Why was he doing this? Did he want to tell them everything? The men already thought they were a little crazy and knew far too much. He was going to get them locked up for life, or at least until the failsafe pulled them back home.

  Joe frowned and grazed his chin with his hand, as if he were considering Matt’s warning, although, when he spoke, Sarah figured he’d been contemplating something else. “This isn’t fun and games, you know. We don’t compromise missions at the whim of a twelve-year old kid.”

  “Thirteen,” mumbled Matt.

  “Now, if you would just tell me where you came from and where you’ve been staying in England. I do believe we need to get your parents involved.”

  “We told you, Matt’s father is missing in Europe and mine . . . are missing, too. Can’t we stay here?” asked Sarah. “I mean, we’re related, even though you don’t want to believe it. We won’t get in your way.”

  “No,” said Joe adamantly.

  “We have nowhere else to go,” she pleaded.

  Joe eyed Sarah until she felt her skin crawl. “Tell me something.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Why all these crazy stories if all you needed was a place to stay? All this sneaking around and sticking your nose into dangerous business. Making up stories that could affect real people.”

  “They aren’t made up,” said Matt.

  “Matt!” Sarah said.

  “Why is it no one can ever believe us unless we tell them─”

  “Matt!”

  He stopped.

  Joe looked from one to the other. “There’s even more to this madness, isn’t there?”

  Sarah turned away, her stomach coiled in fear.

  “Don’t worry.” Joe leaned towards her. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” He smiled coldly, then pushed away from the table, his chair scraping the bare floorboards. “It’s time I brought the CO in on this.” The stomp of his feet and the slam of the door sounded ominous.

  As McDuff tweaked the curtain away from the window to watch his fellow airman head across the field, Sarah leaned towards Matt.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Matt nodded and looked around the kitchen and down the hall, the creases disappearing from his forehead. He must have a plan.

  “I really need to go to the bathroom,” he said, getting up from the chair.

  The Scotsman turned back to them and eyed him for the longest minute. “I thought ye were jus’ there. Ye wouldn’t be thinkin’ of escaping, would ye?”

  “Where would I go?” Matt asked innocently.

  “Get on with it,” said McDuff.

  Matt tapped Sarah’s leg with his shoe and flicked his gaze to the kitchen door. He got up and walked down the hallway towards the bathroom. McDuff followed him half the distance and stood with his arms crossed, keeping watch on both of them at once.

  As Matt drew near the bathroom, he yelled, “Now!” and dashed down the hall towards the other exit.

  Sarah shoved away from the table and flew to the kitchen door. As she yanked it open, she glanced behind her to see McDuff frozen with indecision. But as she dashed outside, she heard heavy footsteps, a crashing sound, and a Matt-sized yelp. She almost turned to run back inside. But Matt’s effort would have been for nothing if the airman captured both of them again. She spied the outline of a barn among a smattering of other buildings and raced towards it. Maybe she could hide out there. And then what?

  So much for thinking things through. Her plan was turning out to be a total disaster.

  Chapter 12

  The Beautiful Spy

  Matt was a little miffed that his plan had gone awry. McDuff had hauled him back when he’d attempted to scramble out the door at the other end of the farmhouse. Sarah had escaped, but now he’d have to come up with another plan, although it might be more difficult since McDuff had tied his hands behind his back and attached them to the chair.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” said Matt, twisting his wrists, but in no way loosening the rope.

  “Except trespassing,” said the Scotsman.

  “But we didn’t—”

  The crescendo of a large engine approaching and the thud of wheels hitting pavement cut off Matt’s response. Out the window he caught a glimpse of a massive bomber taxiing down the runway.

  “Bomber,” he said. “Amazing.”

  “Amazing that it returned,” said McDuff. “If you survive those bombing missions, you’re one lucky lad. Between the German Messerschmitts and the flak over the target, you’re lucky if ye make it back.”

  “You’ve done a few runs, haven’t you?” Matt asked.

  “Got our tail shot off once. Had to bail.”

  Matt’s heart pounded faster just imagining the experience. “You mean, parachute?”

  “Well, I didn’t fly out, if that’s what you be thinkin’. There’s nothing like jumpin’ with a parachute, though, other than flyin’.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  McDuff pursed his lips. “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm, since this information isn’t classified.” He gave Matt a meaningful look. “It’s like this. Once ye jump out of the aircraft, ye have to pass through the slipstream before ye pull the ripcord.”

  “What’s the slipstream?”

  “It’s the drag from the aircraft. It draws air with it because it travels so fast. So when ye jump, air carries you forward for a few seconds, then ye start to fall.”

  “That must be awesome.”

  McDuff scowled. “You think it was excitin’, getting shot down?”

  “No, I mean, it couldn’t have been fun.”

  “Darn right, it wasna’ fun. One of my crew got shot up on the way down. I had a few narrow misses and we ended up in the drink, in the English Channel, you ken? Had to wait for a boat to pick us up. Nearly froze.”

  His throaty Scottish drawl stopped for a moment. “Still . . .” his eyes shone now, “. . . ’twas quite a feelin’, being suspended up there in the air and driftin’ down to earth like a snowflake. If it were na for the plane crashin’ into the water and the bullets flyin’ all around us, it woulda been fun. It’s quite an art, this parachute jumping.”

  McDuff went on to explain, “We had to know how to pack our own parachute, you ken? We carried a knife at all times to cut us down in case the guidelines got snarled in some trees. The chute doesn’t always open, either. They don’t tell you that in trainin’, though.”

  Matt gulped.

  “It’s war. If your plane explodes, you don’t come back either, lad.”

  Matt turned away to hide a grimace when the door was thrust open. Joe and a diminutive, though no less intimidating, man charged in. He had sandy hair, a neatly trimmed moustache beneath a stubby nose, and sported an insignia of rank on his flight jacket. He turned iron eyes and twisted irritated lips towards Matt.

  “Good evening, young troublemaker. Where’s the other one?” He cast a severe look at McDuff.

  McDuff winced. “Ah, sorry to tell ye, Wing Commander, but she escaped.”

  “What?” said Joe.

  “He played a trick on me.” McDuff explained what had happened. “I couldn’t corral them both.”

  Joe growled his irritation. “I’ll go find her, Commander. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

  “Grab a few men while you’re at it, Joe,” said the CO. “Coordinate a search. They know too much already.”

  Joe nodded and stalked out the door. The commander dragged a chair around the table and seated himself in front of Matt.

  “Well, boy. You may begin by telling me about the SOE.”

  Matt looked right into the CO’s piercing eyes. He knew that this man would be even less sympathetic than the other airmen had been. It was time to keep his mouth shut, although he felt a spike of fear in his chest. “I overheard it in a pub.”

  McDuff snorted. “The lad frequents pubs, I suppose.”

  “I hope you didn’t overhear it in a pub,” said the CO, “or we’re in big trouble. Think before you answer, or I may turn you over to them. SOE?”

  “Super Organization of Elephants.”

  The CO’s hard gaze didn’t flicker, although his lips seemed to tighten even more. “Cheeky little rat, aren’t you?” He opened his mouth to say something else, but at the same moment the squeal of tires just outside the farmhouse interrupted him. “What is that, McDuff?”

  The Scotsman tramped over to the door and opened it. Matt glimpsed a midnight black Citroën parked outside. The driver’s door popped open and a short bronze-haired man with a vivid scar on his cheek stepped out. He opened the rear door obsequiously and backed away. A polished black boot thrust from the back seat, then a long slim leg, a knee-length skirt, an ivory blouse, and finally a mop of blond curls. The woman stood, dusted herself off, and gazed at them with willow-green eyes.

  “Another woman,” grunted McDuff under his breath. He seemed a bit mesmerised.

  Another woman what? Could she be an agent?

  She walked casually into the house, a rucksack slung over her shoulder.

  “Hello,” she said. “This is where I was told to get a final briefing and prep.” She held her hand out to McDuff.

  “Hello, Miss—” said McDuff, shaking her hand.

  “Celery will do,” she said, rolling her r’s. She had a gruff accent that sounded surprisingly Dutch to Matt’s ears. But the name was confusing. Then he remembered reading that almost all the Dutch agents adopted vegetable aliases.

  The CO stood up and strode towards her. He shook her hand, introducing himself.

  “I didn’t expect to meet you, Commander,” she said. “A pleasure.”

  “Well, I usually don’t see . . .” he looked at Matt, “ . . . your people off,” he finished. “But we’ve run across some difficulties.”

  “Difficulties?” She frowned and examined Matt, too. “A child?”

  Matt bristled. “I’m not a child,” he spoke up. “Actually . . . I’m a spy.”

  Celery looked taken aback. “Are you?”

  The CO folded his arms and eyed him narrowly.

  Well, it was now or never. “Yes,” he said. “It’s a dangerous business. You fly into enemy territory. The Gestapo could capture you at any time and force you to send back messages.”

  Celery’s expression had altered from one of wide-eyed surprise to that of scrunched-up suspicion. She said slowly, “That . . . could happen . . . to spies, I suppose.”

  “It could. But then we have security checks inserted into our messages in case we’re caught, don’t we?”

  Celery blinked.

  “Someone would notice if we didn’t use those checks, right? Someone in the radio room?”

  The woman took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay.” Matt grinned. “I guess you need an example. Imagine a spy. Let’s call him Ebenezer. This guy works for a secret spy agency for the Allies. He hitches a ride with a bomber, parachutes into, let’s say, Holland.”

  Celery crossed her arms. “I’m a captive audience.”

  “That’s it exactly,” said Matt. “Captive. Captured. Suppose he gets captured by the black-suited guys.”

  “Gestapo?”

  “They’re the ones. And they force him to radio England—the spy network he works for.”

  “The secret one,” said Celery.

  “Maybe not as secret as you think. So, the Gestapo make this guy—Ebenezer—send back messages. ‘Everything’s hunky-dory.’ ‘These are the places where they’re storing their weapons.’ ‘Keep sending those supplies.’ ‘We need more agents.’ Stuff like that.”

  “That’s quite the scenario,” said Celery. Her nails were digging into the pale flesh of her upper arms.

  “What do you think would happen to those agents they kept dropping?” said Matt.

  Her eyes were like daggers.

  “T. R. A. P.,” he said.

  “What is this about!” She turned to the commander. “Is my mission compromised?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” said the CO. “But at least he’s finally talking.”

  “I’m just telling you,” said Matt, “if you’re flying into Holland, it isn’t safe. Unless you do a blind drop, where no one’s expecting you, and take me with you.”

  “Here we go,” said McDuff. “He’s lookin’ to hitch a ride, lookin’ to find his dad.”

  “Your dad an agent, boy?” asked the CO.

  “More than you know.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s worrisome for you. But he’s been far too liberal in divulging information. And I can’t imagine letting you go after what you just told us.” He turned and addressed Celery. “I think we need some of your people to come up from London and talk to him.”

  She nodded. “I’ll give my handler a call. But what about the mission?”

  “Don’t tell me you believe him?”

  Celery gazed at Matt for the longest time. “No,” she finally said. “He looks like he knows how to lie.”

  Matt scowled and kicked the chair. How come she could read that part of him, but ignore the honest streak that often appeared at the most crucial moments? Why couldn’t she tell that he was trying to save her life?

  “Stupid spy,” he growled. “Darn, distrusting, stupid spy.”

  Chapter 13

  Spy Games

  Sarah slunk around the corner of the barn, the boards appearing like ebony ribbons in the deep shadows of the night. She spied the wooden door in the side and hurried towards it, but as she eased it open, a loud groan leaped from the hinges. She winced and looked around, but no airmen or military police charged across the runway towards her.

  Good. Still undetected. She slipped into the claustrophobic darkness.

  Now she had to blink. Let her eyes adjust. Find a hiding place.

  It took a few long minutes before the interior of the barn gradually came into focus, partitioned by shelves upon shelves. Her eyes fell on some cylinders right near the door—flashlights. Well, if she used one briefly, she might be able to find a decent refuge.

  She grasped the nearest, felt up and down until she found the switch, and flicked it on, keeping the beam low and shielded. Then she crept closer to the shelves, spying what appeared to be packs. Odd rectangular lumps with streamers of silk peeking out—parachutes! She thought about Matt asking how to be trained in skydiving, as if she’d even consider jumping out of an airplane. She shuddered. That wasn’t the plan. A nice safe landing with a Lysander in a field. That was the plan.

  She looked at another shelf with metal objects. Oh no. Guns, bullets, little knives. The guns were all rather compact and looked almost identical to the one they’d seen in Nadine’s hand. An odd assortment of bricks lay beside the weapons, only they couldn’t be regular bricks. A mesh of wiring was looped on top. Could they be plastic explosives? Even more intriguing, some fuzzy objects were crammed on the other side of the bricks, with tiny beady eyes and pointed snouts. They looked like rats.

 

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