dangerous package that she dared not jostle or drop. Even at the late hour, the station was packed with travelers, families with sleepy children and too many bags, soldiers who pushed past them importantly. Marie consulted the board and saw that the next train back left in fifteen minutes from platform eight. She started for it.
She scanned the crowd, looking for Julian, eager to give him this package and be done with it. At last she spotted him, maybe twenty meters ahead, waiting for her on the platform. She raised her hand to get his attention. His eyes met hers, but he did not smile. His face remained solemn. Then she saw why: French police stood between them, inspecting the passengers individually as they approached the platform.
Marie panicked. There was a crush of passengers behind her, jostling into a rough queue as they neared the police. She couldn’t get out of line without avoiding detection. But the package was bulky, impossible to hide or disguise if someone felt her midsection. She eyed a trash bin, wishing she could deposit the package there. Or perhaps in the toilet. But the line had moved forward now and she was nearly at the checkpoint. There was no way to remove the TNT from her body.
She reached the front of the line. “Papers,” a policeman ordered and she delayed, unable to open her coat and access her purse without revealing the package. Travelers waiting behind her began to grumble at the delay. “Out of line!” the policeman shouted, losing patience. He waved her over to another officer who was doing more thorough inspections.
“Toilet?” she asked desperately, expecting the second officer to refuse. “Les regles,” she said, gesturing downward and using the French term for her period. She hoped that the crude reference would, at a minimum, help her avoid a close inspection. The officer looked horrified and waved her quickly into an adjacent ladies’ room. Inside Marie pulled her shirt up, knowing that she only had seconds to stay in the toilet without attracting attention. She pulled the TNT carefully from her body, fighting the urge to cry out where it ripped her skin, causing it to bleed. For a moment, she considered leaving the package in the toilet, rather than risk being caught with it. But Will had said it was critical to the mission. Instead, she wedged it into the secret compartment at the bottom of her purse, squeezing the edges too tightly in order to make it fit.
She stepped from the bathroom and into the inspection queue once more, feeling Julian’s eyes still on her. A few minutes later, she reached the front of the line. The police officer reached to pat her down and she fought not to recoil. Resisting would surely only make things worse. The man’s hands were on her body, in all the places that they shouldn’t have been, bringing back childhood nightmares, worse than the kicks and blows, which she thought she had buried forever. She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to feel the cold, invasive touch, taking from her as much as it could. It did not matter at all, she told herself, as long as it kept him away from the satchel.
Julian was watching the assault on the other side of the checkpoint. His face seethed with anger and his fists were clenched. She saw him reach for his gun. She pleaded with him with her eyes to be still and not react. It would destroy the mission and mean arrest or worse for both of them.
After what seemed an eternity, the policeman removed his filthy hands from her body. He reached for the bag and looked in the main compartment. His search was thorough, determined. In a moment, he would surely find the hidden package.
“Darling!” Julian stepped forward before the policeman could stop him, placing himself between the officer and Marie. “My wife is pregnant,” he said, breaking his own rule of not trying to use his piteous French. He managed the words somehow, but his accent was abysmal. Marie froze. Just a second ago she had told the guard that she had her period; Julian hadn’t heard and his story directly contradicted hers. She waited for the policeman to realize the lie.
“I feel ill,” she chimed in, starting to double over.
The policeman stepped back. “Go!” he ordered. Julian held up his own papers, waving her through the gate.
“Keep walking,” Julian murmured and she did, not looking back, terrified they were going