Here, in what might be their last moments together, there was no possibility of hiding what was between them. He tilted his head toward her once more, stopped by the bonds that held him. She leaned in, meeting him, and their lips touched. She kissed him softly, not wanting to worsen the pain of his wounds, but he pressed for more, seemingly heedless.
A moment later, she pulled away. “How did they get you?”
“They were waiting for me at the landing. They had the location and time of the flight. Why did you change the site?”
“We didn’t,” she said incredulously. “That is, we received word from London...”
He shook his head. “London said they received word from you.”
The realization passed between them then. The Germans had intercepted one of the radios and was transmitting to London, impersonating an agent. “That must be how they knew. Not just about me. They have everything, Marie. Our notes, our records.” A look of realization dawned in his eyes. “Eleanor suspected as much. She wanted me to warn you that the radio was compromised and to be on guard. Only now it’s too late.”
Her mind reeled. “But if they already have everything, then what do they want from me?”
“They want you to...” Before he could finish his answer, noise came from the corridor. Footsteps, followed by a turning of a key in the lock. Two uniformed men walked in. The younger one, who had brought her downstairs earlier, untied Julian’s legs from the chair and dragged him from the room. Marie wanted to cry out. But remembering her training, she did not. She turned to face the second man, whom she had not seen before. He was older, with horn-rimmed glasses. The breast of his uniform was adorned by a sea of metals and she wondered what he had done to earn them.
“I’m Sturmbannführer Kriegler of the Sicherheitsdienst.” Her terror grew as she recognized the name of the SD leader, known for his sheer brutality. “Can I get you anything?”
For you to let us free, she thought, and then to drop dead. “Perhaps some tea?” she asked, scarcely believing the audacity of her own voice. She lifted her head to meet his eyes.
He paused, then stood and started for the door and opened it. “Tea, bitte,” he called to someone on the other side. Kriegler waited in the doorway. Marie’s eyes darted around the room. The request had bought her some time. But there was simply nowhere to go.
A moment later, Kriegler returned and handed her the teacup. She held it, not drinking. “Now let’s get to work,” he said. He gestured for her to follow him to a small room off the rear of the office.
Walking into the annex, her heart sank. There, sitting on the table, was her radio.
But as she walked closer, she saw that this was not the radio they had confiscated from her flat; the markings on the case were different. She wondered whose it was, and how long they’d had it. The Germans had been broadcasting to London, acting as one of their own—and London believed it. It all came together then—how the Germans had impersonated the agents and fooled London into sharing critical information. The radio, which had been their lifeline, had also now proved their undoing.
“But you already have the radio,” she managed. “What do you want from me?”
“We need you to talk to London to authenticate the messages.” There must be something about their transmissions, Marie realized, and they wanted her to validate them. Julian couldn’t have done it, even if he was willing. She understood then they needed her. If she helped them, she might save her life—and Julian’s. But if she refused and London realized that something was amiss, she might put an end to the radio game once and for all.
She saw Josie’s face in the sky above her, foreboding, beseeching her to be strong. She saw Eleanor, who would expect better. “No,” she said aloud. She would not do it.
Kriegler walked around the front of the desk and stood before her. Without speaking, he slapped her across the mouth so hard she was lifted from the chair. She fell backward and clattered to the floor, her head slamming against the ground. The teacup shattered, spraying hot liquid and shards of porcelain everywhere.
But what Kriegler did not know was that it was not the first time in Marie’s life she had been hit. Marie’s father had been a violent drunk. When he’d come home