combat boots and the ill-fitting dress she’d bought from Justin’s mum.
There was no fire escape, so Rosie’s pre-planned escape route was up to the fifth floor and out over the roof. The men were stomping up the stairs as she tucked her gun into a small leather bag and opened the door, but as she peeked into the hallway there were several shouts followed by men kicking a door two floors below.
Nobody went higher than the second floor, so Rosie backed into her room. Within seconds there were shouts as two men were dragged from the apartment. Rosie walked back to her window and saw the first young man getting pulled into the street, dressed only in his undershorts.
He might have been a criminal or someone involved with the resistance, but as he only looked about eighteen Rosie thought it most likely that he’d been hiding out to avoid compulsory labour service in Germany.
The second person dragged out was more boy than man and looked slightly comical in baggy pyjamas. Despite small stature he roared abuse and landed a punch as a policeman tried shoving him into the car. This wasn’t a wise move, because within seconds he’d been knocked down and had three cops laying into him.
‘Traitor scum,’ a woman shouted from a second-floor window. ‘They’re good boys. How can you betray your own people?’
The volley of words was followed by the contents of a piss pot. Rosie was amused, but backed off from the window in case they thought it had come from her.
As the policemen shook urine off their cloaks, two Germans charged back inside. Rosie heard a loud scream as the woman who’d thrown the pot – presumably the one who’d been sheltering the two young men – was bundled down the staircase.
Halfway down she managed to kick at another door. ‘Don’t think I don’t know who told ’em, you fat old dog,’ she shouted.
Rosie caught first sight of the woman as she came out on to the pavement. She was old enough to be the grandmother of the two men she’d been sheltering, but this didn’t stop the largest of the Germans swinging his baton full force into her ribcage. Then a couple of the piss-soaked policemen took their revenge, stomping the elderly woman as she balled up on the ground.
It was sickening and Rosie backed away from the window with her fists bunched. But it was also a reminder of why she was here, and that people like Eugene were dying for a good reason.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rosie woke with a start four hours later. Someone was thumping on her door, and her first thought was Germans. But two double knocks and a single was the safe signal and she opened the door bleary eyed, assuming that her delivery boy had arrived early.
In fact it was Maxine Clere. Rosie had known Maxine before she’d become the legendary Paris resistance leader known as Ghost. Two years living under constant threat of arrest had made Maxine thinner and greyer, but she was still six feet tall and beautiful.
Ghost’s resistance circuit was the largest in France, centred on Paris but with operatives as far north as the Channel coast. While Eugene’s circuit in Lorient was one of many smashed by the Gestapo, Maxine’s much larger operation had seen many members arrested, but tight security meant it had stayed intact.
The core of this success lay in the fact that Maxine had made her ‘Ghost’ persona so elusive that even senior members of her own circuit had never met her, and some even questioned her existence.
Rosie wanted to say something momentous and congratulate Maxine on building up a resistance circuit that had saved the lives of hundreds of airmen and done untold damage to German operations. But she was drowsy and could only manage a rather dumb, ‘You’re up early.’
‘Irregular hours,’ Maxine said warmly, as she pulled Rosie into a hug. ‘Sometimes I hardly know if it’s night or day.’
‘I never expected to see you personally,’ Rosie said. ‘The legendary Ghost.’
Maxine laughed. ‘You can stop that bullshit! The enigmatic reputation is useful, but my importance is overestimated. If a Gestapo sniper shot me dead right now, my circuit would barely miss a beat.’
Perhaps this was true, but Rosie was too tactful to mention that the Gestapo would be far more likely to torture Maxine than to assassinate her.
‘Have you heard from Britain?’ Rosie asked.
‘All good things,’ Maxine said brightly. ‘The notebook is a document of extraordinary intelligence value. Much too valuable