His Majesty's Hope(9)

“I will tell you, Miss Hope, that as of yet, no women have been sent to the Continent. The Prime Minister has serious issues with the thought of women spooks. As do I. But, as I said, the P.M. asked for you specifically for this job, and so here we are.” He flipped the folder closed, then rose and went to the window. “Feels a woman will be able to slip in and out more easily. As the war goes on, any young man we send in looks more and more suspicious—‘Why isn’t he off fighting?’ Et cetera, et cetera.”

Maggie raised her chin. “Of course. However, I can assure you, sir, that I’ve been well trained. I can carry out any missions assigned as well as any man.”

Nelson turned back toward Maggie. “I realize the personal angle might give you extra impetus, but it’s important not to let emotions cloud your vision. You go in, perform your mission, and leave. That’s it. Clean and fast. In fact, the job is quick—no more than four nights.”

“What’s my cover?”

Nelson found another folder on his desk and opened it, his eyes scanning the page. “Let’s see—you’ll pose as a mistress to an Abwehr officer. He’s part of the resistance circle that’s been working with us. He’ll be your way into Berlin. You’ll deliver the radio crystals to him. And then he will also be your entree to Commandant Hess’s home.”

“Sounds straightforward.”

He flipped a page. “You’ll parachute into the German countryside, where one of our people will meet you and take you to a safe house. From there you’ll take the train to Berlin, where your contact will meet you. Your cover story is that you met while he was in Rome, at a conference the Abwehr was having with the Vatican. You were assigned to be his temporary secretary there, and you fell madly in love.”

“Does this new love of my life have a name?”

“Let’s see.” Nelson riffled through the papers. “Here we are—Gottlieb Lehrer.”

“Gottlieb Lehrer,” Maggie repeated.

“And you’ll need this.” Nelson opened his desk drawer and riffled inside until he found what he was looking for: a gold lipstick tube, which he handed to Maggie.

No stranger to the methods of SOE, she unscrewed the bottom. There, in a hidden compartment, was a tablet encased in rubber.

“Cyanide, I presume?” she asked, returning the pill to its chamber and screwing the cap back on tightly.

“Indeed. I hope you won’t have to use it.”

“Thank you. I hope I don’t either.” Maggie gave a grim smile. “When do I leave?”

“Because of the urgency of the mission, and the fact we’re coming up on a full moon, you’ll be leaving tomorrow night. I assume you can get everything in order? You do have a will, yes?”

Tomorrow night! Maggie thought. But I’ve only just returned! I haven’t even seen Hugh yet.… Still, there was no arguing with the phases of the moon. If she didn’t leave now, she’d have to wait another month. And she wanted to go. It was what she’d dreamed of, trained for.… “Yes, I have a will. And yes, I’ll be ready, sir.”

“Excellent, Miss Hope.” They both stood and shook hands across Nelson’s wooden desk.

“Report here tomorrow morning at nine sharp,” he said, walking her out. “First you’ll get all your paperwork together and then head to Wardrobe. You’ll be dropped into Germany tomorrow night.”

“Ah,” Maggie said. “Das Eisen schmieden, solange es heiß ist.”

“Yes, let’s strike while the iron is still hot. And, Miss Hope?”

“Yes?”

“I hope your skills are up to par. Your life, and the lives of the brave people of the resistance group in Berlin, depend on them.”

Maggie replied, with the confidence of youth, “You can count on me, sir.”


Frieda returned to the apartment she and her husband shared, carrying two loaves of bread, a thick slab of ham, a tin of coffee, and a bag of sugar. In addition, she had large bars of Neuhaus chocolate from Belgium and a bottle of schnapps.

It was a cramped, dingy, airless flat, so different from the one they had shared when they’d first been married, in 1934. Frieda had always felt that, somehow, because they were married before the Nuremberg Laws passed, they were still safe. Even when the SS took their spacious, sunlit apartment near the Tiergarten, along with their furnishings and artwork, even when they were relocated to a small, dark one in the ghetto, even when Ernst lost his job, even when he started having to send out the letters. They were together. And Ernst was still alive. That was the only thing that mattered.