Chapter 6

The British undercover operative Honey tried her best to seem as dull and uninteresting as possible and just asked for a "Coffee and croissant" with a low and polite tone of voice. The men inside the small shop immediately lost interest in her and went back to their discussion which was close to an argument about the superior attitude of their German occupiers.

It certainly sounded to her that they were all opposed to the German occupation but in many circles what people said in public was not what they really thought and quite often they were provoking others to reveal their innermost thoughts so that they could be punished for improper thinking disloyal to the regime.

She remembered the strange man on the road with his rough exterior but gentle touch when it came to satisfying her itch between her legs for human contact. Honey hoped he had gotten his job at the "Gardens" and would avoid trouble for having met her quite by accident. She sat down at a small circular table and sipped the fake coffee made with some sort of bean that was definitely not coffee. Now that she was relaxed, she looked around the small shop and was shocked to see that "Marcel" was sitting quietly in a corner all by himself. She did her best to hide her confusion by attempting to remove a bogus eyelash from her eye and made a concerted effort not to look in his direction. She wanted desperately to believe that this was strictly a coincidence but it stretched the imagination to believe that was the case. Her wise father had told her when in doubt there are no coincidences.

Honey did her best to seem relaxed and yet she finished her coffee quickly and stood up to leave. At that very moment, two German officers with unmistakable SS insignia came into the shop and gave her a visual once over that was both professional and bordering on ogling. Not wanting to appear that she was leaving because of their presence, she paused at the counter and scanned the small pastries under the glass with absolutely no intention of buying one much less eating it.

"Papers, documents, hurry up, my lovelies. We don't have all day. If you have a local pass show it now."

Honey was certain her papers were in order but she had no local pass which would confirm she was in residence in the local area and had a dossier filed in the courthouse giving her background and interesting tidbits about her past and current activities. It was one thing that was impossible to forge and the Germans were becoming increasingly aware that it was valuable in sorting out fakes and imitation identities. She had a plausible story to back up her papers and also a forged letter of introduction from the Paris office of French female support volunteers who were no better than unpaid whores for the occupying troops and all full-fledged collaborators. She hesitated to produce it because it would make her "front and center" to the German officers who might be tempted to test her cooperative attitude in private. It was a document of last resort if she came under suspicion for any reason.

The German officer who checked her papers looked up at her but his focus was on her breasts and not her face. That was a big plus from her point of view because one never knew if they had photo of the British suspected infiltrators at all checkpoints and if she was in that album without her knowledge. He gave her a wink and held out the document so she could replace it in her purse.

One young man had a pass that was outdated and they took him by his elbow and led him to the van outside for some questioning at the local headquarters. Sometimes, those things were just an annoyance and other times, they were "life-threatening" when other indiscretions were discovered.

She had her sharp killing blade under her garter and the tiny pistol was still safely hidden between her legs. Honey had a routine of moving such things to her purse if she was in a situation where unknown hands would be exploring such places in the near future. Unless that was eminent, they were safest there away from enemy eyes. Slowly, she exited the front door and moved to her bicycle to put distance between her and the now somewhat unsafe village with an abundance of German soldiers and a former British agent with intentions unknown.

Honey had to go through a section that had been filled with Jewish residents before the rise of Hitler to a position of power in the government. Now, it was like a ghost town with windows all boarded and trash in the streets. It bore mute testimony to the absent owners who no longer needed worldly goods to attest to their success in life. She paused at the circle where the children used to play with the fountain that still flowed with mountain stream water piped in for only the birds to play in with their flapping wings and beady eyes.

She noticed that the roads were almost empty in sharp contrast to the years when she had visited them before the war. It had been a major route into Paris but now it seemed to be a backwater of neglect. The smoldering ruins of what must have been a church or a synagogue sent a thin smoke signal into the sky but she didn't know if it was the result of bombing or some accidental incident. It seemed unlikely that it would be a bombing because there was no other hint of damage in the surrounding buildings. Besides, the allies were not interested in the building around Paris, but were much more concerned with the plants that were manufacturing ammunition and the rockets hitting right into downtown London.

Her destination was the Paris branch of the demolition crews that had been sabotaging the main Paris to the English Channel tracks with breathtaking success. She knew they had two contact points. She avoided the primary one because she wanted to keep a low profile with both sides of the equation. Her own people would not be happy that she had interjected herself into the conflict without permission but she knew the only way she would be able to get the bridge down was to find a couple of trained demolition experts to help her set the charges. The group that she was currently working with was better off in random ambushes and other minor troublemaking forays but for the real deal she needed professionals. She knew that Marcel would be a good candidate since he had written the book on sapping bridges and tunnels but his attitude was far too risky for her to take a chance.