Helga Miller
shut the door to her small flat in Saint-Omer. With seagulls reeling and crying
in the sunny morning sky above, she felt as though she were on vacation. She
loved the quaint architecture of the homes, the small shops, and the produce
market. Things were scarce, but it was late summer, and the local produce was
in. Fish was always available, and she had developed a fondness for it. She
could smell the sea and loved the warm sand and relaxed atmosphere at the
beach. It was as if there wasn’t even a war.
I’m not on
holiday, she told
herself, but it’s my first time out of Germany, and I’m not going to waste
it. She’d wanted to help with the war effort, and now she had her chance.
Even after the invasion, everyone back home still thought Germany would
win—Hitler told them so, and the propaganda films left no doubt. Why wouldn’t
she believe it as well?
Smaller than
some of the other women she worked with, Helga prided herself on being athletic
and trim. She went for long walks and did calisthenics daily. Her long hair,
which she kept tucked under her hat while on duty, was dark, as was the hair of
many people from Bohemia in southern Germany. She wasn’t much interested in the
men she worked with. Older and serious, they paid little attention to her
except to bark orders. They bored her. She liked the young soldiers stationed
in the town and at her worksite. They were exciting and fun-loving, and girls
like her from home were scarce.
Helga had been
recruited right out of university, and while she knew that as a non-soldier,
she would never be much of a threat to anyone, she was eager to work on such an
important program. The big projects had political or military applications. The
project she was working on combined mining and construction. It was unique.
She was on her
way to La Couple, where she worked as a mining engineer. Helga knew the
fighting was close, but the enemy army was still many miles away. She didn’t
think about it much, but when she did, she had to admit it was a bit thrilling.
Neither did she think often of the intended use of the facility once complete.
At work she concentrated, paying no attention to the fact that rockets launched
from there would fall on major cities—and their civilian populations. Allied
bombs were falling on German cities, targeting military installations and
civilians alike. She hoped the completion of the facility would stop those
raids and help Germany win the war.
Helga walked toward the train station where
she would catch the short ride to her worksite. She disliked the frumpy white
coveralls she wore, but they, like everything else, were mandatory. She felt as
though she were dressed in a sack. How would she ever catch a man’s eye while
wearing a tent?
She turned a
corner and crossed over the car park toward the train station. It was a squat
wooden building consisting of dirty windows, a ticket booth, toilets, and a
kiosk that sold newspapers, cigarettes, and whatever sweets were available at a
given time. Helga made her way over to the short line to buy a ticket for the
next train. She noticed a young woman ahead of her with a mane of curly black
hair cascading down the middle of her back. She didn’t have to see the woman’s
face to know that she was beautiful; the way she held herself left no doubt.
Oh, to have curls like hers . . . Helga fingered the correct change in her
pocket and had it ready when she got to the window. She smiled at the man
behind the glass. He gave her the same indifferent look he gave all the
passengers, French and German alike. She was sure he’d been there before the
war and would be there when it was over. His job was simple and didn’t require
any conversation.
A rush of wind
announced the arrival of the train. Helga moved forward onto the platform and
waited for it to come to a stop. It was a tired old commuter train that had
covered the same miles of track for years. With petrol scarce, people got
around on foot, bicycle, or, for longer distances, train.
After waiting
her turn to board, she found an empty seat in the middle of the car. Among the
passengers who brushed past her was the young woman with the beautiful hair.
Helga snuck a peek at her dark and angular, almost Gypsy-like, face; the lovely
girl was almost certainly from the south. She watched men steal glances as she
passed. She felt a twinge of jealousy. No man had ever looked at her that way;
it wasn’t fair.
The train
pulled out of the station and picked up speed. The windows were down, and the
warm breeze carried a hint of salt from the ocean. The smell of seaweed and
surf wafted through the car, carrying out cigarette smoke and lingering smells.
Helga could stay in a place like this forever. With the weekend coming, she was
planning to go down to the beach with another girl from work. Two days in the
sun, a chance to chat with some young men, drink some local wine, have some
fun. There were always young German soldiers about, on leave.
As the coastal
scenery came into view, it seemed to shake from the train’s rattling. Seagulls
cried down near the beach. The tide was out, revealing large expanses of sand
and lowland areas. People were out digging clams and scraping mussels off the
exposed rocks. The chalky cliffs were much like their counterparts on the other
side of the channel in England.
No sooner did
the train stop than the other passengers stood and eked out to crowd the
passageway. Helga waited until the aisle was clear before she stood. As she
made her way to the door, the car was empty, so it hardly stood out that the
young woman was, like everyone else, gone.
Helga made her
way from the train station toward the construction site. The path was a mixture
of sand, gravel, and chalky white chips weathered away from the hillsides over
millions of years. The path came to a wooded area. She could see other workers
walking far ahead, but there was no one near her. She wasn’t in a hurry to get
to work, especially on such a nice day. She’d be on time; there was no need to
rush.
It was a blind
corner in the path. No time to react. A dark figure slid behind her and placed
a hand on her shoulder, another on her chin. With a furious jerk, the assailant
broke Helga’s neck and dragged her body off the trail. The killer removed her
work clothes and pulled them over her own. In less than a minute, the body was
covered with grass and sticks. Unless someone from the trail was looking for
Helga, she would never be seen.
The killer
moved away, pulling Helga’s cap over her head, tucking in strands of curly
black hair. Back on the trail, she headed toward the rear entrance of La
Couple. She clipped the dead girl’s credentials to her coat pocket. She’d
already observed that the guards never even checked the women coming and going
from the facility. How incredibly stupid of them.
The guards at
the entrance waved her through as she held out her identification. Hardly a
glance in her direction. She stepped into the entrance, where, shielded from
the summer sun, she was immediately cooled. Moisture clung to the walls and
made the floor beneath her slippery. A sheet of water covered the tunnel,
pooling in spots. This entrance mustn’t be completed yet, she thought.
Touching the spongy chalk walls, she passed on into an area where concrete
walls had been added and spanned in a curved ceiling overhead. The passageway
was extremely wide. Wide enough to accommodate a small train. Not tall enough
for a full-sized rail car, but certainly wide and high enough to transport
something big.
The woman’s
name was Madeleine Toche, and her inside-out knowledge of her business was
nearly as legendary as her hatred of Germans. For this important operation, she
needed to know what was inside so she and others could destroy it. Today was a
reconnaissance mission. If an attack was ordered, it would come later.
Toche was an
assassin, trained and deployed by the British Special Operations Executive, the
SOE, and Prime Minister Churchill’s army of the shadows. She’d spent most of
the past two years in France killing—Gestapo, SS officers, and troops. Stealth
and patience were her strongest weapons. She’d often wait days in concealment,
like a spider in its dark recess, until she sprung from a forgotten crack to
kill, afterward slipping away. Her reputation spread far beyond Europe.
Raped at the
hands of the SS after her beloved brother was killed when Germany invaded
France, she’d vowed revenge. With the help of her father, she killed her
assailant and escaped to England through Spain. Her young life had been a
whirlwind of training with the British SOE and preparing for war.
A German Jew, a
hero of the German army in the First War, trained her. His hatred of the Nazis
for killing his wife and daughters propelled him down a road of destruction
that made Madeleine’s pale by comparison. Those Jews that knew of him considered
him a Gollum. A creature sent by God to kill the enemies of the Jewish people.
A monster devoid of mercy. An instrument of unspeakable cruelty. Hatred lain
bare.
Passageways led
off the main corridor she was in, and down which she continued toward the
cavernous space under the dome. Oily dust hung in the air. While the chalk was
caked and fragile, the hum of diesel machinery and poor ventilation created a
haze inside the tunnels. The place was light on security; if there were any
other guards, she couldn’t see them. Electric bulbs strung overhead created a
misty effect. She was happy with the additional cover.
The tunnel was
a hive of activity. With tight schedules to keep, the workers inside remained
intent on their tasks, often walking right past her without a glance or a
greeting. No one would notice her in here. She stepped aside to allow a group
of workers to go by.
The sound of
nonstop drilling shook the structure. She walked past workshops and storage
areas, all linked by railroad tracks that headed down toward a massive central
hall looming ahead. Inside, it was brightly lit and crisscrossed with
construction scaffolding.
She walked out
into the space underneath the dome, towering seven stories above her.
Full-sized train tracks led out of the cavern into a corridor much larger than
the one she had just walked through. Machinery was being attached to walls in
the middle of the structure beneath the dome. She could identify winches and
tracks to move something horizontally above the tracks. But what in the world
was this?
She left the
dome area to inspect the remainder of the construction. As she passed one of
the rooms, she noticed that the ceiling was much higher than the others. At
least twice as tall. She paused and walked inside. Workers measured the floor,
marking it at intervals to accommodate another set of tracks. A man looked up
with a quizzical expression and then motioned her over. She would answer none
of his questions; she promised herself as she pointed to her watch and shook her
head. When he started in her direction, she turned and walked out of the room.
He followed.
Madeleine
picked up her pace and started back down the tunnel in the direction from which
she had come. She ducked into a dark hallway leading off the main corridor. She
flattened her back against the wall, hiding on the fringe of the light spilling
in from the hallway. The man hurried in her direction. Just a little closer,
she thought. He couldn’t see her in the dark. Once he was near, she darted out,
ramming a fountain pen into his ear, pushing it in with the palm of her hand.
His knees buckled, and he fell forward onto his face, crashing to the floor.
Setting her clipboard down, she dragged his body further into the dark. And
though his legs jiggled, she knew he’d been dead before he hit the ground.
Finding a bin partially filled with rock, Madeleine pulled his body behind it.
Turning, she picked up her clipboard and walked out into the main passageway.
She had seen enough. Time to leave.
She walked
toward the entrance she had come through, knowing she needed to be gone before
they discovered the body. After all the missions she’d completed, and blood
that had stained her hands, to get caught on a reconnaissance mission would be
stupid. She knew she would find Jack at the top of the hill overlooking the
compound. Just make it to the trees, and you’re home free. This is routine.
Shoot your way out, but only if you have to.
Madeleine
hurried to join a small group of workers leaving the facility. Neither guard at
the entrance gave her any notice until she walked past them. Madeleine made
sure to smile at the young guards. They couldn’t help but smile back. Just
don’t speak to me in German, she thought, touching the pistol in her
pocket. It had become almost involuntary. A reassurance that it was there if
she needed it. She could feel their eyes on her body. The bulky uniform
couldn’t hide everything. And the more they concentrated on her looks, the less
they would think about security; it had worked in the past. The Germans just
didn’t see women as threats. They’d think differently if they knew she had a
five-million-Francs bounty on her head.
Walking out of
the guards’ line of sight, Madeleine stepped off the path. She pulled off the
white smock and hat and shook out her hair. She tossed the clothes further into
the woods and then covered them with small branches. Soon she relaxed, the
adrenaline in her body subsiding. She had much to tell her superiors about this
successful mission. She couldn’t wait to reach the top of the hill and see
Jack, her husband.
