Velvet Undercover Page 21

  If the Germans did suspect someone of leaking information, they wouldn’t need the information, and they certainly wouldn’t need their own chemical weapon formula, they would need all the people in the chain who were passing it along. My heart stops.

  They would need my father and they would need Marissa Baum.

  And I just gave up both of them.

  Why hadn’t I seen it before? I was upset about my father, but that didn’t excuse my complete disregard of the truth. Why had it taken me so long?

  Because if this were true, it would mean that Miss Tickford is lying and has been lying since the very beginning. Which would mean my father isn’t the traitor. Miss Tickford is. As soon as it comes into my head, I know it’s true. Miss Tickford mentioned the formula three times today when she told me that LDB didn’t know what kind of weapon the Germans were developing.

  My stomach churns in horror.

  Miss Tickford is a traitor.

  And so am I.

  I back away from the window. Marissa moans and I break out in a cold sweat.

  I just gave her Miss Tickford’s powder. What if it’s not even a sleeping concoction? For all I know, I may have just given her arsenic.

  Rushing to my bag, I take out the small vial of syrup of ipecac. I unscrew the lid and smell it, remembering the scent from childhood illnesses. Marissa is dead white, droplets of sweat decorating her forehead. I pat her cheeks. “Marissa, wake up. You need to drink this.”

  Her eyes open and I can see she’s trying to focus on me. “What? Wah?”

  Her eyes flutter shut and I shake her a bit more forcibly. Slipping my arm behind her neck, I lean her forward. “You’ve been poisoned. You need to drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Makesh shense,” she slurs. “Feel awful. Who poishened me?”

  I don’t think now is the right time to tell her it was me, so I put the vial to her lips. “Never mind that. Drink.”

  Her eyes focus on me. “Not supposed to trust anyone.”

  I wave the vial in front of her face. “This will make you feel better.” I don’t mention that it will first make her much, much sicker.

  She finally nods. “Can’t make me feel worsh.”

  That’s still to be determined, but I say nothing as I pour the contents of the vial into her mouth. I have no idea what a single dose is, but I can’t afford to give her too little. For all I know, it won’t work and I’ll have killed a war hero.

  She grimaces and gags once or twice. I toss the vial on her night table and rush out to the sitting room. The door is locked, but I pull her chair in front of it anyway. The last thing I want is for Miss Tickford’s men to burst in on us while Marissa is incapacitated. I find a washbasin in the water closet and bring it to Marissa. Her eyes are shut and her skin is, if possible, even whiter. How much time had elapsed between my giving her the powder and giving her the ipecac? Five minutes? Fifteen minutes? Will she be able to expel enough of the poison to keep it from working?

  “I’m going to be sick,” she says, and I help her sit up over the basin.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and hold her hair back as she throws up. I only pray that it works and she feels better fast. We have to get out of here. I wonder how long Miss Tickford’s men are going to wait before they come up to get her, signal or no signal.

  When she’s through, I take the basin back to the water closet and wet a cloth. I’m so angry that my hands shake as I wipe Marissa’s forehead, though I’m not sure who I’m more angry with, myself or Miss Tickford. I allowed my feelings for Miss Tickford to cloud my judgment, or as my father would put it, I allowed Miss Tickford to distract me while she made the moves to win the game. I let her determine every step, even when my own instincts were screaming otherwise.

  Marissa’s breathing is more normal now and I hope that the worst is over. At some point, I’m going to have to get her dressed and out of here—but where to go? Would the man at the bakery know of a safe place for us? I certainly can’t go to the safe house Miss Tickford told me to go to if things went awry.

  How am I going to get my father away from Miss Tickford? Does Marissa know someone who could help us?

  The room is so silent, I can hear the clock ticking over the mantel in the sitting room. I pray that Marissa is sleeping peacefully. Opening her wardrobe, I pull out a wool coat and a pair of walking boots.

  Then I sit and wait. If she doesn’t recover enough to walk, we have no hope of escaping anyway, so I wait as long as I dare before gently shaking her shoulder.

  “Marissa, wake up. We need to get out of here.”

  Her eyes flutter open and her eyes seem clearer.

  “How do you feel?” I ask.

  “Horrible. Alive. Who poisoned me?”

  I clear my throat. “Me.”

  Her eyes fly open. “And then you saved me?”

  “It’s a long story. But yes.” Taking a deep breath, I hold out my hand. “My name is Samantha Donaldson, and we are in big trouble.”

  Marissa takes my hand, but hers is so weak she can’t even shake. She accepts my words without question. “And how do we get out of trouble?”

  If I’d had any doubts about her, they would have been swept away with her calm acceptance of the situation. “As soon as you’re able to walk, we need to get out of the palace. After that, I’m open to suggestions. Would you like a glass of water?”

  She nods and I fetch her one from the sideboard where she’d made our drinks.

  “Who are you with?” she asks.

  For a moment I hesitate, and then I give a mental shrug. If we’re to survive and rescue my father, we need to lay all our cards out on the table. “La Dame Blanche. At least I think so.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean, you think so?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and pluck at the bedspread with nervous fingers. “I was recruited to get to my father and you. I think my handler is a traitor and working for the Germans.” I shake my head. “Or maybe she’s working for herself, I don’t know. I was trained with LDB agents, but who knows what actually has happened.”

  “Why would they want your father?” Marissa asks, taking another sip of water. I’m gratified that color is returning to her cheeks.

  I almost tell her and then decide she needs to give me more information about what she is doing in Berlin. “You first,” I tell her. “Who do you work for?”

  She hesitates and then apparently comes to the same conclusion that I have. If we’re to get out of this alive, we need to rely on each other. “I work for a joint coalition between Britain and the United States. The Americans are mostly interested in the sabotage on American soil. The Germans have blown up munitions factories, as well as factories making goods that we’re shipping to the Allies. The Germans believe that if they can keep us occupied by troubles back home, we won’t enter the war.”

  I digest that. “I had no idea that the Abwehr was active in the States.”

  She nods. “Yes, but of course there are many German sympathizers and pacifists who want us to stay out of the war completely. They say the British are performing the acts of sabotage and blaming the Germans to get us into the war.”

  I rub my temples. “We wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. That’s why our government sent me . . . to find out who it is.” She leans back against the pillow and sighs. “God, I could sleep for a week.”

  “What about the formula?” I ask. “When did you first learn about the chemical weapon?”

  She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t have the formula? But I found the paper with the chemical symbol for chlorine on it.”

  “That was you?” she squeaks, her eyes wide.

  I nod, somewhat shamefaced.

  “I wondered. You seemed so innocent, with all that hair and your big blue eyes. No, I don’t have the entire formula. My friend has that.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  She shakes her head. “I
’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  I nod. I understand completely. “How on earth did your friend get the formula?”

  Her cheeks redden. “Let’s just say I kept Herr Haber occupied while my friend snuck the formula out the back door of the lab.”

  My mouth forms a little O of surprise. That explains Herr Haber’s behavior at the dinner party. “We should go,” I tell her regretfully. “Do you think you can walk now?”

  Marissa takes a deep breath and nods. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll change. If you could just help me to the bathroom.”

  I assist her out of bed. Her skin pales with the movement, but by the time she comes out of the bathroom she’s looking somewhat stronger.

  I pack a bag for her as she points here and there. Finally she takes a pistol from under her bed and hands it to me. I add it to the bag.

  She looks at me, curiosity written on her face. “How old are you really?”

  “Uh, seventeen?”

  Marissa grins. “I’m only a year older than you. How odd is it that we both ended up undercover in Berlin at the same time?”

  I give her a wry smile. “There are a lot of odd things about this war.”

  She nods. “Agreed.” She sighs, sitting heavily on a side chair and closing her eyes.

  “Are you going to be able to make it?” I ask. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she says no. I can’t possibly leave her here.

  Her mouth twists. “At some point the Abwehr, or the people who trained you, will be here to arrest me. So I really don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  I shake my head. I wonder what choices led Maxwell to this place and time. Perhaps we’ve all run out of choices.

  The thought of Max gives me an idea.

  “I know where we can go!” I exclaim. “And a way out.”

  “I do hope it’s not very far away. I’m not sure how far I can make it.”

  I give her a grim smile. Wouldn’t it be too ironic if a German guard unintentionally gave two spies the means to escape? “It’s closer than you could ever imagine.”

  Getting Marissa down to the children’s hiding place under the stairs without detection is much easier than I expected. Everyone is asleep, and if the servants who are awake at this time of night think it strange that we are up and about, they don’t say anything about it.

  I settle her back on the cushions and tell her to stay put.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “I feel horrible.”

  Not knowing how long we will be stuck in hiding, I make a risky run to the servants’ lounge to get food and water. Most everything is gone, and not wanting to disturb a cook, I just take what I can find—two soft bread rolls, a jar of peaches, and another jar filled with water. Surely enough to last us through the day. We’ll sneak out this evening after Marissa has had time to rest.

  The clock is striking two in the morning by the time I reach the hidey-hole again, and my eyes are gritty with exhaustion. Marissa is already asleep when I come in. I set the provisions on a small bookcase and join her on the cushions. Then I blow out the lantern, trying not to think about the last time I was here. Was that a week ago? Two? The last month has run together into a stream of tension and fear.

  I don’t think I’m going to sleep, but the next thing I know, I’m waking up. Marissa is sitting up next to me. Relighting the lantern, I turn to see if she looks any better.

  “I was hoping this was all a dream.”

  “No dream.” I tilt my head to one side. “At least you don’t look like you’re about to die anymore.”

  “Did you really poison me?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

  “It was an accident,” I tell her.

  “Well, that’s some consolation. I think it’s about nine a.m. I heard the clock. How are we going to get out of the palace?”

  “I have a plan.”

  She yawns. “I certainly hope so.”

  “We can’t leave until tonight, though. I think it would be better if we remained in hiding.”

  “Indubitably. May I sleep some more? I feel like I was just poisoned or something.”

  I smile. “Might as well.”

  I blow out the lantern again and stare up into the darkness, trying to figure out how I’m going to get us out of here. We can’t use any of the main doors, because by now Miss Tickford must suspect that I’ve betrayed her, since I haven’t handed Marissa over to her yet.

  I fall asleep and wake up feeling just as confused and unsure as before. The fact that Miss Tickford has my father in her possession is an ever-present gnawing in my stomach. I can’t let her make the next move. I have to do something surprising, something she won’t expect.

  Of course, first I have to get out of the palace without her seeing me. Maxwell said that he thought the tunnel led to the Lustgarten but wasn’t sure.

  I’m not sure I remember which door it was—we passed so many.

  In that half-sleeping state where the mind wanders free, I realize that I haven’t heard my father whispering in my head in quite some time. The last time was when I realized the symbol on the paper was for chlorine. I’d heard his whispering for so long that I find myself missing it, even though I now know that my father is alive. I swallow as an idea comes to me.

  Maybe it wasn’t my father advising me at all.

  Maybe it was me.

  Maybe I’d always known what to do but simply didn’t trust my own instincts. And look what a mess of things that made.

  But then, my instincts can be wrong sometimes. I instinctively trusted Maxwell even though, logically, I knew I shouldn’t. I remember how conflicted he’d seemed about the war. Does he feel conflicted about his part in it? I wonder how many Germans feel the same way. I think of my German governess, Frau Engel, who kept our house; and the dozens of other Germans I knew as a child. They’re good, kind people. Surely not all of them could think that this war is a good idea or that chemical weapons are defensible.

  I blink as the thought hits me. No. Most, like Lillian, have family ties that cross borders. The thought of a weapon that could kill hundreds of men at one time and in such a manner is horrifying.

  They don’t know.

  I sit up, careful not to disturb Marissa. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll let them know. I’ll let everyone know. Then if the Germans allow it to happen, it will be on their own conscience.

  Fierce with purpose, I light the lantern and then move over to where I’d stashed my satchel. I take out the LDB codebook and tear out some of the blank pages in the back. Working quickly, I rip each page into smaller and smaller strips until I have a dozen ready to write on. I don’t know how many pigeons there are, but twelve should do it. I know that three of them at least will go to various British and LDB operatives around the city. The rest will go to whoever it is that the pigeons are trained to carry messages to, Germans who may or may not know about the chlorine weapon being developed.

  Now to write the message.

  Germany has a poisonous gas weapon that will choke hundreds of men at once.

  I have no room to add if the wind is right, but I want to. If the wind is wrong, the gas could blow to the nearest town and indiscriminately kill women and children. Or it could even blow back in their faces and kill their own men.

  What are they thinking?

  I finish writing the messages and take out my sweater. Unraveling some yarn, I break it into smaller pieces. I only have three little tubes, so the rest of the messages will have to be attached to the birds’ legs with yarn. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I can do.

  Now I just have to make my way up to the roof through a palace filled with overly vigilant guards. Has anyone noticed my absence? A few of the servants may wonder why I haven’t been to meals, but perhaps they think I’m too upset over Lillian to eat. I’m fairly certain no one will notice or care if they see me wandering about.

  Except for Maxwell. And anyone connected to Miss Tickford.

  I smooth my hair down and blow out the lantern b
efore I leave. I don’t know how much oil is left in it and we have to be able to make our way out of the tunnels. It’s the only way to get out of the house without picking up a tail.

  But right now, I’ve got a mission to accomplish.

  I walk swiftly through the Grand Hall to the door leading to the servants’ stairway. My heart leaps when I see a couple of guards heading in my direction, but neither one is Maxwell and they don’t give me a second look.

  I race up the stairs, trying to remember from the blueprint Miss Tickford gave me exactly which way I should go. There are several ways to access the roof, but the palace is so massive that only one will take me directly to the pigeon roost. I enter one of the many attics and hurry across a cramped, dusty room stacked with several hundred years’ worth of discarded furniture.

  The sun is just starting to set when I reach the rooftop. It will be time for Marissa and me to leave soon.

  A chill wind is biting at my face as I make my way over to the small pigeon house. The birds coo noisily when I arrive. “Sorry to disturb you,” I tell them, opening the small gate. “But you have work to do.”

  Slipping my arm inside, I snap my fingers three times. One of the birds jumps onto my wrist. “And we have a volunteer. What a nice, brave bird.”

  The pigeon, a handsome gray-and-white gentleman, sits perfectly still while I attach one of the tubes to his leg. When I finish, I release him, watching as he circles the palace and then flies off in an easterly direction. It may not work—I have no idea if these are LDB birds or Miss Tickford’s own pigeons—but I have to try. At least I’ll have the knowledge that I didn’t sit idly by without attempting to stop a weapon of such serious consequences.

  I finish sending the LDB birds off and then work on the others. I don’t know where they’ll fly to, but hopefully my message will be carried far and wide. It takes me longer to attach the message securely to their legs with the yarn.

  I’ve just finished up the last pigeon when I hear the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking behind me. I freeze, holding the bird in my arms.

  “Turn around, Sophia Thérèse.”

  I turn around slowly. Max’s eyes are wary. We stare at each other for a long moment before he finally breaks the silence. “Who do you work for?”