The doctor cleaned his hands with a rag he pulled from his worn bag. He seemed to assess his work, then headed for the door.
Sarah followed him, but he stopped her from leaving the storeroom. “No,” he said. He took her arm and guided her back to the cot. He pointed to her and then to Tony.
“I don’t know what you want me to do.”
He said a few more words to her and then headed for the door again. As he closed the door behind him, he held up his hand palm out in the way one would command a dog to stay. She nodded. The doctor closed the door and left her behind with the injured pilot.
She sat down on the foot of the cot, leaned against the wall, and waited. She needed Maria. Maria would know what to do. Maria would have understood the doctor. But Maria was gone. Her body lay sprawled on the front lawn of the vineyard, abandoned. Sarah cried.
“Sarah,” a hushed voice called. “Wake up.”
She opened her eyes, tried to adjust to the darkness of the room. Night had fallen. Inside the storeroom, she could see nothing.
“Someone’s out there,” Tony said◦– a weak, but alive Tony. They heard talking outside. After a few seconds, light crept in under the door, interrupted by shadows as people moved around outside.
Sarah looked around the room, searching for a place to hide. A few stacks of crates, most filled with sacks of flour and cans of food, were pressed against the outside walls. If she tried to move them, the people outside would hear. Besides, she had no time to hide Tony.
The people outside grew quiet, and the door started to open. Sarah felt around the room, searching for a weapon. She grabbed a can out of the crate nearest her. As the man’s head popped in, she threw the can as hard as she could◦– and missed.
The man rushed in and took hold of her, pinning her arms to her body in a bear hug. Two more men came in and eased Tony up off the cot.
“Don’t move him!” she yelled. “Let him be. He’s hurt.”
The man who held her said something to her.
“Please,” she said.
“Sarah, don’t fight them,” Tony said.
“Who are they?”
Tony went out the door, the two men supporting his weight. “I don’t know.”
The man holding Sarah relaxed a little. Her arms slipped down his body and she felt the hilt of a knife on his waist. She grabbed the weapon and moved out of arms reach. She turned on the stranger and waved the knife at him. He put his arms up as if defeated and backed out of the room.
Sarah ran out after Tony, the knife out in front of her. She was met with blinding headlights of a large truck. With one arm blocking the light and the other wielding the knife, she searched for Tony.
Two men walked toward her, hands in the air. The man on the left had earlier restrained her in the storeroom. He said something in Spanish, the same thing he had said when he let her go.
“Where is he?” she asked.
The man spoke again.
Tony emerged from behind the truck. A man supporting him as he moved toward her. “Our good friend the doctor sent these strong young men. Now come on, we’ve got to get out of here. The police are searching for us.”
The man on the left motioned for her to come along. She looked at Tony and back at the others. The four young men bore quite a resemblance to the doctor, though they were fortunate to have picked up a few more inches in height. She headed towards the back of the truck.
As she passed the man on the left, she tried to hand the knife back to him. He shook his head. She hesitated, said “gracias.” The big man put a hand on her back and guided her to the truck.
Once Tony settled onto a pile of blankets on the floor, the men helped Sarah up into the open back truck. She sat on the floor beside the pilot.
“Where are we going?” Sarah asked.
He pointed to the smallest man in the truck. “This is Luis. The doctor’s nephew. He’ll be escorting us to the docks.”
20
2300 hours, Tuesday, August 4, 1942, Mediterranean Sea, south of the Costa del Sol, Francoist Spain
“Bloody fucking sea,” Tony grumbled as the rowboat rose and fell with the waves. “If I wanted to be a sailor, I’d have damn well joined the Navy, not the RAF.”
Luis huffed as he fought to make his way out into open water.
Tony put his hand against the bandages on his shoulder. “Why in hell did we have to take this boat?”
They had intended to board a fishing boat at the docks. Luis had known one of the locals and promised safe passage. But a roadblock a few kilometers into their journey sent them on a less well-known road. They pulled into a small fishing village just past Marbella. Now, Luis, Sarah, and Tony rode in Luis’ family’s little boat with no motor and no lights headed out from the shore with only the dull glow of the quarter moon to guide their way.
“Try to focus on the horizon,” Sarah said. “Throwing up would not be a good thing for a man in your condition. You’re already dehydrated.”
He said a few words under his breath and looked away.
“When we were back at the vineyard, Ricardo called you a spy. Why?” Sarah tried to take his mind off the waves, and her own off Maria’s death.
“The 138th Squadron is a ‘special’ squadron. We support the British Special Air Service, the SAS, flying them in and out of France, dropping supplies, and carrying messages too sensitive to transmit by radio. And now that I’ve shared my spy secret with you, I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you are going to the Rock.” He did not take his eyes off of her. As a wave hit the small boat, he winced. Still, he didn’t look away. The longer he looked at her, the more she wanted to tell him the whole story. She wondered if this was one of his spy tricks.
She supposed he deserved an answer. Tony might be her only chance to make it to Gibraltar. They fought on the same side. “I’m on my way to see General Eisenhower,” she said.
“Eisenhower? What business could you have with him?”
“Well, first I’m going to tell him to keep an eye on Saarbrücken, Germany. I’d hoped to tell him exactly when to keep an eye out, but I lost my radio. It won’t be long though,” she said.
“What would he be watching for?”
“For a very large explosion.”
Tony smiled. “Your comrades are planning to blow up something in the city?”
“More like, they’re going to blow up a large portion of the city,” Sarah looked down at her hands.
“How?”
“That’s a secret I can only tell the General, I’m afraid. For American ears only.”
“You’re not American,” Tony said.
“Nope. French Jew. Spent time in America as a post-doctoral student, then returned to France. I got stuck in an internment camp when the Nazis put the Vichy in charge. Escaped with the help of a friend’s grandson. He’s American, or at least his father was. Anyway, once Eisenhower sees the explosion, I’m sure he’ll be interested in discussing further applications.” She’d skipped over a couple of generations between Danette and Hiram. He’d never believe the truth. She hardly believed it herself.
Sarah said all she intended to say. Tony wanted more. Not wanting to feel the urge to tell him everything, she turned to the sea, anxious for any sign of the expected fishing boat.
“Donde bloody barco?” Tony said, his terrible Spanish accentuated by his irritation, which rose with the waves.