Velvet Undercover (21 page)

I set it down just as the door shuts. Wiping my fingers off, I clasp my hands in my lap to stop the trembling.

She takes a seat.

“Is everything all right?” I ask politely, trying not to stare at her drink.

“Of course. That was just the driver confirming my travel plans. It wasn't easy to obtain train tickets on such short notice, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

I nod.

“So what did you want to know about America?”

My eyes track her movements as she picks up her cocktail and takes a small swallow. She grimaces.

My heart slams against my ribs.

“I think I put too much bitters in this. How is yours?”

I quickly take a gulp of my drink and then cough as the alcohol hits my throat. “It's fine,” I say.

“Oh, good. Where were we?”

I take a deep breath. “We were discussing America.” My next sip warms my stomach in an ever-widening circle like a pebble dropped into a lake. I set the glass down. The last thing I need is to be tipsy when the agents get here to cart
her off. I frown as my sense of unease increases.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Marissa asks suddenly.

Is her speech slurring a bit? Are her eyes just a bit drowsy?

“Of course. You're leaving tomorrow, so you can tell me anything you like.”

“I don't think I like Germany as much as I thought I would.”

I blink. “But I thought you were having the time of your life?”

“No, I like the duchess well enough, but there's far too much intrigue going on around here, if you know what I mean.” She waggles her finger at me and squints. “Funny. I haven't even finished my drink yet and I already feel blotto.”

Her words are definitely slurred.

“Perhaps you would feel better if you lie down?” I suggest.

“But you wanted to talk about America. You know America is going to enter the war sooner or later, right?” She puts her finger to her lips. “But that's a secret. Wait. I already told you a secret, right? I have so many secrets.”

I swallow. That makes two of us.

SERE: An acronym for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape: techniques for when an operation goes wrong.

I
help Marissa to her feet. The powder is working very fast and I don't want her to fall before I can get her to the bed. Why didn't I think about asking Miss Tickford what the effects were?

“I should lie down. I feel horrible.”

I put my arm about her and she leans on me heavily. “Are you sick to your stomach?”
Did I give her the wrong powder?
Remorse runs through me.

“No. It just hurts. I'm sure I'll be fine.” I help her sit on the bed and then swing her feet over the edge. “What was I saying? Oh, yes. Secrets. I shouldn't tell you any more secrets. I don't know why I trust you. You shouldn't trust anyone. I had a friend tell me that once.”

I'm about to answer her when she suddenly clutches at her stomach. “It hurts,” she moans.

Don't trust anyone.
Does that mean my father? Miss Tickford? Maxwell? Who am I supposed to trust? I walk over to
the window, indecision dogging every step. I wrap my arms around myself, thinking. All I have to do is give the signal and Miss Tickford's agents will be here to take Marissa and me to my father.

Or will they?

Miss Tickford says my father betrayed his country. That he was tricked into giving the enemy information. So if Marissa is Velvet and is getting information from the Germans and giving it to my father, and my father is giving it back to the Germans . . . why wouldn't the Germans have already taken Velvet out of the equation? Miss Tickford told me that my father has unknowingly given up other spies . . . but wouldn't he have noticed a pattern of spies disappearing and figured it out by now? Of course he would have.

My mind goes from solution to solution, as if I'm solving the most complicated code in the world without the key. Perhaps I am.

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.”