"Send me to France. I can find him and bring him home," Betty insisted, her tone hard and unyielding.
The general sighed, once again meeting the burning intensity of her eyes. "Mrs. Sherwood, you have to believe me when I say that you must let go. In the long run, it will be far easier on you and your child." He spoke slowly, deliberately, willing her to finally accept the loss that he'd been trying to convince her of for the last hour.
"My child needs his father. I need him too." Her voice broke and she dropped her gaze, shielding her eyes from his view.
"Mrs. Sherwood...Betty, though it pains me to say it, he may already be dead. And if he isn't, he's a prisoner of the Nazis, in which case it's unlikely he'd survive much longer no matter how we tried to help him." The general spoke carefully, hoping to strike a balance between soothing her worst fears and being as strictly honest as possible. He'd been in these situations before, but it never got any easier breaking this kind of news to loved ones. He was out of his element. Dealing with people overcome by emotion was not a subject covered in any military manual he'd ever seen.
Betty waited for a moment, her eyes tightly shut, absorbing all that he'd said as her writer's imagination painted a vividly horrifying picture of Scott's situation before something else occurred to her. "Have you spoken to Gustav? He must know something."
"Only briefly," the general allowed guardedly. "I'd been trying unsuccessfully to contact him all week for a status report, but I could never reach him. The pilot of the plane that was supposed to have picked up Scott brought back the news that Gustav's last set of radio crystals had been smashed shortly after he received his instructions for this mission. They've been without communication since then. The pilot was able to give Gustav a spare set of crystals at the landing site and Gustav contacted me as soon as he could with the news that Scott is a prisoner of the Nazis. You can see that it doesn't look good."
"What about Pruitt?" Betty's voice was tight and small. "Does this mean the operation was unsuccessful?"
"I'm afraid it does," the general sighed heavily. "The mission never really got off the ground and the Jackal is still at large."
"So not only did we lose my husband, we failed to stop the Jackal," Betty clarified with grim finality.
"Yes," Hopkins answered simply, relieved that she'd finally stopped insisting that her husband was alive and that she had to get to France to rescue him.
"Then how can you not send any more agents to the continent?" she demanded the next moment, utterly confounding him. "Let me go over there. With any luck, and the help of Gustav's men, we'll capture Pruitt and find Scott."
Wincing, the general shook his head, raising a hand to his temple in an effort to dull the ache there. He studied Betty intently for a moment, compassion that his awkwardness and professional duty kept him from expressing darkening his gaze.
Betty returned his look openly, doing nothing to hide the anguish in her eyes. She sensed his obstinacy beginning to weaken. Praying she was right, Betty pressed her case. "You can't afford not to. If I'm successful, we'll not only end the Jackal's campaign against the Allies, but we'll also bring home a valuable agent. You know as well as I do what a shortage we have of those."
"Nothing short of mutiny," Hopkins muttered.
"What?"
"Alex used very much the same arguments on me before I came here. Nobody just follows orders any more. Apparently, they all know better than I how to run Section N," he said heavily.
"Alex? What does he have to do with this?"
"He was in my office when I got the report from the pilot. He's very upset about this whole situation, and, I admit, you both have a point. The Jackal has been a thorn in the side of the Allies for too long and I would like to get Scott back if I can."
Betty looked up at him in surprise at this admission, knowing the general's relationship with Scott had often been marked by animosity.
Seeing her surprise, the general nodded his head. "Yes, I do admire your husband. I may not approve of the life he used to lead, but since his first contact with us, he's completely turned around. He's succeeded far better than any other agent we recruited under similar circumstances, and he's been an asset to Section N ever since we assigned him to WENN. I'd like to get him back, for his own sake as well as yours. You both deserve no less."
Betty's heart swelled with hope and she knelt before him in his chair, her hands clasped pleadingly. "You see how important he is. Not only to me but to your division. His work isn't done, his life isn't over. If you'll just let me go to France..."
"All right, all right," the general held up a hand to stop her pleas. "I'll arrange it." Betty flew up from her knees in a passion of hope and excitement. "You're not going alone. Alex is almost as adamant as you are about going to France and he'll make an able escort for you. He doesn't have much field experience and I know there's no love lost between your husband and him, but I trust him and I think he'll prove a capable agent."
"Anyone is fine, believe me. Thank you so much, sir. You have no idea how much this means to me," she said, tears and gratitude shining in her eyes.
General Hopkins passed a nearly-shaking hand across his forehead before he had the strength to meet her eyes again. "I think I have some idea, Betty. I only hope this isn't all in vain."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scott restlessly paced his cell again, though by now he knew it's dimensions by heart. Fifteen paces long, twelve paces wide, fifteen paces long, twelve paces wide. Always the same, ever-enduring size, offering no hope of escape. The cold gray stones that comprised the walls stared back at him blankly, their hard aloofness seeping into his soul. His captors had left him like this for days, the bright, artificial glow of electric light his only companion save his memories, his love...and his hatred.
He'd explored every stone he could reach time and again, hoping for some secret lever, some long-forgotten mechanism that would release him from his prison. When he failed to find anything, he'd felt absurdly betrayed by boyhood adventure stories, Hollywood movies and even some of Betty's radio shows. There had to be some way out of here, preferably one that didn't involve a coffin, he thought dryly.
He paused in his pacing, consternated once again by the fact that he'd been left virtually alone for all of the six days he'd been here. Was it just another form of Nazi torture? He'd been prepared for beatings, electric shocks and worse (he studiously avoided thinking about any of the horror stories he'd heard), but he hadn't expected to be left alone like this in the glaring light, his only human contact with the girl Therese who twice daily brought him a heel of moldy bread and a cup of tepid water.
When he tired of exploring his chamber, he'd sit and go over once again everything that had led him to this point, shredding every detail of his acquaintance with Gustav to find the one betraying slip that would tell him where he'd gone wrong so it couldn't ever happen again, if he survived it this time. Try as he might, he couldn't find where the deception lay. Gustav had always appeared straightforward...well, as straightforward as any spy could be. There'd never been the merest hint that Gustav could be a double agent until that blow had knocked Scott cold somewhere in the French countryside.
And that was the point that bothered him so much now. If Gustav truly was a traitor to the Allied cause, then he was the best Scott had ever seen and that put everyone else in Section N in danger, including Betty. His fists doubled in frustration as if they longed to feel Gustav's traitorous neck between them. What if that was Gustav's plan? To systematically destroy Section N by luring its agents to the continent? He wouldn't be able to get all of them, but even a few would be enough to cripple their operations for several months.
Scott gripped his head between his hands as despair washed over him. If he knew Betty, she'd be the first to volunteer for a rescue mission even though it was against all sense and reason. For the first time, he actually felt gratitude towards General Hopkins, because he at least would see how ludicrous it would be to send Betty or any other agent into France to rescue him. If Hopkins was truly smart, and Scott believed he was, he wouldn't send anyone on what would most likely be a suicide mission.
None of which meant, of course, that Scott had given up. He'd gotten out of some pretty tight situations in the past, nothing quite like this maybe, but he shrugged off the difference. That just meant it was a new challenge, and no Sherwood since the beginning of time had been able to resist that. He only wished he knew more of what the Nazis had in mind for him. Why all this ceaseless waiting? It was much more in character for them to leap into violent action, forcing information from their victims in one hideous way or another. But this time there was a delay. Why?
Scott's agile mind slowly revolved the puzzle again and again, much as it had during all the previous days of his captivity. The hollow scraping of a key in the lock brought him snapping to attention until Therese poked her head around the door, wary as always of attack.
"Bonjour, Therese," Scott greeted her, his voice as creaky as the door's hinges from disuse.
The girl's eyes darted to the right in place of an answer, once again confirming Scott's suspicion that he was somehow being watched though he had yet to find a suitable hole for such a purpose. Her eyes skittered in the same direction every time he spoke to her, telling him that his captors could at least overhear their conversation, one-sided though it was.
Therese nodded slightly before sidling tentatively forward with her tray. Scott accepted it from her with a smile of thanks, though a less gratitude-inducing meal he'd never seen. The heel of bread was tough and moldy and the water had a slimy film on it's surface but, Scott reflected optimistically, at least there weren't any maggots.
Philosophically, he chewed the meager feast, wondering how he should try to approach Therese today. She eyed him warily before her eyes flitted once more around the room, cautious as always of making eye contact with him. He wondered if she were a prisoner like him. She seemed hunted, terrified of whoever was sharing this drafty old place with her. His chances of getting any information out of her were growing more and more bleak as time went on. She'd probably been instructed not to speak to him under the direst of consequences in which case Scott could hardly blame her for her silence. But that didn't mean he couldn't try.
"Where are you from?" he asked, thankful for the French lessons that General Hopkins had forced on him during the last several months.
If possible the girl's eyes grew even more wide and terrified. Almost imperceptibly she shook her head in denial, warning him to keep his silence.
"You told me your name on the first day, why can't you tell me anything else?"
His only answer was a sharp, emphatic shake of her head.
"What is this place? Do you know where we are?" he struggled to keep his voice soft, though his frustration mounted by the second.
This time a spark of anger ignited in her blue eyes and her chin went up in defiant refusal.
Good, Scott thought, she hasn't been so scared and broken that she has no fight left in her. If he played his cards right, he could confirm where her loyalties lay and if she might be induced to help him. Sensible of the fact that he was treading on very thin ice, Scott determined to question her, knowing how unlikely verbal responses would be, but still hoping to glean information from her facial expressions.
"Hitler is right about many things. The Allies would benefit from following his example," Scott ventured, watching her closely. The statements were as far as he dared to go, just short of an overt declaration of loyalty.
The girl frowned at him, her eyes deeply puzzled. "Monsieur?" she questioned him softly.
"Do you not agree?" he probed gently.
Silently, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head, her eyes dark pools of confusion. "You cannot mean it," she whispered.
Scott's face suddenly lightened. Her artless, confused responses appeared entirely genuine, and he felt more confident now that she wasn't working with the Nazis in anything more than a capacity of enforced servitude.
"Are you able to come and go? Can you leave here?" Scott asked eagerly.
"Monsieur, the castle is remote, isolated. There is nothing around for miles," she hissed apprehensively, glancing over her shoulder. "I must go. They watch." Her eyes darted once again to the right, like a nervous doe scenting a hunter, and Scott followed the direction of her eyes, finding for the first time a small dark depression in one of the stones above his head. Quickly, she grabbed the tray from him and headed for the door, her small feet making almost no sound on the uncarpeted stones.
"Wait! What castle?" Scott asked in a hurried whisper just as she reached the door.
"You know which one," she told him cryptically before leaving.
Scott's head drew back in surprise as the door closed. The only castle he knew anything about was the one which Pruitt was using as a stronghold. His suspicions were correct then. He was the guest of the Jackal. If that was the case, what was making Pruitt hesitate? Scott was completely in his power, with no reserves at his disposal. Why didn't he come in here and finish the job? And what was Therese's part in all this? She'd spoken of his knowledge of the castle almost as if she knew of the Section N plot to bring down Pruitt.
Scott's mind was whirling with possibilities, wondering if he could trust Therese to get a message to his emergency contact, when the key scraped again in the door. He leapt to his feet, surprised that he should have another visitor so soon, but his surprise quickly disappeared when he saw who stood on the other side of the opening.
"Rollie Pruitt," he drawled smugly. "I've been expecting you."
"I imagine you have. I'm sure the anticipation was delicious," Pruitt suggested, gleefully evil.
Scott raised an ironic brow. "Certainly more delicious than the food. You really should have a word with your chef about that."
Rollie threw back his head and laughed, the deep, rich, and incongruously menacing sound reverberating off the bare stone walls. "I have missed your sense of humor, Scotty. Fortunately, we'll be spending lots of time together tomorrow so we can get... reacquainted. He layered the word with sinister overtones, promising Scott many harrowing hours to come.
Scott refused Pruitt the satisfaction of seeing the ripple of fear that cascaded coldly down his spine. "Cut the theatrics, Pruitt. You never were an actor..."
"Neither were you, Scotty," Pruitt cut in.
Scott ignored the interruption, choosing to bluff his way through. "Why don't you ask me whatever it is you want to know, so I can refuse to tell you and be on my way? Anything else is just a waste of time."
"Oh, Sherwood, you're so noble and brave, and a lot of other things I find simply nauseating," Rollie returned blandly. "But I'm afraid that what I have in mind for you is going to require a lot of time. All the time you have left in fact," the portly man grinned evilly. "You see, I made a promise to Berlin that you wouldn't survive your stay here at my castle and I intend to see it through."
Scott swallowed hard. "You might want to think twice before you make a promise you can't keep, Pruitt. You've never succeeded in killing me yet, and I don't like your chances for it this time either. What good would killing me do the Nazis anyway?"
Pruitt's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Good? Scott, by now you should know I've never been interested in doing good. Looking after my own interests consumes me wholly. I haven't time for what's good for anyone else. The only thing I know is that you're not good for me. You've been an obstacle between me and my rightful place in Berlin one too many times, and so you must be removed. Surely a man as self-interested as you can understand that."
"Don't compare us, Rollie," Scott sneered. "You haven't won yet, and I'll make sure you never will."
"Poor, deluded Scotty, always defiant in the face of danger," Pruitt lamented, "and always having the last laugh. But let me assure you this time is different. It's I who will laugh last and longest. Your day is done, and when you're gone, your wife and child are the only other things that stand in my way."
Scott looked up quickly, uncontrollable rage burning in his eyes. He advanced menacingly on the other man, his fists clenched. With deadly accuracy, his right hand shot out to grasp Pruitt's throat, squeezing ruthlessly. The other man gave a choking gasp and Scott shoved him mercilessly into the wall. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft as thin black velvet, barely concealing the razor's edge beneath.
"You so much as think about laying a hand on Betty or my child and you won't live to regret it." He squeezed again and Pruitt's hands flew up to encircle Scott's wrist, trying unsuccessfully to pry away the hand that was slowly draining his life away.
Pruitt's color became increasingly mottled and Scott, fully enraged now, determined to finish the job that had brought him to France in the first place. His own survival ceased to have importance. The only thing that mattered was ridding the world of the pestilence that was Rollie Pruitt. Relentlessly he tightened his grip, ignoring the words that Rollie tried to push past his ever-constricting throat. The door beside them crashed open with a bang and still Scott pressed forward, oblivious to everything except ending the life of the odious man whose only goal was destroying everything Scott loved.
Two men dragged at Scott's arms, struggling against him until at last, he was forced to give way. Pruitt sagged against the wall, his color quickly going from purple to gray as he gasped heavily, laboring to draw air into his beleaguered lungs. Scott continued to fight against his captors, but the well-trained guards pinioned him securely, forcing him to remain still.
Pruitt pushed himself away from the wall with one hand, the other hand massaging his throat. His jaw worked continuously as he advanced upon the trio of men standing across the room.
"Clumsy oafs," he finally ground out angrily. He cuffed one of the guards on the ear. "I'm in here being killed and you stand outside and watch until the last possible minute. What is it you're being paid for?"
Scott noted the hoarseness of Pruitt's voice with grim satisfaction though he still wished he'd been able to carry through with his plans.
"And as for you," Pruitt turned to Scott menacingly before doubling his right fist and driving it deep into Scott's stomach. "Don't imagine that you have the upper hand with me because of this little demonstration of physical violence. I'm as capable of savagery as you, but you'll learn all about that tomorrow."
"I think I have a pretty good idea already of what you're capable of, Pruitt. You don't scare me." Scott managed a shadow of his usual grin while his eyes met Pruitt's knowingly, reminding the Nazi spy of his past failures.
"But I will frighten your wife," Pruitt snarled, his face only inches from Scott's. "Having been locked up here the last few days, you won't have heard the latest news. That fool Hopkins is sending your wife into France to attempt a rescue mission."
Scott blanched visibly and Rollie crowed with the satisfaction of having at last shaken the younger man. "That's right, Scott. In less than twenty-four hours I will have the pleasure not only of eliminating you, but also your wife. I have it on very good authority from my contact in Section N that she'll be arriving tonight and meeting up with Gustav's little band of rebels. We don't know when they'll attack, but let me assure you, we'll be ready when they do. I'm under very strict orders to ensure that there are no survivors. But who knows? There may be a moment or two for you to have a tender reunion with your Betty, before I slit her throat," he finished with sadistic pleasure.
Scott growled and struggled against the straining arms of his captors. "Do you expect me to believe you, Pruitt? Hopkins would never send Betty over here. Telling me that is just another Nazi trick. You can't get to me that way. Gustav may have gotten me to fall into your trap, but it won't work on Betty."
"Indeed?" Pruitt raised a disbelieving brow. "So you believe Gustav..." The Nazi spy's voice trailed off on a hiss.
Scott snorted derisively. "Who else? I've got to hand it to you. He had me completely fooled. I'm the only one. By now, all of Section N knows who our leak has been the last few months, and no one else will fall into the trap that I did. I should have known it all along. Gustav was in on almost every Section N operation in Europe. He's been everywhere, sabotaging our efforts. With any luck, Betty's already on a plane back to the States and well beyond your reach." Scott bluffed with false confidence, afraid that Pruitt's information was only too accurate and that Betty would shortly fall into Gustav's traitorous clutches.
Pruitt's laugh boomed out again. "Then you're even more of a fool than I believed, Sherwood. I'll prove to you I'm right. In twenty-four hours, you'll see how wrong you are and you'll wish I'd killed you tonight. This is your last night on earth. Don't spend it worrying over things you can't change." His head shaking in mock sadness, Pruitt backed to the door, signaling his lackeys to follow him. The two men shoved Scott to the ground, one of them sending a vicious kick to Scott's kidneys before they disappeared through the door, closing it behind them with a deliberate slam.
Scott groped his way to the cot, grasping his head in his hands once he'd settled on it, all traces of his earlier defiance vanishing with the retreating echo of Pruitt's footsteps and the mocking laughter that resonated throughout the castle. For a moment, black despair washed over him relentlessly as he railed against his virtually helpless state. He struggled to find some of his native optimism and for what was probably the first time in his life, failed.
Our Mutual Spy
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