Scott and Betty spent the next two weeks in restless recuperation at Gustav's camp. The nighttime skies were clear and bright, foiling any attempts to get them out of the country. They chafed at the delay, wanting to get back to Scotty, but the weather remained obstinately uncooperative and showed no sign of changing in the near future.
In a small way, Betty was grateful for the delay. Scott had long been in need of a rest, and his recent stint as a Nazi prisoner had left him completely drained. Each night he slept for heavy, endless hours, clutching Betty tightly against him and awakening in the morning, feeling a little more refreshed every day. His bruises were beginning to fade and the gash on his arm was healing cleanly, so Betty considered their time in France as an ideal, if unlooked for, godsend.
Gustav's band of resistance fighters remained active all the while, causing Betty to marvel at their industry and inventiveness. Avenues of supply were disrupted, train tracks destroyed, and food and other essential items were lifted from Nazi supply caravans with amazing frequency. The group was quick, effective and loyal, insuring that a minimum number of members would be captured or killed. Wounds from skirmishes with German troops were fairly frequent, however, and Betty quickly found that the skills she'd gained working for a few days in a British hospital after Scott had been shot came in very handy and helped to lighten the load that Madeline typically carried alone.
Scott was restless and anxious to know the latest news from Section N. Gustav kept him as informed as possible, but the transmissions he received were sketchy at best, and nothing like the information Scott could easily gain in London. Both men were impatient to track and capture Alex and were frustrated by Section N's refusal to allow them to do more than keep a lookout for him as they roamed the countryside during their missions.
"For what do we wait?" Gustav would moan. "We sit here while he gets further away."
"They must have their reasons. We probably just don't know the whole story," Betty shrugged.
"Yeah, but while they're getting their story straight, Alex is getting back to Germany, and we may never get him," Scott remonstrated.
The lament was much the same every day, and every day they got the same news regarding Alex from Section N - wait.
Near the campsite ran a large, sparkling creek that the fugitives used for drinking and cooking, as well as laundry and bathing further downstream. On one hot, close day in early September, Scott and Betty were wandering slowly back to camp after a swim, murmuring softly to each other as they went, content for the moment to have a break from the war.
"I can't believe how cold the water was." Betty shivered deliciously at the memory. "It felt so wonderful."
"That wasn't the only thing that felt wonderful," Scott reminded her as he paused in the pathway and threaded his fingers through her still-damp hair to tip her face up for a lingering kiss. Her arms closed around his waist and she pressed closer to him, still needing the reassurance of his presence.
"I'm so glad I came to France," she whispered, nuzzling against his neck.
"I guess I am too," Scott admitted with mock reluctance, his lips moving whisper-soft over her hair.
"Does that mean I'm forgiven for making my - what did you call it? - harebrained attempt to rescue you?" Betty teased.
She felt his smile against the top of her head. "I suppose I can't stay mad at you forever. Why is it that I have such a hard time staying angry with you?"
Betty shrugged. "I don't know. I've found that I can stay mad at you for months if I have to."
He laughed aloud then. "You weren't mad that whole time. Just stubborn."
"Stubborn? Scott Sherwood, I have never been stubborn in my entire life! And I refuse to change my mind about that," she announced with a mischievous grin.
Scott grinned back at her. "That might be true, but I bet I could change your mind."
"I'd like to see you try," she challenged him.
"I will," Scott promised. "But later. First..." He bent to take her lips again, his teeth teasing her with gentle nibbles until a soft sigh escaped her. A twig snapped behind him and Scott whirled, drawing his pistol with one hand and holding Betty behind him with the other.
Several breathless seconds passed before Gustav appeared, an apologetic grin on his face.
"My apologies for interrupting," he began.
"That's a good way to get shot," Scott pointed out as he replaced the gun.
Gustav acknowledged that with a shrug. "True, but I didn't want to yell and bring us the attention of everyone at camp. Speaking of which, you won't believe who's here and asking to see you."
"Winston Churchill?" Scott guessed. "Probably here to declare me a knight of the realm, confer a baronial estate upon me, and invite me to Buckingham Palace for the weekend."
"Well I admire your ambition, but I think only royalty can convey those honors," Gustav returned. "No, I'm afraid it's somewhat of a less stellar figure here for you. It's General Hopkins."
"Hopkins?" Betty asked in surprise. "How did he get here?"
"He slipped in last night. That's far easier than getting out," Gustav explained, knowing how anxious Scott and Betty were to get back to London. "I think he has news for us."
"I know I've got some news for him," Scott said grimly as he strode down the path.
Betty and Gustav watched his swift disappearance for a moment.
"What did that mean?" Gustav asked, frowning in confusion.
"I'm not sure," Betty answered, "but I have a feeling the General's about to get better acquainted with Scott's right hook. We'd better hurry."
Despite the rapid pace Betty set for them, they still weren't in time to stop the inevitable. They did, however, arrive just in time to see Scott march across camp to stand directly in front of General Hopkins, who rose from behind a table at Scott's approach, hand extended in welcome.
Scott ignored the proffered hand, preferring the more direct approach. Betty reached him at the same moment Scott casually said, "Hi, General," then laid the spy master out flat with a solid right to the chin, much to the delight of the onlooking rebels.
"What was that for?" the general sputtered testily, gingerly fingering his jawline.
"Too many things to list right now. Let's just say you deserved it," Scott said as he gazed down at the general with a deep and all-consuming satisfaction before offering the other man a hand up from the ground.
The general acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod before accepting Scott's hand and coming to his feet. "However true that may be," Hopkins began, still testing his jaw, "the news I bring may be just enough to change your mind. Hello, Betty," he nodded a greeting.
"General," she returned, wincing in sympathy at his obvious pain and shooting Scott with an exasperated look. He returned it with an innocent shrug. He hadn't done anything the general couldn't have seen coming.
"Let's all sit," Gustav suggested, doing nothing to hide the glint of amusement in his eyes. "I see Scott has already inaugurated you into our new form of greeting, General."
Hopkins greeted the jest with a snort. "If that's your group's idea of a secret handshake, I think I'll have to resign my membership. All in all, it's in rather poor taste, particularly since the assignment I have is exactly the one for which you've been asking."
Scott leaned forward in his chair. "Alex."
"None other." The general looked at Scott levelly, and Betty was surprised that there was no hint of animosity in his gaze, just the zeal of a practiced hunter with the scent of his quarry filling his awareness. "I've spent the last several days compiling a file about the life and times of our old friend Alex - his true life and times, not the one the Nazis provided for him."
"So everything he told us about himself was a lie," Betty said flatly. "Considering the circumstances, that's not surprising."
"Not a lie," the general clarified, "but a carefully embellished version of the truth."
"I can respect that," Scott said dryly, "as a connoisseur of the fabricated tale."
The general sent him an ironic grin. "I thought you might."
"So don't keep us in suspense. Who is this Alex?" Gustav asked.
"Very much who he said he was, with the exception of one extremely large omission. He was orphaned at a young age and passed from one distant relation to another in the British Isles for a number of years before he was sent for a time to the Continent."
"Let me guess," Betty broke in. "Germany?"
"Exactly. A fact which was conveniently and cleverly concealed from us when we checked into Alex's background at the time of his engagement. A fudging of the time spent at one place and another until the time spent in Germany was completely covered over. We believe he was introduced to the tenets of Nazism while living with a distant cousin in a small town in the German state of Baden-Wuerttemberg. This cousin is a local leader in society, as well as the owner of a large factory. Manufacturing weaponry, as a matter of fact." The general paused, knowing he was leaving his audience hanging in suspense.
"And what has that to do with us?" Gustav burst out impatiently. "You look like the cat that swallowed the cranberry."
"Canary," Betty supplied, biting back a smile.
"I haven't swallowed it yet, but I intend to," the general returned with high anticipation. "For the last couple of months, we've been receiving reports that Germany was experimenting with a new machine gun, something even faster and more powerful than the MG-42."
"Is that possible?" Scott asked. "I've heard the MG-42 is so fast that individual shots can't be distinguished. How can anything be faster?"
"Our thoughts exactly. We chalked it up to the almighty Nazi propaganda machine, but the rumors are so persistent that we can no longer ignore them. The MG-42 is a massively destructive and successful weapon, anything that expands upon its capabilities is nearly unthinkable. Allied troops would be cut to ribbons." Hopkins paused, his agitation clear.
"You think this cousin of Alex's is experimenting with the manufacture of this new weapon," Betty guessed in a flash of insight.
"Precisely. And we want you to go to Germany to find out for sure."
"You? You mean us?" Scott indicated himself and Betty with a wave of his hand. "You want us to go into Germany?"
The general nodded silently.
"Are you crazy?" Scott demanded. "That's practically a suicide mission."
Hopkins threw up his hands defensively. "I know it's a lot to ask, particularly in view of what you've been through recently, but this information is vital and you two are the ideal agents to collect it."
Scott fixed a hard stare on Hopkins' face. "What makes us ideal?"
"The cover we established for you last year when you went into Switzerland. It's flawless, and as Swiss citizens you can legitimately travel into Germany. As vice president of a national bank, you're in the perfect position to help fund German experimentation into new weaponry."
"But Switzerland is neutral. I thought they did not take any side," Gustav argued.
"Ah, but Swiss neutrality does not mean that they sit idle and let the world go by. Their policy is one of equality. What they do for one side, they must also do for the other. They fund weapons experimentation for Axis powers. They do the same for the Allies. Of course, Edouard Boudin may not feel exactly that way. He's a Nazi sympathizer, and may have found a way to embezzle the funds to help the Germans while the Allies remain none the wiser. As I recall, embezzling is one of the things you do best," Hopkins gave Scott a sly look.
Scott acknowledged the fact with a sheepish grin in Betty's direction. "But this wouldn't involve any actual embezzlement. What is it exactly you want us to do?"
"Travel to Germany as Edouard and Juliette Boudin to meet Mr. Konig. He's sent out feelers looking for people interested in funding his research, providing raw materials and so on. If you accept this assignment, we'll send along word that you're on your way to him and very interested in his project. With any luck, you'll be given a tour of the factory and have access to his home where his private office is located. Gather any information you can. Hard evidence if possible - blueprints, pictures, memoranda. Then return to England and pass the information to me."
He paused for a moment and regarded Scott and Betty steadily. "I'll not beat around the bush as you're both adults, experienced, and appreciate the enormity of the task I've outlined for you. It's dangerous, and there is the chance that one or both of you may not make it back. But if even one of you does, and the rumors we've been hearing about this weapon prove to be legitimate, think of the lives you'll save, the impact this can have on the entire course of the war and, indeed, history. Given all that, how can any patriotic citizen refuse?"
Scott looked at Betty, wanted to soothe the troubled line he saw between her eyebrows, and knew that there was only one thing she was truly worried about.
"How long will all this take? When I left London, I thought it would only be for a few days and Scotty is still with Mrs. Crawley. How can I leave him any longer?"
The general nodded, having anticipated this objection. "First, let me assure you that Scotty is well and happy. I saw him myself two days ago, and I've asked my wife to look in on him while I'm gone. Second, this operation will take at the least two weeks. I know it's a lot to ask," he said, when he saw the disappointment on both their faces, "but, believe me, I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe you two were fully capable of carrying this out. If the Germans succeed in developing this weapon, what kind of a world will Scotty have in which to live? This mission could go a long way toward ensuring his future health and safety. That's no small thing to consider in all this."
Scott nodded soberly. "You're right. We've come this far, I guess we might as well finish the job. But we've forgotten Alex in all this. How does he fit in?"
"On the continent, he has only one place to run, and we're sending you there. If you find him, kill him. He can spoil everything for you, and this weapon is our priority. Just be sure you're ready to run with whatever information you've gathered if that happens as suspicion will easily fall on you as the outsider. Does this mean you'll do it?"
Betty looked at Scott and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He sighed heavily, then turned his sharp gaze to the general. "If we do this, we'll need something in return."
Warily, the general nodded. "What is it you want?"
"When we return to London, I want the option of being able to leave permanently. We all know the lifespan of a operative is extraordinarily limited and we've done more than enough for you, given you all of our time and energy, and risked our lives under your coercion. But we have a son to care for now, and it's time for other people to pick up where we leave off. Understand this. We're not spies, and though we've been successful at it, it's not our lives, and we weren't given a choice to be here."
"But you've done remarkable work, contributed so much," the general protested.
"That's true," Scott agreed, "but I'd rather continue to make a contribution in the regular service, and I want Betty and our son to go back to the States."
"Scott..." Betty began a protest that ceased the moment her worried eyes met his. He'd be inflexible about this and even she would be unable to change his mind.
"I'll see what I can arrange," Hopkins ventured tentatively, spreading his hands wide. "You know how this business is. No guarantees."
"Even if you can't guarantee my part of it, at least guarantee the arrangements for my family. Otherwise, no deal," Scott said coolly.
Hopkins eyed him thoroughly, measuring his determination before conceding with a narrowing of his eyes. "I'll do it. You have my word, one way or the other."
"Good," Scott answered, satisfied. "When do we leave?"
Our Mutual Spy
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