“Thank you.” She sat in a chair facing the long table, andher shoulders relaxed. Once again, no torture. “Good day to you, gentlemen.”
The pleasant-faced man kept smiling. “Rather impolite of you to arrive on Good Friday, I say. My colleague was forced to spend Easter here with you, instead of with his family.” He tipped his head toward Tin-Eye.
“I do apologize.” Cilla returned his smile. “I had every intention of spending Easter with my aunt, not here—as hospitable as you’ve been.”
“I know you’ve told my colleague your story, but I should like to hear it myself.”
As his was the only friendly face at the table, she focused on him alone and told her whole story. From helping the resistance, to infiltrating the NSB, to Dirk’s death, to meeting Dr. Schultz and offering her services as a spy.
Then she related—again—every detail of her Abwehr training, her cover story, her instructions, her wireless security key, her journey on the U-boat, and her trip to shore. And her capture by an angry kilt-clad Scotsman.
Tin-Eye adjusted his monocle. “Once again, you’ve failed to provide the names of your friends in the Dutch resistance. We need them to verify your story.”
How on earth could they verify? But Cilla didn’t allow herself to frown. “I cannot do that. If the Germans conquer England and confiscate your records, no one I’ve mentioned in the Dutch Nazi Party or the Abwehr would be in danger. I have no qualms about naming them. But anyone in the resistance would be tortured and executed. I will not tell you their names.”
Tin-Eye squinted at her through his monocle. “Even if it means your life?”
A wave of sorrow contorted her lips, but she composed herself. “Even then.”
“You’ve provided a full written confession.” Tin-Eye waveda document. “You have violated the 1940 Treachery Act, which provides only one possible sentence for violations.”
Death. Cilla’s throat swelled, but she managed to nod.
The pleasant-faced man clucked his tongue. “We don’t care to execute spies, Miss van der Zee. This may surprise you, but we take no pleasure in it at all.”
Cilla tried to give him a smile. “I’ve always found the British to be most civilized.”
“How kind of you.” He inclined his head. “But the people do demand it, as you can imagine. Capturing and executing spies satisfies a need for justice and security. Also, we hope it will deter the Abwehr from sending more agents.”
She wet her lips. “I understand, sir.”
“As I said, we find executions to be rather ghastly affairs, so we prefer to offer you a chance to save your life.”
Had she heard correctly? Or had sleep overwhelmed her again and swept her into a dream? Wobbling in her chair, she blinked her heavy eyelids. “A ... chance?”
“If your story is true”—he gestured down the line of stern-faced men—“and we aren’t convinced it is—then you’ll leap at this opportunity. And if you’re lying, which we will inevitably discover, you may prefer this opportunity to the scaffold.”
She’d prefer anything to the scaffold. “What is this opportunity?”
“Turn and become a double agent for us.”
“Oh.” All her hope deflated. “I would like to leap. I would very much like to. But my family. Hauptmann Kraus said if I turned, my family would be punished. I can’t allow them to be sent to a concentration camp or—or executed.”
“If you do exactly as we tell you, the Abwehr will never know.”
Cilla winced. “I told Hauptmann Kraus I wouldn’t be caught. I was wrong.”
Mr. Pleasant leaned back in his chair and smiled. “TheAbwehr has failed to discover even one of their agents who are working for us.”
Just how many were there?
“Your family would be perfectly safe, Miss van der Zee. But the choice is yours.”
Cilla closed her eyes. How could she make a decision when so fatigued? When she’d failed so miserably?
But had she failed? If that Mackenzie hadn’t gone for a ramble, Cilla would have buried her raft, gun, and wireless set, and she would have traveled to Tante Margriet’s undetected.
Hadn’t she tricked the Abwehr into sending her to Britain? Couldn’t she continue to convince them she was loyal to their cause?
