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“Why Cat?” Félix asks. “Why not me?”

“Yes, Papa, why not Félix?” Andrée asks, avoiding eye contact with her father and with Cat. She cannot admit to herself, let alone to the others, why she does not want Cat going on such a dangerous mission.

“I know why,” Cat says quietly. “I’m the bigger risk-taker. You all think I can be too careless at times, and maybe you’re right. Félix, on the other hand, is wiser, cautious, and ultimately more valuable to the network.”

Turning to look directly at Andrée, he continues: “If this château is the communication link between Berlin and the U-boats, then this is a crucial mission. I am the best person for it.”

Andrée cuts eye contact, hoping no one around the table sees the flush that flares on her cheeks. That’s unlikely. Everyone in the room is a trained observer.

“Agent, Dancer, Tina, what do you think?” Louis asks. He doesn’t need to ask Andrée. He knows what she thinks—she’s just told the whole room.

“Either one of them can carry out this mission. If I had to choose one—sorry, Félix—I agree it should be Cat,” Agent replies.

“I’m also sorry, Félix. But we need your old head on young shoulders here,” Dancer says softly. She turns to Cat and continues. “Don’t think I’m saying you are more expendable. But you are the right man for this mission.”

“Cat, please be careful. If this is a main communication and command center, it’s going to be closely guarded, and there will be collaborators in the town too,” Tina warns.

No one speaks for a moment. In the next room, the piano scales stop, as if Josie has registered the silence in the kitchen. After a pause, the notes strike up again, stronger now.

“So, where is this château? What’s its name?” Cat asks calmly. He wants to do this.

Andrée focuses on her hands, which are shaking slightly.

“Château de Pignerolle,” Louis tells them. “It’s in Saint-Barthélemy-d’Anjou, about three hundred kilometers away, toward Angers.”

“I know it. I’ve passed through, visiting family in Nantes. I could say I’m heading there if I’m stopped,” Cat says. “Plus, of course I’m the only one of us with a car.”

“What do you know about the château?” Dancer asks.

Cat scratches his head, thinking. “Well, I think it was originally set up as an equestrian center, but last I heard, the Polish government-in-exile had taken it over, after Poland was invaded. Stands to reason they are no longer there.”

“And the Germans have now taken up residence,” Tina adds.

“When can you leave?” Louis asks.

“I’ll need a few days to acquire enough gasoline to get me there and back. I have some contacts on the black market. And I’ll ask René to make me a permit.”

“Do you think it will be a problem?” Agent asks. “I might be able to help.”

“I think my guys will come through, but thanks. I’ll get in touch if I need your help.”

Andrée sees Cat to the door. He smiles at her. “See you when I’m back,” he says quietly.

She forces herself to look him in the eye.

“Is that a promise?”

“On my honor.”

They look at each other for a moment longer, and then he is gone.

Four days later, Cat’s car rumbles through the Loire countryside. The gasoline cost him more than he wants to think about right now: Fuel is incredibly scarce, as the Germans send it east for the war effort. Black market, extortionate, but necessary. His cover story is simple: visiting family in Nantes. Plausible. Boring. The kind of story that won’t invite questions. All should be well. Or so he hopes.

He passes through two German checkpoints without incident. His papers are impeccable, thanks to René, and his aristocratic bearing does the rest. The soldiers barely glance at him. Rich Frenchman, collaborator class, no threat.

Saint-Barthélemy-d’Anjou appears in the late afternoon, a small town dominated by the château on its hill. Even from a distance, Cat can see it is heavily fortified. Guard posts. Barbed wire. Swastika flags snapping in the wind. This isn’t just a communication center. This is something significant.

He parks in the town square, and climbs out of his car, adopting the expression of a man with legitimate business. A café sits on the corner, its windows grimy, its interior dim. Perfect.