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“Keep the network running while we’re gone. Agent is in charge—Pallas will liaise with him—while Félix will handle any immediate issues. Dancer will maintain radio contact with London. Everything continues as normal.”

“And Josie?” Tina asks. “What do we tell her?”

Louis considers. “That I’m going on a business trip. She doesn’t need to know the details. The less she knows, the safer she is.”

“She’ll worry,” Andrée says.

“She worries anyway.”

Louis looks around the table. “This is important. The intelligence we gather could save thousands of lives. Could help end this war. That’s worth the risk. The U-boats operating out of there are already causing so much damage and death.”

René stands. “I should go. I have preparations to make. Medical supplies to pack. Cover stories to memorize.”

Louis stands. “Day after tomorrow. First train after curfew. We’ll meet at Gare Montparnasse. Seven a.m. Platform four.”

René extends his hand to Louis.

“I’ll be there.”

After he leaves, the three of them sit in silence. Finally Josie emerges from her room, book in hand.

“Is the meeting over? Can I practice now?”

“Of course, ma petite,” Louis says, forcing brightness into his voice. “Play something cheerful. Something happy.”

Josie sits at the piano, considers, then begins to play. Mozart. A sonata. Light and sparkling and full of joy.

Louis watches her, committing this moment to memory. This is what he’s fighting for. This is why he’ll go to Saint-Nazaire, risk capture, risk torture, risk death. So that children like Josie can play Mozart in apartments in Paris without fear.

Tina’s hand finds his. Squeezes tight. She knows what he’s thinking. She always knows.

“Come home,” she whispers. “Whatever you find there, whatever you learn, make sure you come home.”

“I will,” he promises. “I will.”

And in that moment, listening to Josie play Mozart, holding his wife’s hand, surrounded by love and music and hope, he means it. He will come home. He will survive this mission. He will see his family again.

Anything else is unthinkable.

Chapter Nineteen

The train to Saint-Nazaire leaves Gare Montparnasse at seven o’clock in the morning, just two hours after the end of curfew. Louis kisses Tina goodbye at the apartment—tearful farewells at the station would be too conspicuous—and arrives at Platform 4 with ten minutes to spare.

Doctor René is already there, looking every inch the respectable physician. Dark suit, medical bag, spectacles, and an air of professional dignity. He could be traveling anywhere, for any reason. Nothing suspicious. Nothing worth noting.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” replies Louis.

They board separately, find their compartment, settle in. The train lurches forward, and Paris begins to slide away. Louis watches the city disappear, thinks of Tina and Andrée and Josie. They’re safe. That’s what matters.

The journey takes seven hours. They pass through checkpoints at Chartres, Le Mans, Nantes. Each time, German soldiers board, demand papers, examine documents with varying degrees of scrutiny. Each time, Louis feels his heart accelerate. But their papers are perfect. Travel permits signed and sealed. Letters of authorization pristine.

At Nantes, a young German officer studies Louis’s papers for what feels like an eternity. “You are an architect?” he asks, in heavily accented French.

“Yes, sir. Structural assessment of civilian buildings damaged in the bombing last year. The Ministry wishes to understand the extent of repairs needed.”

“And you?” He turns to René.