Page 64 of Shadows In Paris
The sound of the sharp slap rang out around the room, and she opened her eyes as the sting lashed at the delicate skin of her right cheek. Her azure eyes glowed with defiance despite the pain. It was too late to pretend there had been a misunderstanding. He clearly knew she was in the Resistance and had been passing on intelligence, so there was no point denying it.
The Nazi officer bedecked in all his finery, stepped back and then lashed out again as his hand hit her other cheek with the full force of his muscular arm. Hannah moved her head slightly, as if to banish the pain. It was more a punch than a slap, and her skin transformed from pink to purple.
‘Not so courageous now, are you, you French traitor?’ Hans spat the words, and his spittle landed near her eye.
Hannah couldn’t speak with the tape over her mouth, so she just glared at him. He stood for everything she loathed, and everything that had ruined her life and that of her beloved family. It was probably for the best, she thought. If she could speak, she would only anger him further, taunting him about hitting a girl like the coward he obviously was.
Thoughts flashed through her mind, and she tried to figure out what to do. How could she escape this literal bind? Hannah knew there was a way because her years in the field had taught her there was always a way. You just couldn’t always see it.
Hannah steeled herself for another bashing as her captor brought his large hand into contact with her cheek once more. This time his ring with the Nazi eagle symbol caught her skin, and she felt it split and the blood gush to the surface and seep down her face.
What do you know for certain, Hannah?she asked herself from within her fog of pain.What do you know?
The worlds tumbled around her mind as she grasped for clarity. This was her chance to work out what to do. It maybe her only chance. The torment was only going to get worse based on the expression of relish on his face. Hans was enjoying every second of hurting her, and she guessed he would not stop unless he had to. She could barely move, so she couldn’t fend him off physically. Words were all she had. Hannah cursed herself once more for her negligence. She was better than this and blamed herself for allowing him to tie her up. He was far bigger and stronger than her, but she had the skills to bring him to his knees. If only she’d not followed him into his den like a little lamb to the slaughter.
The thought of succumbing to his cruelty made her angrier and renewed her strength. Anger was her friend. Hannah had learnt to draw on her emotions in a way that fuelled her missions. If her work required her to kill a German, all she had to do was picture her mother and father being herded into a Nazi truck outside their home in Berlin. That gave her the strength to do what she must when her resolve weakened, and she doubted her choices.
But who would choose a life like this?
No one. She always gave the same answer to her own question. No one chose a life like this. No sane person chose a life in the Resistance, but sometimes life put you in an impossible position where all you had were two choices: Fight back or surrender and die.
Since that day when the Hitler Youth girls smacked her about, she had promised herself never again to be a victim. They could do what they liked to her body, but they would not break her spirit. They did not have the power to break her spirit, and that kept her going through the awful years when she was alone on the run, working undercover, with nothing to her name but her desire to destroy the Nazi terror machine. That’s why no matter how many times Hans slapped or punched her with his big hard hands, he wouldn’t win.
There was something she longed for. It wasn’t noble, like fighting for freedom and justice, but it was locked inside her soul like a festering wound, and one day she would release it into the light.
Revenge.
Hannah would exact revenge on those bastards who had destroyed her life and taken her family. And revenge would be sweet, of that she was certain, no matter how much her face throbbed as the blood dripped into her mouth and down her chin.
‘Tell me who you work for,’ snarled Hans, snapping her back to the moment.
Hannah raised her head and looked at him with insolent, blazing eyes. Then she shook her head slowly from side to side. The pain in her head was like a boomerang, but she shook it again for good measure.
‘You silly little girl. You think you can look down your superior French nose at me and resist my advances like I’m dirt on your shoe? Do you really think I didn’t suspect you?’ Hans spat on the ground near her feet. ‘Wearing these unattractive clothes to put me off. Thought that would work on me, did you? Well, I have news for you. I’m not an idiot. I was the smartest boy in theHitler Youth.I was a founding member with honours to my name, and I’m going to be promoted to general long before my contemporaries. And you’re going to help me, you ignorant whore. It’s quite a coup to catch a spy at Reich HQ, you know.’
Hannah continued to stare at him, her eyes unflinching as she watched him fluff himself up with his own sense of self-importance and superiority.
‘I’m asking you one more time, and if you don’t answer, I’ll do more than slap you, you traitor bitch.’
Hannah’s eyes never wavered from his, and the more shestared at him, the more furious he became until his face was bright red and a vein pulsed in his thick neck.
‘Who do you work for? I’m warning you, it’s time to give me some answers. I found the camera in your handbag. So clever, aren’t we?’ he hissed, his tone mocking. ‘Not quite as clever as you thought, though. Your game is up mademoiselle and now you’re going to pay a deadly price.’
CHAPTER 32
Lizzie's hands stung from the cold as she descended to the basement to spend another night in the bowels of the old farmhouse. This time, she would be alone. If someone came to search the place, she wouldn’t be caught sleeping in the bedroom like a sitting duck. She ran back upstairs and grabbed one of Hannah’s guns from the secret compartment beneath the big old sink. The house was deathly quiet, and she went to pull another blanket off her bed. It seemed to get ever colder, but perhaps she was just tired. It had been an intense couple of days, and her body throbbed and ached all over from the fall off the bicycle. She needed sleep if she was to be any use to anyone tomorrow.
When she awoke to the insistent chirping of birds, she listened carefully for noises in the house. All was quiet untilTheCount of Monte Cristotoppled off her stomach and crashed to the floor, making her heart pound.
Hesitantly, she opened the secret hatch and stepped out of the damp basement. She’d slept reasonably well, cocooned between a pile of blankets to cushion her body and keep out the chill.
Lizzie checked if Hannah had slipped into her bedroom during the night, but the covers on her bed lay untouched. She went downstairs to the kitchen as first light broke, seeping through the blackout blinds in delicate shards and drawing shapes on the walls. She’d made it through another night in occupied territory. That was the first night she’d spent alone on a mission. Even when things went awry when she was a new agent, the owner of the safe house kept her company.
She sat in silence, contemplating her options as she drank the warm coffee. Lizzie knew what she should do, but it was too early to leave without attracting unnecessary attention. More attention was not what the network needed.
The coffee cup was nursed in her hands, and the heat on her skin and the gentle chatter of the birds in the garden cheered her. Then she remembered the raven from the previous night, staring at her from the tree opposite the attic window. She told herself she was being fanciful, thinking the black bird had anything to do with Jack watching over her, but its musical call had comforted her, nonetheless.
Thinking of Jack transported her back to London, and she wondered what he was doing at this moment. He was an early riser, and he might be drinking coffee and thinking of her too. If only she could pick up the telephone and dial his number at home. What she wouldn’t do to hear his rich deep voice say her name in that special way that was like a caress. Her eyes strayed to the telephone on the wall, but even if the line was in service, which it wasn’t, she couldn’t call London. That would be signing her own death warrant.
