“Well, maybe she’s perceptive and was following your lead. You have to admit you’re not the world’s most talkative woman.”
“I make up for it with other things. Although I don’t see what’s so special about being a blabbermouth anyway. What time do we leave? This place gives me the creeps.”
“As soon as the sun goes down. Germain offered to give us a ride to Aurignac in his truck. It’ll save us an entire night on that bicycle.”
After coming down with a serious migraine, Germaine didn’t reemerge to say goodbye. Her husband apologized on her behalf, saying that she was furious at him for taking such risks for total strangers.
They loaded the tandem into the back of the truck and climbed into the cabin. The lidded headlights weren’t especially bright, but they did keep the vehicle discreet at night. The Berliet rattled and jerked its way down the road. With both hands on the wheel, the farmer began to whistle as he drove.
“Your wife is right to be upset,” said Hanna. “It must be dangerous on the road these days. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s more than dangerous; it’s strictly forbidden. Lucky for you, the Germans and the militiamen like to stuff their faces with only the best. They expect to have their milk and eggs delivered, poultry too. So, if you’re a good farmer, you get an Ausweis and can move about as you like. Rest assured, my papers are in order. If we get stopped, pretend you’re asleep and everything will be fine.”
“Be sure to thank your wife for us,” Robert insisted.
“Of course, of course, no problem.”
The engine made an infernal racket as they drove onward. By L’Isle-Jourdain, Hanna had fallen asleep. They passed Saint-Lys, Sainte-Foy-de-Peyrolières, and Rieumes without the slightest hint of trouble. Robert dozed off as well, lulled by the movement of the truck. Near Savères, the loud sound of shifting gears woke him up with a jolt. The farmer was slowing down in a hurry.
“What’s wrong?” Robert asked.
“I think there may be a patrol at the next crossroads. We’re still a way off, but I saw some lights on the horizon, and at this time of night, farms would be shuttered up and pitch-black. Just stick with the plan, and everything will be fine. Let the little lady sleep, it’s better that way.”
Robert glanced over at Hanna, her head resting against the window with her eyes closed and still. And yet Robert could feel her hand slide down his back, closing around his gun and pulling it right out of his belt. As Germain reached for the gearshift, Hanna sat bolt upright and pointed the gun at him.
“Turn off the headlights and pull over!” she ordered in a steely tone that left Robert dumbstruck.
“What is this? Some sort of hustle?” the farmer balked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. How much were you going to make by turning us in, huh? Twenty francs? Fifty? What’s the going price for an American these days? Maybe you could even get a hundred!” Hanna snarled, jabbing the barrel of the gun into the man’s cheek.
“The girl’s gone insane! Completely mad!”
Germain hit the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. He raised his hands in surrender, shaking with fear and anger. “Germaine was right all along. I stick out my neck to help you damn foreigners, and this is how I’m repaid? Well, off with you. Run along. What are you waiting for? Take your damn bike and go!”
“You have any idea how to drive this thing?” Hanna asked Robert, who was still frozen in shock.
“Sure, at least . . . I think I can. Driving trucks was part of my training in England.”
Hanna turned back to the farmer. “You can get out now,” she ordered. When Germain hesitated, Hanna slipped her finger onto the trigger to let him know she meant business.
“I lost my father yesterday after being double-crossed by a rat just like you, so believe me when I say nothing would make me happier right now than blowing your brains out on the side of the road. You’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out.”
Germain cursed under his breath and scrambled out of the truck. Robert quickly took his seat. As the Berliet lumbered away down the road, they could hear Germain shouting after them. “My truck! You goddamn thieves! Come back here with my truck!”
“Head that way,” Hanna told Robert, pointing up a winding side road to their left. “And keep the headlights off.”
“What in the world are you thinking? The guy was offering us help and you just—”
“That guy’s help would’ve got us killed, believe me. He’s a collaborator. Honestly, for a secret agent on a mission, your observational skills could use some work. The farm had nothing but wheat and pigs, not a hen or cow in sight. Just how do you think he bought this truck or got his hands on something as vital as a pass to move about freely? If the man’s working the black market, just who do you think he’s selling to?”