Flaneur ✅💋

18. Monde Cruel

April 21, 1942

Marcel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "How certain are you that she's still alive?" It must have been the ninth time he'd asked.

"I'm willing to stick my neck out on this. Call the French Embassy in Scotland." She stubbed out her cigarette butt and added it to the collection she had created on the gray table. Six butts were in a neat row, but her hands were still trembling slightly, though no one would have noticed with how discrete she was.

He stood up and went to the door, opening it and mumbling something to the guards. "I'll check into it," he said, sitting back down. "Explain it to me one more time, how did you get away?"

It was a test. One that they did to every person sitting in her chair. He was searching for some hesitation or mix-up when she repeated her story, but he would find none. She was a professional liar. "There was an explosion that collapsed the tunnel."

"And that's how a third of our Ghosts died?" he inquired and she nodded. "Go on."

"I uncuffed him at gunpoint to take him the rest of the way on foot once the original path had been compromised. He managed to get the gun from me and shot me before he ran away and left me to bleed out." Marcel swallowed and she fought the urge to smirk. "Are you quite satisfied now?" Her voice was clipped, leaving no room for argument as she groped at the still bloodied rags clinging to her side. She was in the same evening gown, but the medics had patched her up nicely before she was condemned to questioning.

"No one survived the tunnel," he added softly.

Genevieve looked away from him. She'd figured as much, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. "I didn't think they would have," she admitted. "How many made it through before," she stopped herself, searching for the appropriate wording, "before it happened?"

Marcel straightened his black tie, loosening it a bit in the process. "Only Harriet, my brother, and the team riding in his vehicle. Our division is looking into it now to see if it happens to be connected to the tower's explosion. Did you know that not a single person survived that? It killed everyone inside and within a quarter mile radius. Anyone that wasn't inside was either crushed by the building falling, or choked on the smoke. We have quite the mess to clean up." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed decisively. "Before I leave, I need to extend an offer to you from the Americans. To show their gratitude for your service, they are giving you land in any state you choose. You'll of course, receive your full pension, as well as a large sum to compensate you for any and all injuries you've received in the line of duty. The order has also agreed to award you one hundred thousand dollars for every Nazi you killed during your mission." Her brows shot up to her hairline. Her pay had never been discussed before she was thrown into the mission, but she had assumed it would be her usual price. This was substantially more.

"Red House, New York," she said, without skipping a beat.

"Pardon?"

"That's where I want land. Red House. I want a large estate far from the city," she declared. "And I want my dog, Waltz."

"The animal gifted to you by the colonel?" Marcel cocked a brow.

"The only good thing that came from my time there." Genevieve grabbed up another cigarette, readying to light it up.

Marcel nodded. "I'll send someone over right now. Oh," he said upon getting up, "and you should know that Germany surrendered this morning. Troops are moving in as we speak to eradicate the last of them that are resisting. You've done good, Agent Mahlon. You should be proud." He patted her shoulder before leaving her to smoke in silence.

Red House, New York. Nice and secluded, and known for being underpopulated. It reminded her of the rustic and rural feel of France she had come to love. Open country with a glimmer of city lights off in the distance. She needed to be far from the order. Far from France and Germany. Far from his memory.