Winfred

58

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986

Kathleen Winfred

We'd gone quite a while without the air raid sirens going off. I suppose it was only a matter of time before they went off again. Which they did, the night following my experience going into town.

This was my first air raid spending time in the basement without being a prisoner.

When the sirens went off, Pirot and I got up, holding our hands over our ears in an attempt to stave off the piercing shriek of the warnings.

We got our uniform jackets and put them on, to distinguish ourselves from the prisoners. While we walked towards the stairs, Pirot hurriedly did up my hair and I shoved on my glasses, making sure that I did not look like the prisoner I had been.

We were one of the last to reach the basement, because I had insisted on finding my mother's locket, which Pirot had returned to me when I assumed my new role, before we went.

The benches along one wall were all taken and what remained were floor spots.

I gave Pirot the first spot we found, then made my way across the room, looking for a place.

"Excuse me, Miss..." I heard someone say, whispering.

I looked down in surprise, seeing a man, in the customary striped prison jumpsuit, gesturing to a spot beside him, between himself and one of the female prisoners.

Since I appeared to be a German soldier, I had no idea why he would perform any sort of kindness towards me. However, I nodded gratefully and sat down, leaning against the wall.

He turned to look at me. I nodded to him, in thanks. He smiled slightly.

"Do the air raid sirens go off frequently?" he asked.

I recognized his accent; it was like Virginia's. This prisoner was American.

"I suppose so..." I said. "Of course, they haven't gone off in a while...First time since Spring began."

He smiled even more widely. "So..." He said, lowering his voice to only the softest whisper. "English, are you?"

I looked at him, horror written on my face.

He laughed quietly. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't tell."

I continued to watch him, warily.

"You speak German well," he said. "But when you talk to me in English...I can tell. Spent enough time with the Brits lately," he said. "I'm an American...If you couldn't tell already," he added, jokingly. "Pilot. My plane got shot down nearby. Didn't make it back across the channel."

He looked a bit sad for a moment, before he smiled again. "Guess I forgot to tell you my name, didn't I?" He shook his head, as if admonishing himself. "I'm Matthew."

I gave him a small, unsure smile. "I'm...I'm Ilsa," I muttered.

"Ilsa," he said. "I like it. Short...but pretty."

I smiled, blushing.

"So..." said Matthew. "What's it like here? Guess I want to know what I'm in for."

I looked around the room. "It's better here than most places...I suppose you're lucky to get here than somewhere else."

He leaned his head back against the wall, his blonde hair shaggy across his forehead, and his brown eyes closed. "Sounds good. I suppose if I've got to be in prison, then it had better be a good one."

I leaned back against the wall as well. "Do you have a family? Back in America?" I questioned, continuing our conversation.

He opened one eye and looked at me. "A little brother," he said. "An older sister. My mom and dad. How about you?"

"My older brother, and my mum and dad."

We had leaned our heads close enough together, against the wall, that we could talk in whispers, keeping our conversation away from the ears of other prisoners and guards. Most were asleep, but we didn't want to risk it.

Eventually, Matthew yawned. "Guess we'll be down here for a good while then, won't we?" he said, tiredly.

"We usually are," I said.

"Mind if I try to..." he yawned again. "Catch a few winks?"

"Of course not," I said.

He nodded, closing his eyes once more. Once he was asleep, I looked around at the others gathered in the basement.

I found Jessica. She was sitting in the corner, leaning against the wall, her head lolling against her shoulder, fast asleep.

Small groups of two or three prisoners were supporting each other as they slept. I searched a bit more, and found Pirot, sitting in the place I had left her, holding a small notebook and pen in her hand, scribbling a letter, probably to Albert. I smiled, my eyes continuing their circle around the perimeter of the basement.

My eyes met Von Steubon's. His brow furrowed, and his expression was one of faint disappointment as he glanced at Matthew, frowning.

I frowned, purposefully looking away and tearing my gaze away from Von Steubon's. He must have noticed me talking to one of the prisoners. Of course he would be upset...My position among the Germans could possibly be in jeopardy.

For the first time, I thought about the fact that, if Matthew were to tell anyone what he had discovered about me, I wouldn't be the only one to pay the price. Von Steubon and Pirot would pay it too. Not just any price: the ultimate price. Death.

I avoided looking at either of them for the rest of the night.