Jeanne followed Casián as he walked through the maze that was Y4 with never a hesitation. She was growing to hate the place for the tightness it brought to her chest and the childish fear that the ceiling would collapse on her at any moment.

"In here," Casián said, pulling open a door that looked just like all the others they had passed.

Jeanne entered and found herself inside a room that looked like a warehouse – except for the ubiquitous low ceiling. There were crates and crates of supplies stretching for dozens of metres. Racks of clothing – disguises, she was sure – hung on racks around the room's perimeter, each protected in a plastic bag.

"Find what you need and put it in this." Casián handed her an olive green duffel bag. The fabric was rough in her hands.

"Andor!" a voice called. Both she and Casián looked up – it was Dubois. "Andor," he repeated. "A word."

Casián jogged over to Dubois and the two of them stood framed in the doorway, deep in conversation. Jeanne watched them for a moment and then moved deeper into the strange warehouse. Best to take Casián's advice and stock up for the journey ahead. A change of clothes would be nice as well – she could feel dried mud clinging to the back of her vest and pants. But not necessary. Anyway, her mud-spattered, dull brown-and-green ensemble would help her blend in anywhere, except maybe a fancy ball. But she didn't plan to attend any of those anytime soon.

She moved over to a crate marked 'Army Rations' and helped herself.

"Wouldn't take too many of those if I were you," a voice remarked over her shoulder.

Jeanne looked up and a jolt of recognition went through her. It was the tall blond man from before. Only this time, instead of wearing the rough clothes of a Resistance worker, he had on a pair of grey pants and a white undershirt. He held a German officer's jacket in his hands, seemed about to slip it on.

"And why not?" she asked, trying not to let her voice betray the scare he'd given her.

"At my calculations, you'll only need two or three of those for the amount of time we'll be gone." He spoke French, like her, but again there was that crispness of tone, that twist of the tongue that led her to believe he was British. He certainly didn't look like a Frenchman. "And those are expensive. Best to leave them for those who really have a need."

Jeanne dropped the ration, the one she'd just grabbed, back into the crate.

"I'm Agent K2. Kay to most," the man said. "British Army Intelligence."

Jeanne took a step away from the crate as Kay gathered up a handful and placed them carefully in his own duffel bag. "I remember you," she said. Her collarbone still ached from the blow he'd given her.

"I see that Mora and Dubois decided to send you to Jeddah," Kay said. He left the crate and Jeanne followed him. The man was obviously experienced in this sort of thing and she really had no idea what all to put in her bag. Watching Kay could provide some useful pointers.

"I think it's a bad idea," Kay continued. "So does Casián."

Jeanne shot a look at the Spaniard, still engrossed in his conversation with Dubois.

Kay gave a shrug. "But what do I know? My specialty is just strategic analysis."

/

Dubois spoke quickly and quietly. He kept looking all around him every few seconds and it made Casián wonder just how sanctioned Dubois' orders were. Had Mora really cleared this?

"Galen Erso is vital to the Nazi's weapons program," Dubois said. "Whatever you just heard in there, forget it. There will be no extraction. You will find Erso and you will kill him. End of the line."

Casián couldn't say he was surprised. If even half of what the defector had said was true, Galen Erso had caused near-irreversible harm to the Allies. It wasn't Casián's place to say whether or not any man deserved to die – he followed orders and that was enough – but men like Galen Erso made him question his place.

He re-entered the supply depot and quickly picked out Jeanne. Looked like she was throwing some words back and forth with Kay. Casián quickened his pace.

"I see you two have met," he said as soon as he was within speaking range.

"Yes, indeed," said Kay. His tone was biting and Casián winced. If Kay and Jeanne were already going at each other it was going to be a very long ride to Jeddah.

"Come on," Casián ordered and took off without bothering to look back and see if Kay and Jeanne were following. They walked for a few minutes and when the stone floor began to slope upwards, Casián let out a small breath of relief. As vital as Y4 was to the Resistance, he preferred the fresh air and sunshine up top, even if it was more dangerous.

They reached the ladder and Casián scrambled up. It took all his strength to push the entrance open – the old wine cask concealing the exit was solid craftsmanship and it was always a challenge to lift.

"Come on," he whispered down after making sure that the cellar held no surprises.

Jeanne climbed up, closely followed by Kay.

They made their way outside and to the barn where the truck was ready and waiting.

Casián went around to the back and pulled the flap down. Inside, chairs and tables, sofas, all different kinds of furniture, all ugly, were stuffed together and tied down with some semblance of care. Casián grinned. It would fool anyone.

"Kay!" he called.

"Why does she get to ride up in the cab?" Kay groused as he crawled through some path in the tangle of furniture known only to him.

Casián shook his head. When Kay had disappeared farther into the back of the truck, he turned and went around to the front of the truck where Jeanne sat. "What's the plan?" she asked.

"We are moving to a new apartment in Paris," Casián said.

"What?"

"The furniture in the back," he said. "That's our cover story."

"Oh."

/

Bode Reichardt shivered uncontrollably. It was cold where they had him, kneeling on a stone floor with pebbles that poked painfully into his knees. The blasts of cold wind that swept through the room on occasion didn't help matters any. The ragged burlap sack was still over his head. His captors murmured among themselves, their voices coming from high above his head.

How long they would keep him here, Bode had no idea, but he was quite sure that he'd tumble down from exhaustion before long. Humiliating, but inevitable.

A door squeaked somewhere ahead and then Bode could hear heavy breathing coming closer and closer, footsteps dragging and thumping unevenly.

"Lies!" came a hoarse voice. "Deceptions!" The steps paused, right in front of Bode. "Let's see it," the voice ordered. There was a moment of silence, then, "Bode Reichardt." The man's tone was a little more thoughtful and Bode assumed he was looking at Bode's papers. "Driver. Local boy, eh?"

"Yes," Bode said, his nerves on edge. "I was born right-"

"This was found in his boot when we captured him," said one of his captors.

Bode's head swivelled, trying in vain to see the man who had just spoken. "I can hear you," he said, indignation rising. He turned back to the new arrival. "He-they did not capture me. I came here on my own, I defected. I defected!"

"Every day, more lies," the man in front of him intoned with a self-righteousness that made Bode's fists clench.

"A lie? That's what you think this is?" he demanded. "Would I risk everything for a lie? I have to speak with Saul Garreau before it's too late!"

With shocking suddenness, the sack was pulled away from Bode's head. The onslaught of light and cool, fresh air felt so unbelievably luxurious that Bode spent a moment – all right, two moments – just breathing it all in. He was about to speak when his eyes focused on the man standing before him.

He knew enough of Saul Garreau to recognize the rebel leader now.

"Oh-you-you're-" Bode stuttered. "You're him. All right." He saw the thin metal cylinder in Saul's hand, the one that the partisan commander must have handed over. "That's for you," he said, nodding at the cylinder. "And they did not find it," he spat, glaring at the partisans. "I gave it to them. Galen Erso sent it with me. To give to you."

Saul stood, impassive and somehow straight-backed despite the crutch he used for support. He regarded Bode for a long moment, his eyes probing Bode's with a suspicion that was uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Take him to Tor," Saul said and turned to leave.

The sack was thrown back over Bode's head. "Tor? Tor who?" Bode called out. "Galen Erso sent me to find you!"