September 12, 1943

"Wake up, Mrs. J!" Stark was shaking my shoulder gently when I opened my eyes and saw the tapestry of lights below us, like something from a magical children's story. "Paris," said my companion, smiling. "We won't stop there, of course; it's far too conspicuous for our purposes. But some day, when we've won the war, I'll send you and Edwin back for a real honeymoon." I didn't answer because I was wide-eyed, staring at the beauty that even German occupation hadn't eradicated.

We were over Paris for a very short time because of the risk of being seen and pursued, and we were plunged back into darkness very quickly as we approached the rural countryside, flying lower than before. "I told you she was fast," Stark said. "We'll land at the farm of my contact, refuel, and be gone again before daylight—if everything works the way it should."

Within ten minutes, we were coming to a stop in an open field surrounded by cattle pastures. I've heard that airplane landings can be uncomfortable and dangerous, but we glided in like we were riding on a cloud. "I'm good with the landings," Stark boasted. "That's the first thing I design when I'm working on a new model." I couldn't disagree with his self-approbation.

As soon as we touched down, we were joined by a man dressed in all black, who carried a flashlight and a heavy-looking round metal container. "Good evening, Stark," he said in heavily-accented English, and he nodded to me with tight-lipped smile.

"Evening," said my companion. "How's the lay of the land? Any unrest among our German friends?"

"Unfortunately yes," the man answered quickly. "They got wind of the underground prisoner-of-war exchange. They're doing inspections in this area every day at sunrise and sunset. You'll have to be gone before first light, or we'll all be in extreme danger."

To his credit, by the beam of the man's flashlight, Stark didn't look the least bit worried. "We'll just have to make sure we're gone, then," he answered, getting out of the cockpit and coming over to assist me. The feeling of ground beneath my feet was both welcome and strange.

"I'll go and get my wife," said the Frenchman. "She's made you something to eat." He slipped off into the night, and Stark set about refueling the plane with the contents of the metal drum.

I watched with interest, though we could not turn on any light beyond the tiny one Stark had to have to perform his task, for fear we would attract unwanted attention. My companion didn't mind me hovering close. In fact, he would quietly name the parts of the aircraft and explain what he was doing while I watched.

Ten minutes later, we were rejoined by the farmer, who was accompanied by his tall, spare wife, who smiled as she approached us and kissed my cheeks. "Hello," she said softly. "I've brought you a loaf of bread and some cheese. I'm sorry we don't have more." I took a small basket from her and whispered my thanks.

Stark fished into one of his pockets and pulled out a wad of money. "No, no," said the farmer, and his wife concurred with an emphatic shake of her head.

"I insist," said my companion, forcibly pressing it into the woman's hand. "Use it. There's enough to buy whatever your operation needs on the black market, and when you need more, you know how to contact me." They finally acquiesced, and it occurred to me to wonder just how rich Howard Stark actually was. The amount of money I'd counted changing hands was more than I'd ever made in a year, and I hadn't even added up half of the pile.

"All right, we'd better get going." Stark helped me back into my seat, and the farmer and his wife watched while he prepared the plane for takeoff.

Except, we didn't take off. The engine sputtered and stopped, and we were still motionless in the middle of a field in the dark—a darkness we all knew wouldn't last much longer. Stark jumped out as quickly as he could, and I got out on my own. The farmer said something to his wife in French, and she ran off across the field. He turned back to us. "You have very little time now. My wife will keep watch at the house, and I'll go to the edge of the field. If I see soldiers, I'll shine my flashlight three times in your direction. You'll have to run."

I controlled my breathing as best I could and joined Stark as he opened the engine and began looking at its inner workings. I've always liked engines and machine parts, but I've never seen the insides of an airplane. I purposefully let myself get lost in my curiosity so that I wouldn't lose my mind with worry.

It wasn't long before I thought I understood how the parts worked together. I know that sounds strange, but it's the way I've always been, a gift I have, I suppose. It's why the members of my father's synagogue always asked me to fix their cars. I'd wanted to become a machinist or an engineer in school, but the university wouldn't train women in those things, so I studied my second love instead, the written word.

I say that to explain what happened next. I didn't speak to Stark because I didn't want to distract him from his work, but I could tell his frustration was mounting. Three quarters of an hour passed, with him tightening things and loosening others, and the plane still wouldn't start, but the darkness around us began to thin. This was all right until the farmer's wife came running for him, and he came running for us to say that the Germans were at the next farm and would arrive within fifteen minutes at the most. I gave my host another five minutes before I couldn't take it any more; I had to try, even if I was wrong. "Mr. Stark," I said, softly but insistently, "I don't know what most of these things are called, but if you connect that one to that one and bypass that one, can't you route the energy through there and skip the problem area entirely?" I pointed to the parts I meant.

He took about fifteen seconds. "Yes." With that, he performed the operation I'd suggested and signaled to the farmer with his own flashlight that we would be on our way. As soon as he saw our light, the man ran to join his wife at the house, and I prayed under my breath that they would appear normal and unharried when the soldiers arrived. Stark and I took our places in the plane at record speed, and he took off into the breaking down and sped across the sky.

"Mrs. J!" he said excitedly, once we were high in the air, "you have unexpected talents!" He seemed exhilarated by our near-miss, while I was still trying not to shake.

"Thank you—they wouldn't be hidden, except that Edwin and I have had so little time together that he doesn't know about my affinity for machines."

Stark shook his head, still grinning. "I always say it's good luck to travel with a lady. When we get home, I'll have this plane rechristened the Anna J in your honor." I laughed. It was such an absurd gesture, but it was as mad and kind and strange as Stark himself.

I've been writing all this time so that my heart doesn't burst as we approach England. We're getting close. London is unfolding below us, and we'll land at an airfield just outside it. No one's hunting us any longer; in this country, Stark is an honored guest, and because of him, I have safe passage.

We're very, very close now. I see the lighted airfield below us and a single car. There's one man at the end of the runway, tall and sturdy against the emerging dawn. An angel in a gray suit and a Trilby hat.

A/N: Anna's unusual ability is a nod to some of the hints that have been dropped about what kind of role Lotte Verbeek's Mrs. Jarvis may play in the new season.