Nothing was safe. Delphine knew that. Up until now her ruse seemed to have convinced everyone except a few of her undercover contacts of her motives as a social-climbing Nazi collaborationniste. But everyone knew things were changing. You could feel it in the air, read it between the lines in the newspapers. And, of course, she knew, because she was working for the other side.
"So, you are telling me you studied science before the start of the war?" Hauptsturmführer Faustrecht asked her over the table.
"Medicine and microbiology. Isn't that something?" Öberführer von Leekie replied for her, chuckling. "The beautiful creature you see before you is not just a socialite. Sometimes I tease her that I should send her to Haupsturmführer Doktor Mengele to work with the prisoners. Perhaps cultivating the genetics of the Master Race could use a woman's touch."
A laugh went around the table amongst the officers and their girlfriends. Delphine put a smile on her face, but inside she shivered. She had heard rumours about Mengele and the concentration camps. Making this joke was also another one of von Leekie's thinly veiled threats, a means of controlling her, making her squirm.
"However," von Leekie continued, "I find her so useful here in Paris, for many reasons." He didn't wink, but he had a suggestive tone. The officers laughed again. Delphine took a sip of her wine.
"Not just as you think," von Leekie added. "Miss Cormier's connections prove useful. I dare say she makes up for some percentage of the incompetence of the Vichy government."
More laughter. Delphine was growing thin. Not just physically, as she had found herself unable to eat from plate after plate put in front of her while knowing people outside were starving, but thinner-shelled, more worn, every ounce of her energy spent on keeping information straight on both sides — Axis and the Allies — while covering all that was good, moral and fierce about her to keep von Leekie's and the occupiers' trust.
Von Leekie put on his usual show for both his cronies and his visitors. If anything, he acted even more positive, more jocular as more bad news for the Third Reich trickled in from all sides of the front. His flares of anger would be more sudden, crueler, making her wonder how idle his threats toward her really were. The only good thing was that his interest in her as a sexual object seemed to be decreasing. Even if the times he required her were sharper, rougher, they happened less often, and they were usually quicker — up against a wall, atop his desk. But Delphine needed to know there was a balance. At this point, she would welcome von Leekie tiring of her, but not so much that it meant he disposed of her in a life-threatening way.
A courier came striding quickly to the table, his dusty boots betraying a swift and urgent ride from the countryside. Delphine pointedly looked the other way, leaning to accept a light of her cigarette from a nearby officer. She did, however, listen intently. She silently felt simultaneous shots of adrenaline and relief as she heard a particular name and something about a truck. Another Nazi collaborator framed as a member of the resistance, his goods by now making their way to a series of churches and barns for distribution to those who sorely needed them. Once again her intelligence had paid off.
Von Leekie's lips compressed from their usual thin line to near nothingness. He examined the paper from the courier and turned to Faustrecht.
"Haptsturmführer Faustrecht, it seems there's been a misallocation of goods and funds via one of the inspectors. Come to my office and we will discuss how this escaped your department's attention."
The table went silent for a moment, then some forced conversation began amongst the officers in order to distance themselves. Faustrecht stood up smartly and followed von Leekie and his assistants, to his credit only paling a shade.
Delphine joined in idle chatter about the availability and quality of fabrics for upholstery and drapery. The surreality of the moment in Delphine's mind was more easily managed knowing that one mission had been completed.
Alone in her flat, Delphine smoked a cigarette, her gaze turned out her window, but her thoughts turned inward. It would be time for her next orders soon, and she wondered what the new contact, "The Dove," as she was called, would have in store for her. She worried briefly about Deercatcher, and why he had disappeared from her channel. He was always very soft-spoken, polite, in contrast with the casual, brassy, inherently American tone of the woman who took his place. She hoped that he had merely been transferred, but she suspected worse.
The new woman, however, intrigued her. There was something in her voice and manner of speaking that was distinctly non-military, both confident and confused. It seemed friendly, but Delphine found herself having to put a check on the oddly eager curiosity it sparked in her. She reminded herself that it was not familiar, and thus wasn't safe.
Not that even the familiar was safe, anymore.
A flash of flame suddenly flickered outside her window. Someone was on the roof of one of the buildings across from her, lighting a pipe. Delphine pulled her robe tighter, peering into the darkness. There was just enough light to see him dimly, an older man in a slouched hat, some sort of large case dangling from one hand. It was suspicious, to say the least, and she reached for her curtains, only to realize something: he was leaning against a chimney.
The man raised a finger and placed it pointedly against his nose, looking directly at her. Another puff of his pipe, and he disappeared through the roof door.
It was dawn when she was awakened from troubling dreams to an irregular clicking against her windowsill. She peeked through the curtains. There was a pigeon perched there, cocking its head at her with a coo. It appeared to be wearing some sort of harness.
"Alright, congratulations, Swan, glad you made it," the Dove answered, her voice warm with, perhaps, happiness, or some small triumph. Delphine sighed in relief. Two pigeons later and she had had the means and directions to attach a small device to the interior of her radio set, along with a tiny roll of heavily waxed paper, bearing slots similar to an old-fashioned player piano roll. She could hear the little device whirring and clicking faintly from within the radio case.
"Oui, Dove, I am here, although it was a bit more challenging than usual to tune you in. Is this small machine doing what I think it is doing?"
"If you think it's rotating your signal amongst a series of frequencies that corresponds with a series of frequencies that I'm broadcasting on, then you're correct," the Dove replied, notes of sass and pride in her voice. Delphine felt her mouth move from a surprised O into an actual grin, an expression that had been in pathetically short supply. "Did you have to restart several times," the Dove asked.
"Incroyable… no, just one time, to get it synced to the minute. This is brilliant." With their communications fluttering between various frequencies, Delphine realized it would be almost impossible for anyone trying to catch their conversation on the airwaves. She was not safe, but she felt her shoulders drop slightly down from the clenched position they were usually in during trasnmissions.
"Why thank you, Swan," the American woman's voice came back, sounding very pleased with herself, indeed. "Yeah, I've been trying to get this through command for a long time. Well, me and Hedy. But sometimes they sure are a stubborn bunch of bastards…"
"Hedy?" Delphine inquired. She felt lost. "As in… Lamarr, the film actress?"
"Oh, yeah. Great lady. Whip-smart. But loose lips sink ships, Delphine, so don't spread it around."
Delphine froze. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. Her silence stretched.
"Oh," came the voice at the other end after a moment, sounding deflated. "Oh, shit. And here I am breaking the same rule, again. I'm really sorry… it's just, I looked at your file and, well I felt like I got to know you a little bit, uh… Swan. So… wow, I… used your name. That was stupid. But don't worry! Like I told you, this frequency hopping is totally foolproof."
Delphine didn't know what to feel. She was horrified, frightened for an instant, as if a group of SS thugs might burst through her door at that moment. But underneath that, a warmth began to trickle. She didn't know why, as this woman clearly was not being careful about what she said, but she felt like someone who had mailed her such an ingenious security device via pigeon was perhaps just brilliant enough to trust. Also, she found herself actually feeling amused. There was just something… endearing about this Dove person.
"Aha, okay, 'Dove,'" Delphine said aloud, "I take it that name has something to do with the pigeons, then?"
"Right, you guessed it. I started out as a biologist and then I was working with the carrier pigeon and dog corps and then I got a little into coding, and… oh, uh. But I'm going on, again. So, yeah, pigeons. That and the dove as the symbol of peace, because we could all use a bit of that right about now, couldn't we?"
Delphine nodded, despite the women not being able to see one another. This had struck a chord.
"Mm, yes, Dove, I concur," she answered, then actually felt her lips twisting in something of a smirk. "But if you know my files and have used my name, it's only fair that I learn yours."
There was a silence on the other end of the line that built to a chuckle. "Cosima," came the reply. She pronounced it differently than the usual Italian, emphasizing the second syllable like SEE, instead. It must have been an American thing.
"Co-si-ma," Delphine repeated, feeling something like a flicker of hope somewhere deep inside her. "Enchantée."
"Enchantée," Cosima answered, and Delphine could tell she was smiling.