"It took you guys long enough," Cosima joked to the radio man, as he smiled down at her from the halftrack.
"The citizens are excited," he replied, in his Spanish-accented French. "They wouldn't let us pass right away. Plus we had a little meeting to attend to."
His commanding officer looked down at her, his hat sitting at a rakish angle, a small smile playing about his lips beneath his aquiline nose.
"Agent Niehaus, is it?"
She gave him a charmingly exaggerated salute.
"Yep, that's me," her smile was growing by the minute.
"I'm Amado Granell. I want to thank you and Ochoa — is that him over there? — and the rest for wiring us secure routes."
"Oh, you're welcome. I mean, the pleasure is all mine, ours."
Amado turned to a soldier beside him.
"Aspirant Aboroa, please ask Ochoa to join us. And Miss Niehaus," he turned back and held out his hand, leaning down. She took it and shook it firmly. He let go and turned to the radio man, nodding his head sideways down at Cosima.
"Velazquez? Get this woman a seat with Campos."
The radio man grinned and made a quick exchange over his portable wireless in Spanish. He nodded at Cosima.
"Next halftrack coming," he told her. "You might get a different greeting from them. They encountered a little gunfire from some Nazi holdouts earlier."
"Alright, let's go," Granell, ordered, patting top of the roofless windshield. "We've got business to do."
Cosima watched as they drove off, turning toward the government offices. In a few moments, another halftrack pulled up to her. One side was draped with the French flag and the other was sporting the Spanish tricolour. A bushy-eyebrowed Spaniard beamed down at her, extending his hand.
"¿Senorita?" he encouraged.
Cosima took it, and raised her leg to push up on the running board as he pulled her up to climb into the vehicle.