Betty cuddled a little closer to Scott on the hard metal bench, hoping to steal some of his warmth. He smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as further protection from the cold. The Lysander plane on which they were flying to Bern was ideal for their mission as it was lightweight and quiet, capable of making takeoffs and landings with a minimum of runway, but where comfort was concerned, it left a lot to be desired. The comfort of it's passengers was not the primary function of the Lysander, however. Typically, it was used to drop supplies and operatives to aid in the French resistance.
Tonight, though, it was going to make a quick stop in Bern, Switzerland. There were no supplies to drop, nor would the two occupants huddled together in the main hold be parachuting to their destination. Betty was grateful that part of their training had been left out. Early on, General Hopkins had decided that having a pregnant woman parachute out of a plane was a little too risky. Instead, the pilot of the Lysander was going to make full use of his skills, and the abilities of the small airplane, by landing in a field well outside the city. From there, Scott and Betty would use their map and compass to find the nearest train station. If everything went according to plan, they'd arrive at the same time as the late train from Geneva and be able to blend in amongst the passengers, just another couple arriving in the chill of a late-summer night.
They'd catch a cab at the train station which they'd take to the hotel in downtown Bern where a room had already been arranged for them. The eleven o'clock hour was fast approaching and Betty knew she should be near the point of exhaustion, but nervous energy was keeping her alert. They had a long night ahead of them and a good night's sleep was the furthest thing from either of their minds.
The plane suddenly took a sharp downward dip and they shifted in their seats to accommodate the change. Scott glanced at Betty and mouthed, "Okay?" the noise of the Lysander making speech without shouting difficult. She smiled and nodded in response, but laid her head on his shoulder for a moment nonetheless. Scott looked towards the cockpit and the pilot gave a quick thumbs up, indicating that conditions were ideal for a landing.
Moments later, after only a short bump and shudder, the plane came to a stop in the field. The pilot didn't kill the engine so he could take off all the quicker. Scott and Betty had grabbed their bags before the plane came to a halt and had the hatch open immediately after. Scott threw the bags out the door, then followed them to the ground before turning around to lift Betty from the plane. When they were clear, he gave the pilot a quick signal and with a jaunty salute, the pilot taxied the plane around and prepared for take off.
They watched as the plane ascended into the velvety black sky, the sound growing softer by the minute, each feeling an odd sense of isolation as their last contact with their own world and their true identities disappeared toward London. Scott sighed and looked in Betty's direction, though she was barely discernible in the surrounding gloom.
"Ready?" he asked her, his voice seeming unnaturally quiet after the constant mechanical buzz of the plane.
"En francais, s'il vous plait," Betty reminded him teasingly, knowing there wasn't a soul around to hear them for at least a mile.
With an ironic look, Scott repeated the word in French to which Betty replied, "Je suis pret."
Scott pulled a tiny torch from his pocket, the only light they were allowed, and used it to consult the map and compass which fit conveniently in the same pocket. He looked at them for only a moment before pointing off to his left.
"This way," he said, not forgetting that French was now his native tongue.
Obediently, Betty fell into step behind him, carrying the lighter of the two bags. Despite their relative certainty that no one had discovered their arrival, they rarely turned on the torch and kept conversation to a minimum. They stumbled along slowly through fields and trees in near total darkness, cloud cover far overhead dimming the moon and stars.
Betty's mind was lulled away from the dangerousness of their mission by the necessity of near-total concentration on her footing. The rest of her mind though, was free to wander to other thoughts. She could almost believe that she was on one of her family's annual camping trips - minus the cozy glow of the lantern, of course - on some sort of midnight mischief with her brothers. She thought of her family with a pang. She'd written regularly since coming to London, but they had no idea where she was or what she was doing now. In the past, she'd never done anything she couldn't be completely honest with her parents about - well, nothing major, anyway. This was different, however, and somehow Betty knew her parents would be proud if they knew what she was doing.
To pass the time, she went through their cover story again, not wanting fatigue to cause her mind to get sloppy. Her name was Juliette Boudin, wife for the last five years of Edouard Boudin, a vice president with the Swiss National Bank. Since their marriage, they had lived at 135 Rue de Lausanne and she was five months pregnant with their first child. She knew her parent's names and Edourard's parent's names, the names of the schools she had attended since she was a small child, as well as the names of the stores she frequented to buy their food, clothing and other necessary items.
Betty adjusted the jacket she wore with an amused smile. Every stitch of clothing they had on, right down to the underwear, was of Swiss manufacture. The items they carried in their bags, toiletries and extra changes of clothing, were the same. General Hopkins had left absolutely nothing up to chance, even searching their bags thoroughly before they left to find any stray items that a reasonably well-to-do couple from Geneva would be unlikely to own. Betty had to admit, she liked her new wardrobe, though some of the clothing appeared suitably worn for the sake of consistency. The clothes were simple, yet tasteful and of a better quality than they could have afforded in their real lives. Everything she had with her was exactly what the wife of a conservative bank vice president would take with her on vacation. Betty couldn't shake the feeling that they were both actors in an extremely well-costumed drama. If it wasn't for the sense of very real danger that she carried with her at all times, she wouldn't have believed it.
Scott came to a sudden halt. Betty had to catch herself so she didn't run him over.
"That's the train station up ahead," Scott indicated the well-lit building with a jerk of his head. "We should change our shoes here."
Betty nodded her agreement and bent to retrieve a pair of pumps from the bag she carried. They'd both worn boots for their overland trek and the change in footwear would help them blend in more easily with the train's passengers.
"Is the train here yet?" Betty asked with a grunt as she located a fallen log to sit on.
"Not yet. We made good time," Scott observed, struggling with his own shoes in the darkness.
Her task complete, Betty sat for a moment to catch her breath. Despite the relative closeness of the station, the area was quiet. Night birds and crickets called to each other and it was such a bucolically innocent setting that Betty wished they really were here on vacation. She'd always wanted to visit Europe, but had never imagined seeing it like this. Maybe after the war they'd see the world. Scott's wanderlust would appreciate that, she thought with a smile.
The sharp whistle of the train pierced through her musings and she sat up straighter as the mechanical chugging sound drew near.
"Ready?" Scott asked, looking over his shoulder from a crouched position near the opening of the thicket in which they were concealed.
"Ready," Betty answered, sounding confident as she pushed down a shiver of nerves.
Keeping low to the ground, they scurried across the open land separating them from the train station. The footing was more precarious than ever now that she wore heels and Betty stumbled several times, but managed not to wrench an ankle. They waited for a moment in the darkness, hearts pounding, pressed up against the side of the train furthest from the station. Scott peered around the corner, waiting for a larger flow of people to engulf the platform before they made their move. He looked back at her sharply and Betty knew the time had come.
Casually, they strolled around the end of the train and found themselves caught up in the noisy, confused swarm of disembarking passengers. Voices raised in French, German, and even English rained down upon them in a cacophony of sound that was deafening after the soothing quiet of the countryside where the only sound had been their breathing and the small rustlings of night creatures.
Betty clung tightly to Scott's hand so they wouldn't be separated in the throng and he maneuvered them successfully to a section of the platform that wasn't quite so crowded. They paused for a moment and looked around, appearing to be just another confused couple arriving at a strange train station and wondering where they should go next. They blinked owlishly in the bright lights, but no one had noticed them. No one shouted at them to stop or demanded to know where they'd come from. Scott grinned down at Betty. The first part of their mission was completed.
Since they were already carrying all of their baggage, they made their way towards a sign that read "Taxi". A line of automobiles greeted their eyes as they exited the station, the drivers lounging casually against their cars and smoking cigarettes as they waited for their next fares to come out of the station. The driver at the head of the line of cars jumped to attention as they came into view and, tossing his cigarette aside, made his way across the sidewalk toward them. He was young and tall with a warm complexion and a head of unruly black curls - and he was speaking rapid German.
They'd both been given a quick education in the language in England, just enough to get them by in a town where a dialect of German was the dominant language, but Betty didn't trust her abilities well enough to use it unless she had to. Someone from Geneva would generally be expected to communicate in French anyway, so Betty answered the driver in thatlanguage and to her relief the driver responded with a nod and easily continued in French.
"Would you like a taxi this evening?" he asked obsequiously, though his dark eyes sparkled and his smile held a hint of mischief. "I can guarantee that mine is the warmest and most comfortable in the city."
"Thank you, yes," Betty replied, exchanging an amused smile with Scott as she silently blessed the bilingual Swiss school system.
"And where will I have the pleasure of escorting you this evening?" he continued in the same manner as they made their way toward his waiting taxi.
"The Gauer Schweigerhof at Bahnhofplatz 11," Betty answered, giving the name and address of the hotel where a room had been arranged for them.
"Ahh, a charming and elegant establishment that has been renowned across the continent for years," the driver enthused. "Is this your first stay there?"
"Yes, it is," Betty didn't elaborate further as they climbed into the taxi, knowing the less information she divulged about herself, the better her chances were of not giving herself away. Scott nodded his approval, but kept his silence for the same reason.
The driver waited for further explanation, then shrugged unconcernedly when none came. Some people were simply unfriendly. From the look of them, they were rich and in his experience, the rich didn't normally talk with the hired help. They did tip, and that usually made up for snobbishness.
"Well, if you need someone to show you around the city, just call Gustav. Here, I'll give you my card." He half turned to pass a business card to the back seat. Scott leaned forward to accept it, nodding his thanks. "Here we are. The Gauer Schweigerhof, just as you requested."
He gave the fare and Scott dug the necessary francs out of his wallet, not forgetting a generous tip. They'd been given an almost embarrassingly large roll of Swiss francs from General Hopkins upon leaving London in order to play their roles to the full and the use of the money was at their discretion. Never one to feel too guilty about spending someone else's money, particularly the government's, Scott enjoyed the quick gleam of avarice that shone in Gustav's eyes before he turned to join Betty at the front door of the hotel. The driver was still calling after them to remember his name even as the doorman was closing the door behind them.
Betty's eyes widened at the opulence of the lobby. She'd rarely stayed in a hotel and never one as grand as this. Quickly, she quelled the desire to stare open-mouthed at her surroundings, knowing that Juliette Boudin would be accustomed to a setting such as this. She gazed around the room with cool assurance, taking Scott's arm when he offered it to her. Their bags had already been taken by a bellboy the doorman had summoned for them, so they made their way across the lobby to the front desk, gentlemen peering discreetly over their newspapers as they progressed across the room.
"May I help you, sir?" The man behind the desk was gray haired and elegant, his long fingers tapering to manicured nails. He watched Scott expectantly.
Scott coughed.
"I'm afraid my husband has a horrible sore throat and is unable to speak. It's quite distressing," Betty explained. "We are Edouard and Juliette Boudin."
The man politely nodded his understanding. "Ahh, yes, Mr. and Mrs. Boudin. We've been expecting you. Would you sign here please, sir?"
Scott took the pen and signed where indicated.
"And if I may be so bold, sir, perhaps you would care for a nice hot tea with lemon and honey for your throat. I'm sure our kitchen has just the thing for you. I can have room service bring it to you at a moment's notice," the clerk continued in the same polite vein.
"That is most kind of you. We'll be expecting it," Betty smiled warmly, but with just a touch of the superiority she knew Juliette would feel. They'd expected the hotel staff to be concerned for the health of their guests, so the suggestion wasn't a shock. So far, everything was going according to plan.
The clerk showed them to the lift though they were only going to the second floor. The ancient mechanism chugged along slowly and stopped with a jerk at the next floor. The bellboy preceeded them off the elevator, leading the way to their room. Once inside, he deposited their bags quickly and was on his way a moment after collecting his tip.
Scott and Betty heaved simultaneous sighs of relief, then laughed as they caught each other's eyes. For a brief moment, they were just Scott and Betty Sherwood of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and the release of tension was enormous, but the knock at the door soon had them playing their adopted roles again.
Scott quickly sat in a comfortably overstuffed armchair and hunched slightly, trying to look suitably ill. Betty ushered the server into the room and indicated that he should put the tea service on a low table near the chair. She tipped him and he was gone, as quickly and as silently as he'd entered. Betty double-checked to be sure the door was locked behind him, then sagged against it in relief.
Scott was already sitting up straighter, regarding her with an impish grin. He patted his lap invitingly and with a laugh, Betty crossed the room to join him in the chair.
"See, that wasn't so bad," Scott observed in French when she was snuggled next to him.
"No it wasn't, but your French is terrible," Betty teased him.
Scott was unperturbed by her criticism as he focused on her neck, kissing and nibbling until a throaty murmur escaped her lips.
"Hmmm, I think this tea is making me feel better already," Scott said, his voice soft and husky.
"You haven't even tried it," Betty protested with a low chuckle.
"I know, and yet I already feel cured. Betty," he began musingly, "maybe we should go into the bedroom."
"Very exciting," she murmured with a smile before finding his lips.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The sound was minute, but it wakened him nonetheless. Scott sat bolt upright in bed, his body rigid as every nerve strained to hear the sound again. He waited, hardly daring to breathe. The rattle came again, muted but very real. Betty stirred and slowly sat up, blinking in the gloom.
"What is it?" she asked sleepily. "Is something wrong?"
"Shh," Scott motioned for her to be quiet. The rattling started again. Definitely the door knob, he thought with a nod as he retrieved the gun he'd concealed under the mattress for quick access. Quickly, he moved off the bed and Betty scrambled after him. "I think someone's trying to get in the door," he told her in a hushed undertone.
Her eyes widened in fear. "What are we going to do?" she whispered, barely able to choke the words out around the tightness in her throat.
"I'm going out there. You're staying here. Take this." He gave her another gun he'd stashed in the nightstand next to the bed. "Get under the bed and stay there until I come back."
"But, Scott..."
He cut her protest off. "Just do as I say. That's an order, Sherwood." He spoke tersely, exactly as a commanding officer might speak to a rebellious private, but the fierce kiss he pressed to her lips immediately afterward was definitely not protocol, nor was the look he gave her when they parted. His hand passed warmly over her abdomen for the briefest of moments before he crept towards the bedroom door. He paused to watch as Betty followed his instructions by crawling under the bed. Satisfied that she was hidden, he eased open the door and moved stealthily out of the room. From her vantage point, she was able to see his feet until he left the room. She waited, holding her breath, her heart pounding so hard she was sure it would begin to thunder against the floorboards. The rattling stopped and the deafening silence surrounded her on all sides, threatening to crush her.
The door suddenly crashed open, it's ancient hinges squealing in protest. Betty jumped in fright, banging her head solidly against the bed frame. Tears swam painfully in her eyes and she blinked them away, straining to hear what was happening in the other room. The door swung shut and she heard it connect solidly with the jamb. Impatiently, she peered through the gloom into the adjacent room, her nerves screaming with tension as she waited to see if Scott would return.
His feet finally came into view, padding softly, but quickly into the bedroom.
"It's all right, Betty. You can come out now," he said, sounding weary but relieved. He gave her a hand to help her to her feet, then pulled her into his arms. "Are you all right?"
Betty nodded her head against his shoulder. "I'm fine."
"Yeah, that's why you're shaking like a leaf," he observed wryly.
"It's cold on the floor," she protested weakly, not wanting him to know how utterly terrified she'd been.
He chuckled softly, proud that she hadn't fallen apart in a dangerous situation. "That's okay. I'm a little shaky myself," he admitted ruefully.
"You know something? I'm not so sure I'm cut out for the spy lifestyle," Betty told him, a smile stealing to the corners of her mouth.
"Me either. Maybe after tomorrow we can retire to Tahiti," he joked.
"One more day," Betty reflected.
"Yeah, one more day," he echoed, praying they were right.
Far From Pittsburgh
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