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says the kid and the widow are absolutely reliable.”
    “It’s odd that she hasn’t gone back home,” Harris observed thoughtfully. “The American woman, I mean.”
    “Not so odd,” the major said significantly. “I’m told she wants to stay and work for Curel.”
    “Good for her,” Harris said softly, not looking at Forrest, who seconded the sentiment in silence.
    “I know I’m throwing a lot at you,” the major went on, “but all this must be done quickly. You’ll be going immediately to Parris Island for instruction in French. I know you had it in school, but you need to be fluent, conversant with the local idiom of the Paris region. You’ll also receive further training in blind jumping at night, and a crash course in demolitions.” For the first time Forrest’s serious demeanor relaxed. “You, my boy, and this gutsy bunch of Frenchies are going to blow that factory sky high.”
    Harris grinned widely. “Yes, sir!”
    Forrest permitted himself to smile back. “You’ll be on your own, son,” he warned again. “Officially we’re not in this war yet. If you’re caught we’ll deny any knowledge of your existence. We’ll have to, do you understand that?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “All right, Dan. Get your things together. You’ll be moving out today, your language course starts tonight. The Duclos woman will translate for you once you get there, but if you’re stopped en route you have to sound enough like a native to pass, so get on it.”
    “I will, sir.” Harris rose, eager to begin, and Forrest shook his hand again.
    “Good luck, Captain, and Godspeed. As you said, today it’s the French, tomorrow it could be us. I know you’ll do the Corps proud.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    As Harris left the commander’s office, he found it difficult to control his exhilaration. He was finally going on a real mission with a real goal.
    He couldn’t wait.
    He was back at the barracks, stowing the last of his effects in his duffel bag, when Gamble sauntered up and watched him in silence for a few moments before saying, “So you’re going.”
    “Yup,” Harris replied, tossing him a half empty carton of cigarettes. “You might as well keep those,” he said to the other man. “I have enough.”
    Gamble shook his head. “I knew they’d pick you.”
    Harris half smiled. “Oh, yeah? And how did you know that?”
    “You have it. Whatever it is they’re looking for, you have it, and they know it. Even I know it.”
    Harris snorted. “You’ve been getting too much sun in this burg, Gamble. You’re babbling.”
    “Do you always get what you want?” Gamble asked, ignoring him.
    “Not always,” Harris replied. Then he added thoughtfully, “But usually.”
    Gamble had to laugh.
    “Well, good luck, chump. Better you than me.”
    Harris said goodbye and walked out to the jeep that was waiting to take him off the base. Gamble shrugged philosophically and sat down on the empty bunk to smoke one of Harris’ cigarettes.
    Wherever they were sending Harris, whatever happened to him, he would survive. And survive in style. The guy led a charmed life.  

 
    Chapter 3
     
    On the other side of the Atlantic, Lysette Remy was standing behind her desk in the library of L’Ecole Ste. Pierre when Colonel Becker entered without warning, Kurt Hesse hurrying in his wake. She realized that the German commandant was about to conduct his inspection, and she watched, frozen, as Becker strode up to the bank of low shelves which separated her cubbyhole from the rest of the room.
    He was in full uniform, and he faced her with one hand on his hip, his greatcoat draped through the crook of his arm, in the formal posture he’d been taught at the academy. He was an imposing figure, and she remained immobile as he said curtly, in French, “Have I your permission to examine the contents of this room?”
    She nodded once, wondering irrelevantly what would happen if she refused him. His request was just a formality, of course,