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Luftwaffe, perhaps? The factory is fenced and patrolled by guards. No one can get near it without arousing suspicion.”
    I stare at my lap, straining to hear Pierre say, “Any disruption must look like an accident or else there will be reprisals against the townspeople. We’d need blueprints of the factory to locate the building’s access points. This might prove too difficult and time consuming to arrange. Perhaps we should scrap the whole thing.”
    “I don’t think we should give up on this. What if we sent someone to scout out the factory first?” His voice grows louder and clearer. I don’t have to look up to know he’s facing me. “Someone like her?”
    “Marcus, you’re crazy.”
    “Think about it. It makes perfect sense.”
    “Look at her. She’s a girl. And a small one at that.”
    “Exactly,” Marcus says, drawing the word out to make his point. “No one would ever suspect her of spying on the factory. It’s perfect.”
    “It’s dangerous is what it is. Too dangerous.”
    “But it isn’t,” Marcus insists. “Who are the guards more likely to ignore? A girl like her? Or men like us?”
    “Marcus, no. We’ll figure out another way to sabotage the factory. Besides, we don’t know how much time we have left. Couldbe weeks, could be months. The girl has orders to report to Paris, and we may never see her again. We can’t rely on her for something this important. If we don’t take these matters seriously, we will fail. Let the girl ride away on her bicycle.”
    I set my hands on the backboard of the cart. My teeth clench. I dare him to call me a girl. Just once more.
    “Taking our country back is a job for men,” Pierre says. “Not for girls.”
    I push off. My skirt flutters away from my legs as I drop and plant my feet firmly on the ground.
    “I’ll do it.”

FIVE
     
    Marcus lets out a whoop. “Did you hear that, Pierre? She’ll spy on the factory.”
    “I heard, yes.” To me, he says forcefully, “You have not received any details, and yet you have already agreed? You don’t know the risks involved. You don’t even know where the factory is located. Don’t you think you’re being a little hasty?”
    Hasty? Yes, more than a little so. My mouth loves to get me into trouble.
    “It doesn’t matter where the factory is,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
    Pierre shakes his head and holds out his hand to Marcus. “Let me have the map.”
    Marcus digs a crumpled square of silk from his pocket, grinning. I get the feeling things like this don’t often go his way.
    Pierre stretches the map across the cart backboard. “The factory is here.” His finger jabs a patch of silk. “It is five kilometers south of that village.”
    Those directions aren’t specific enough. I fish out the notebook and pencil the SOE supplied me with and eagerly flip to the first page. “Aren’t you going to give me the coordinates?”
    He sighs but gives me the numbers, which I scribble down.
    “Thank you,” I say. “Is there anything else I should know?”
    “Take notes and report back to me.”
    For such an important sabotage mission, those are suspiciously lean instructions.
    “How often should I report back to you?”
    He turns away, shrugging. “Oh, I don’t know. Whenever you’re able.”
    I angrily cram the notebook into my pocket, knowing he only agreed to let me spy on the factory to shut me up. He doesn’t expect me to report back. He expects me to ride away on my bicycle, never to be heard from again.
    I’ll show him. I’ll do a better job than any of his men ever could.
    After we return to the farm, Denise and I polish off a breakfast of hot porridge and warm milk straight from the cow.
    Madame LaRoche sets two cups of steaming coffee on the table, one for me and the other for Denise.
    “Fantastic,” Denise says, and she greedily fills her mouth. Her cheeks bulge. Widening eyes send me a frantic plea for help.
    “I should have warned you—” Madame LaRoche begins.
    Denise plugs