March 25, 1942

It was an invasion in its own right. They never stood a chance once the Nazis came marching down the streets, pounding on doors, pulling people from their homes, and swiftly going from persecution to genocide. It should have terrified her, but it didn't. She was always thinking of ways to stay ahead of the game. Even when they stormed up to her front door and pounded on it, demanding entry, she kept an impassive attitude.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" She asked from her doorway in her beautiful native language. She practically purred the words at them, leaning against the alabaster stone that made up the exterior of her luxurious home in Paris. A cigarette dangled from her painted red lips that upturned into a small smile, polite and enticing, as the group of a dozen or so soldiers stood on her porch.

"We need to search your home, by order of the Führer." The one in front claimed in English. Likely not trained in many languages. She guessed they only spoke theirs and English. He was a ratlike little man with lack of facial hair. His white blonde hair rivaled her own, though hers was immensely more well kept. Hers was down in pincurls, framing her face and adding contrast to her blue eyes that made them gleam brightly under her black lashes she had painted that morning.

She deliberately took her time to respond, pushing up her bust as she took a deep drag and let it blow over the men. "By all means." She opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter. Her skintight maroon dress hung loosely off her shoulders, plunging low, almost as low as the eyes of the passing soldiers that raked over her as they barged inside. The shuffling of guns and boots echoed throughout the foyer. "You'll be either delighted or disappointed to know that I don't get involved in politics. That includes concerning myself with enemies of the state. You're welcome to look around," she took a seat, crossing her legs so that her dress slipped up to reveal her milky thighs while she smoked, "but I'm afraid you won't find anything of interest unless you have a fetish for art." She gestured to her walls where nude portraits hung around her. "I posed for those myself." She smirked.

A few of the men gulped, looking nervously down at their boots while the others did their best to conduct a search without looking at her. "I'll need to see your papers." The one who had announced the search commanded.

"Of course." She nodded happily. "I keep them upstairs in my room."

The soldier waved for her to show him the way, to which she obliged with swaying hips. She made sure to lead the way, leaving the soldier to trail behind her and undoubtedly fixated on her backside. She continued to smoke up the curved staircase, her nude kitten heels clicking neatly in her wake. "I don't normally bring men up to my bedroom on such short notice." She cooed once they reached the door. The soldier remained stoic, but she could visibly see the sweat on his brow. "Forgive me, if its a bit of a mess. My previous maid was Jewish and I was forced to turn her into the proper authorities. Its been difficult to find a good housekeeper since." She opened the door to an immaculately kept room. Neutral earthy tones from floor to ceiling, save for the red accents in the form of throw pillows and fresh roses from her garden. Her bed was large and draped in ivory silk sheets that shimmered in the artificial light.

"So you've housed Jews here?" He checked in an accent so thick she had to strain to decipher the words. She was fluent in German though, among many other languages that landed her the career she held.

"I've house a Jew." She corrected, crossing the room to her dresser and opening her drawer that stored all of her intimate garments. "Liza Rosenberg. I'm sure you'll find records of her arrest somewhere should you feel inclined to look. She was excellent at making the bed sheets fit so tight." She emphasized her statement by bending over the bed and tugging at her loose fitting sheets. "I can't do it like she did." She peered over her shoulder at the soldier and was pleased to see her work was going smoothly. He wasn't looking at her face any longer. His eyes were glued to her backside. The way her dress was cut out with her back exposed, resting just above her buttocks. It was almost too easy.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He fumbled over his words.

She hummed, taking a seat on the end of her bed and motioned for him to search her drawers, knowing she wasn't allowed to dip her hands inside without being deemed a threat. "You'll find my papers in there." She winked at him as he took in the sight of her panties. "They won't bite, I assure you."

The soldier cleared his throat uncomfortably before plunging his left hand inside the drawer and pulling out her silver case that held her identification, or at least the one that her superiors gave her. "Genevieve Blondeau? Twenty-four years old," his eyes flitted up to her as he sized her up, "and-"

Genevieve waved her hand dismissively. "No need to read it aloud." She giggled. "I may be confident," she pointed to the enormous portrait of her in black lingerie, with tall ebony heels, hanging over her bed, "but no woman needs a reminder of their age and weight."

The soldier snapped her case shut, tossing it back in her drawer. "My apologies, Ms. Blondeau." He stood straight, bowing his head slightly. "It states that your occupation is modeling." She nodded at her walls, illustrating the claim. "If you don't mind my asking, do you live alone?"

She raised one golden brow, sensing where the soldier was heading and hoping it didn't come down to an assault. It was common knowledge of how the soldiers occupied their time in Paris with the local women that lived alone. Nothing fueled her more than when a mission became personal with the promise of revenge however, should they include her in their conquests. "I'm afraid I do, at the moment." She sighed heavily, and turned her head to force a fake sob that she quickly covered by taking another drag of her cigarette. "It gets so lonely in this big house. My parents have both passed away, you see, and so it was left to me just last June. All of the housekeeping has fallen on my shoulders, and I feel so filthy doing the help's work." She jumped to her feet in a huff and smoothed down her dress. "Forgive me, I can be a bit emotional at times."

The soldier shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Ms. Blondeau. Perhaps I can be of some assistance to you." He suggested and she was pleased to hear the presence of nerves in his voice.

"All clear." A voice made the soldier jump from behind him.

"Damn it, Private!" He shouted, trying to hide his scare by reprimanding his inferior.

Genevieve smoked calmly, resting one hand on her curvy hip as she eyed their interaction curiously. "As I said, nothing here." She shrugged and walked between the two, excusing herself back down the stairs. She hummed in annoyance at the dirty footprints left behind by the soldiers all over her white stairs and floors. She would need to clean that up or it would bug her all afternoon.

A row of soldiers were gawking at her portraits and whispering to each other animatedly, no doubt making perverted jests at her expense and proudly announcing to one another what they would like to do with her. "Admiring my work, gentlemen?" She rested her frame against the wall. The four men snapped to attention at her presence and stumbled over excuses. "Its quite alright. If I was shy, I wouldn't have posed for three days while Wilhem Sauter painted every part of my body onto canvas." She let that sink in, waiting for their reaction.

"Wilhelm Sauter?" One gaped.

"You were painted by Wilhelm Sauter?" Another soldier's eyes threatened to pop out of his head as he gawked at her.

"Oui. His signature is just there in the bottom corner. It was a drunken dare in the beginning. See if he could paint something other than war depictions and soldiers." She stepped in between the men and let her fingers glide over the painted curves of her body, resting between her legs where a golden tuft of hair was visible. "You'll have to take my word for it that he captured my likeness rather expertly. Incredible, as though I was looking in a mirror. Sometimes I like to lay there," she pointed her burning cigarette at the sofa placed in the center of the room in front of the fireplace, "have a smoke alone and stare at these, trying to find some sort of difference, a mistake that he may have inadvertently made, but alas, his work is without flaw."

She saw a soldier awkwardly turn around, avoiding facing her. "Let's go. There is nothing here." Barked the voice of the soldier that had raided her pantie drawer. The men scrambled over one another to leave.

"I bid you adieu, Ms. Blondeau." The soldier tipped his hat to her. "You may have a followup with our superior, Colonel Roemheld, within the week. Purely routine." He explained.

Genevieve nodded with a smile. "But of course." She agreed. "Anything I can do to help. Perhaps your colonel enjoys art." She quipped and relished in the way the soldier averted his eyes from the paintings of her body. "Safe travels, Monsieur...?" She paused, cigarette pointing in his direction.

The soldier clicked his feet together and stood tall. "Sergeant Hugo Schmiltz" He introduced himself with great pride.

"Well it has been an absolute pleasure." She graciously walked him to the door. "Would it be too much trouble to call first next time? I understand it isn't protocol, but you see, I am accustomed to ample time to myself. It is very rarely I walk about in clothing within my home when the weather is so pleasant, and I would be quite embarrassed should an army of Germans catch me in an improper position." She batted her lashes at the sergeant and watched the little lump in his throat bob up and down, trying to swallow his responses no doubt.

"I will see if that can be arranged, Ms. Blondeau. Though I can't imagine a single position you could possibly be in that would be unflattering to you." There it was. The first remark of many more to come that would label her a ditsy whore rather than a threat. A role she played to perfection.

She giggled and gently swatted his chest. "You're too kind, Sergeant. Do you have a wife back home?"

He nodded slowly, clearly not wanting to admit that he was married. "I do."

"Pity." Genevieve sighed. "She's a lucky woman." She lied sweetly. It wasn't a complete untruth. The woman was likely set up quite well with a sergeant for a husband. His light hair and bright eyes, coupled with an adorable discomfort regarding direct eye contact, made him appear almost kind. But he was working for a mass murderer, and this was a detail that she could not overlook. He would be added to her list.

He laughed nervously, the first laugh she'd heard from a German since she had arrived in occupied Paris. "Thank you, mademoiselle. I take that as high praise from you."

"As well you should." She insisted. "And please, call me Genevieve. I assume you and your men will be here for some time. Enough time to lose the formalities, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course. Genevieve, then." He agreed happily and stepped onto the porch. "Have a pleasant rest of your day."

"You as well, Hugo. Goodbye boys! Au revoir!" She called over him and gave the soldiers a wave that they readily returned a bit too enthusiastically. She shut the door and put out her cigarette. The first, of what would undoubtedly be many, visits from German officers. Her home was big enough to accommodate an army of men, and if all went well, she would lure a few of them in. She pulled at her pincurls as she looked in the hall mirror.

She waited a few moments until the Germans were out of sight down her driveway before going back into the lounge. She stepped back over to the sofa and pulled the cushions off, taking the thick boards up and smiling down at the three girls below. "It's safe to come out now." The three girls carefully unfolded themselves from around each other as they climbed out of the space. "Chloe mentioned that one of you is with child?" Genevieve looked them over. They were all dangerously thin. Their cheeks were sallowed in and their eyes seemed sunken and hollow with dark circles below. She reached out and gingerly touched the girl's hair that stood in front of her.

"I am pregnant." The last girl to climb out claimed.

Genevieve turned to her, looking first to her small bump and then to her forlorn expression. "And what is your name?"

"Alina." She said in a strained voice.

"And you two?"

"Odaya and Alice." The first to climb out gestured between the two respectively.

Genevieve beamed at the three of them, her first rescues of her stay in Paris. "Well, my lovlies, you are free now." The girls exchanged wear glances. "You need no longer fear the Nazis." She went around them to her fireplace and pulled at the stone in the very center of the hearth. It came loose with a soft popping sound to reveal a small keypad beneath. She typed in her code, 2535, and stepped back. The hearth and mantle shifted, the fire still crackling away as always, until it opened a hole in the floor wide enough for two men to walk abreast. It was dark at first until rows of florescent lights began to flicker within. "Simply follow the lights all the way to the end of the corridor. There will be a team waiting for your arrival that will escort you safely out of occupied Paris." Odaya and Alice wasted no time, stumbling over their feet as they scrambled to climb down the stairs to freedom. "Now you, Alina." She turned back to help the girl down.

Alina sniffled, her hands wrapped around her growing belly. "Thank you." She sobbed, not lifting her head. "Thank you. You saved my baby." She cried, not moving towards the stairs.

Genevieve simpered with sympathy for the young mother. She couldn't have been more than thirteen. "Is there a father that you'd like me to send word to?" She asked.

The girl shook her head fervently. "No!" She sniffed. "My baby has no father."

Genevieve straightened, knowing fully well what she meant by that. Chloe operated in a different location in Paris. A brothel filled with Jews and French alike. Some went willingly, others were taken from their homes and forced to entertain the soldiers during their occupation. She rubbed Alina's arm affectionately and gently lead her over to the hidden door. "All that is behind you now." She murmured into the girl's ratty brown hair.

"Thank you." Alina cried, lowering herself down. Genevieve waited for them to disappear down the corridor before typing in her code backwards to shut the entrance. The fire slipped back over the stones, everything sliding silently into place as the Jewish girls were safely enclosed beneath.

The first step was over, now it was time for the second. A car would be pulling up within the hour to chauffeur her into town where she would be forced to attend her first Nazi ball being held in honor of the Führer's arrival.  According to her sources, he was in Paris to observe the German occupation, and visit the camps set up. It made bile rise in the back of her throat to think of putting on a smile around all those monsters, but she was good at it. Perfect at facades. That's what made her the most formidable spy at the American's disposal.