April 3, 1942

It had been almost a week since the colonel had closed the investigation against her. She was grateful for the peace, though it came at a price. The puppy he had bestowed upon her whined throughout the night and constantly needed to go out. It was difficult to think, let alone plot, while she was running up and down the stairs cleaning up accidents and taking it for walks.

She had named him Waltz, after her favorite dance. One she would make a point to dancing in celebration upon her retirement. "How about a walk into town, mon cheri?" The pup wagged his tail eagerly at the promise of a walk. She grabbed the black leather leash she had bought for him and hooked it to his matching collar.

The puppy yapped happily, towing behind her out the door and down the driveway. She had opted for a simple red dress with short sleeves and a thin black belt around her dainty waist. Transparent black pantyhose were slipped over her pale legs and paired with a pair of satin black kitten heels. The sun was shining brightly on the warm spring morning, so she grabbed a large floppy black hat to keep her face out of it. The pup was surprisingly good on a leash and stayed beside her without needing to be scolded once. The colonel had clearly had pick of the litter when he gave him to her. It was oddly kind of him, and she didn't trust it for a second, but it did give her some security at night.

Waltz would bark at every sound outside the window, and she was sure he would do the same for any soldiers lurking about. It was just over a fifteen minute walk to the nearest café. She had brought a copy of La Fin de Cheri in her purse. There was a good six hours until curfew began so she was confident she had all the time in the world to get some fresh air and run the puppy out of energy.

A tiny bell chimed as she entered the café, and she was pleased to see one of the dark haired waiters working behind the counter. He smiled at her and welcomed her to the Shoppe. "What can I get for you today, mademoiselle?"

"I can't decide." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, staring at the menu.

The man waited patiently for her order, but she saw the way his face changed into a look of surprise. "Why don't you try the strudel?"

She didn't need to turn around to know who was standing behind her. "Of course, Standartenfuhrer." The man disappeared into the back to grab her pastry.

"If I didn't know any better I would say you're stalking me, Colonel." She turned to face him. He was dressed in his uniform, as always. The glossy black boots were void of any dirt despite being worn daily. He kept himself clean. She could see a hint of golden stubble along his jaw and over his upper lip. She wondered briefly what it would look like if he decided to grow it out.

"On my honor, fraulein, I was simply having a smoke across the street and saw you enter. And the little one, of course." He bent down to rustle the dog's fur. "Has he got a name now?"

"Waltz."

"Waltz?" The puppy wagged his tail at the sound of his name. "Interesting choice. Any particular reason why?" He rose back to a stand, his tall build hovering over a head taller than her.

"I'm quite fond of the dance, as I am the dog." This seemed to please him. He beamed at her as the man came back with her strudel and a napkin.

"Merci." She thanked him and made to leave. The colonel was left standing as she walked outside to one of the many outdoor tables. She tied the dog to her the leg of her chair and lit up a cigarette, pulling out her book and setting the pastry to the side.

"May I join you?" The colonel piped up from behind. She glanced around to see German troops staring in their direction along with half of the French people that were out and about that afternoon.

"Oui." She consented, as if she had any say in it. The colonel pulled out the chair in front of her and took his seat.

"I'm glad to see you and the dog are getting along well." He gestured at the pup curled around the base of her chair.

She stared at the colonel, enjoying her smoke. She peeked down at Waltz and used the toe of her shoes to massage him gently. "He is good company. Though he seems to be just as high maintenance as me."

This made the colonel's smile reach his eyes. "Perhaps I will send you another gift that could help with that."

"That won't be necessary. You've sent enough gifts as it is." She blew smoke to the side.

He laughed so harsh that it made her jump, not expecting it. "That sounded almost as if you were denying a gift from the Führer."

Genevieve's jaw dropped at the accusation. That was dangerous. She quickly tapped her ash, straightening her posture in her chair. "No, no you misunderstand I-"

"Because everything that the Führer decrees, goes through Himmler, goes through me. So if you deny me, you are denying the Führer himself." His expression shifted into something from her nightmares. His smile had faded so quickly that she had missed the process. All that remained was a cold glare that burrowed into the very depths of her soul. Suddenly, he broke into a laugh filled with humor. "Joking, only joking, fraulein. I know what you meant. But I assure you, I rather enjoy gifting you things. The first gift was necessary to make up for my lack of manners, the second was merely to see you smile. I might add that I succeeded in that." He grinned at her proudly. "I would like this next gift to be just that, a gift. It will arrive in the morning."

"I-" The colonel raised a brow, waiting for her response. "Merci." She settled on a generic response so as not to upset him.

"It is my pleasure, mademoiselle." He stood up and pushed in his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to in another neighborhood. Enjoy your strudel, I look forward to hearing your verdict." He bowed.

"Au revoir, Colonel Roemheld." He paused beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I thought we were past such formalities, fraulein." He gave her shoulder a slight squeeze to emphasize his words.

"Nicolas." She felt disgusted to say his name. His hand traveled from her shoulder down to her fingers and raised them to press a chaste kiss to the underside. He smiled and placed her hand back down with a gentle pat, petting the pup one last time, and then took his leave.

It was exhausting being so close to him so often. He sucked all of the energy and fake smiles out of her so quickly that she feared she would run out and show her true nature. Of course she wouldn't. She was well trained by her order to show just enough to pass for an average woman, but not enough to get herself killed when her cover was blown.

She opened her book and flipped through the pages to find her red feather marker she put inside. The smoke curled around her and floated away while she read. Waltz snored softly at her feet all the while. She didn't look at the words so much as let her eyes glaze over them. Instead, her attention was focused on the group of Nazis conversing at the table adjacent to her. Every so often she would turn the page to keep up with appearances while keying into their German banter.

"We aren't going to make it on time if we stay here." One said quietly.

"Come off it, Gunther. Let me finish my meal."

"We were given direct orders to be at district eleven in one hour. We need to get going or Colonel Roemheld will-"

Her ears perked at the name. "Quiet idiot! We aren't supposed to talk about it."

"Who is listening? Everyone here is rich or famous. They don't give two shits what happens in the lower class sectors."

"You'll be quiet because you were ordered to be quiet. Piss off the colonel and he'll shoot you in the street with the Jews."

"Seriously, we need to leave now. I'll buy you food when we get to the district."

"From where? They don't have any food. We took it all, already." The four men joined each other in a hearty laugh at the expense of the Jews and the French that were unfortunate to live in district eleven.

They got up a few minutes later, leaving a rather large mess over the table and chairs. Pigs. The dark haired man came out with a rag and bucket. "Pardon me, Mr...."

The man smiled warmly and hung the rag over his shoulder. "Benito Vincelli." He introduced himself, and she had no doubt he was neither named Benito, nor was he Italian.

"Monsieur Benito." She smiled sweetly up at him. "I seem to be in need of a dog sitter and I haven't the foggiest idea where to find one. How would you like to make some extra tips today?"

"Oh, mademoiselle, I couldn't possibly accept any money from you. My cousin, Loreno is in the back. He loves animals and he's off work today, perhaps I can bring the little doggy to him for as long as you need." What she needed was to be able to come right out and tell him that she was following the Germans and needed to go now, but neither of them could pull that off. So they did the dance of organizing a ploy that any passerby wouldn't think twice about should they hear it.

"Such good service here. I can't thank you enough for the favor." She shut her book and stubbed her cigarette on her strudel that remained untouched. Upon rising, she handed Waltz's leash over to Benito and bid him adieu.

She walked a bit farther down the street until she came to Cafe du Soleil Rouge. Fresh baked pies permeated the air and she inhaled the sweet scent of cooked fruits and pastry dough. It was far more appealing than the small cafe she had came from. There was only two soldiers inside. They were laughing over an espresso in front of the large window that overlooked the street. She clicked her heels neatly on her way inside and barely touched the door when one of the soldiers jumped up and opened it for her. "Allow me, fraulein." He spoke in German.

Genevieve smiled graciously and stepped inside, placing a single hand over his breast and looking up at him. "You are too kind, soldier. Merci."

The soldier furrowed his brows and cast a wary glance at his friend who laughed. "I'm afraid we don't speak French. Above our pay." He called from the table.

Genevieve nodded with a knowing expression before switching to their language. "I was just thanking you for being so kind. Its nice to see that chivalry isn't dead."

"No, fraulein. As long as beautiful women like you walk by, there will always be men like me holding doors." She fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead opted for swatting him playfully.

"You flatter me, soldier." She turned her heels and the soldier took her hint, returning to his table. There was an army of people running the cafe and she had no doubt that each and every one of them was working for the same order that she was.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle." She saw a young woman in a stained apron approach her. "Your order is ready to be picked up. A dozen of our best lemon tarts. Come, come." She ushered her towards the back and not a single customer seemed suspicious. Once the swinging doors closed behind them, the girl dropped the facade and threw off her apron. "Take these." She handed her a case of lemon tarts. "Do you need anything at all? Food, supplies, a diversion?"

"No, nothing like that." Genevieve let the English roll off her tongue, lacing it with her beautiful French accent. "I was just at the cafe down the street and overheard some of the soldiers talking secretively about going to district eleven."

"District eleven? We haven't heard anything about this." The girl turned and shouted to a busboy with an arm full of dishes. "Emmanuel, have you heard anything about district eleven?"

"Eleven? No. I heard about twenty. Huge execution in the streets. About fifty Jews, give or take." He scratched his clean shaven chin and shrugged. "Can't recall hearing anything about eleven."

"This just happened. Forgive me, but there is really no time to explain. I need a car, a driver, and an excuse to travel to district eleven." She clutched the tarts in her hands, wondering if they were real. Of course they would be though. How would it look if she walked down the street and ran into some German prick that tried to take one and bit into a fake pastry? It would certainly give them enough cause to bring her in for questioning. A woman from the hillside snooping around Bastille with a dozen fake tarts. She would be lucky if she didn't end up shot on the spot.

The woman nodded. "You go, Emmanuel, I'll stay. You can go around the back door and get the Delahaye from the warehouse and pull it out into the alley. You can have something to drink while you're waiting and I'll slip you the bill once he's ready. We have a safe house in Bastille with an elderly couple living there. You'll visit them under the pretext of being old friends of your parents. Are we clear?" She loved how quickly it all came together. Emmanuel was already gone, out the door.

"Merci." She smiled and took the box of pastries back out of the swinging doors. "Pardon, mademoiselle, but could I trouble you for an espresso?" The waitress went to the machine and began to work on her order, sliding milk and sugar over the counter for her. "Merci."

She sipped at her espresso, hoping Emmanuel would not be much longer. Before her cup was empty, the girl from before slipped her the bill. Genevieve reached in her purse and put a few coins on the counter and took the tarts out the door. She walked down the street and turned left at the next corner, not wanting to just walk down an alleyway outright. She followed it to the alley, pretended to look confused and turned around, and then headed down the alley to the parked black car awaiting her. Emmanuel stepped out, a complete turn from his filthy garb back at the cafe. Now he sported a blacked out informal suit and hat and held the door open for her with a tight lipped smile on his face. He was a burly man, one she would hate to cross paths with should he ever switch sides. His eyes looked like they had been smudged with makeup but it was only the telltale signs of the lack of sleep one got while working for their order.

She slipped inside and he gently shut the door for her. "Where to?" He queried once he had taken his place behind the wheel.

"Bastille, if you please. I need to pay a visit to some old friends." They both smiled knowingly as he pulled out. There were checkpoints set up outside each district that they easily passed by. A few of them didn't even require her t show her papers once she rolled down her window.

"Fraulein! Look it is her! Genevieve Blondeau!" The soldier at the checkpoint waved his friends over and they all gawked over her.

"Hello boys!" She waved daintily with her fingertips.

"Go right ahead. Let them through! You know," the soldier leaned his arms over the window and smirked at her, "I have some of your pinups in my room. Every man here has a puppy love for you, fraulein."

"Ah, but that is why I do what I do. Brave soldiers like yourselves deserve to see a little light during all this war." He snorted laughter and waved them through the gate as she blew a kiss to them. "Too easy." Her driver snickered.

They arrived at the checkpoint set up just outside of District 11 and met a similar setup as the previous ones. The man at this checkpoint was a deal older and higher in rank. "No one is to enter this district today. You'll have to turn around." He gruffly told Emmanuel.

Genevieve rolled down her window and smiled at the surprised look on the man's face. "Excuse me, Captain, I don't wish to be any trouble."

"Fraulein, I regret to inform you that whatever brings you to District 11 today will have to wait. I have been ordered by Colonel Nicolas Roemheld not to let anyone out or in for the remainder of the day."

"Whatever for?" She pouted at the news, laying her head along the window.

The captain cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I can't say. Classified."

She accepted the challenge, but could see Emmanuel beginning to squirm beneath his driver's cap. "Captain...?"

"Detlef."

She smiled coyly. "Captain Detlef. I'm sure the colonel has good reasoning for tight borders, but I assure you, my business here won't cause any trouble. I only have a few hours until curfew, and I do not intend to stay out past it. My parents very dear old friends live here in Bastille and I had called them earlier in the day to arrange a visit. They are getting very old, you see, and I don't wish for them to worry about me should I not arrive when I said I would."

The captain shifted uncomfortably. "I am under orders-"

"Did I mention that the good colonel and I have met? I'm sure that it would please him to know that I was not held up or given any trouble during my daily activities. Handsome man, is he not?" This seemed to spark something in him. Just a few hints sprinkled over the top was all the captain needed to here.

"I think we can arrange to let you through. But I must insist that you take the roads through the city and stay out of the undesirable lower class areas. Bad apples around there." She smile widely at him and reached out, grasping his clammy hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

"Merci!" She thank him and Emmanuel pulled away before she could let go. She rolled her window up and huffed out a sigh. "They are all just idiots following orders."

Emmanuel pulled up to the safe house and got out to play the part of her driver as best he could. "Shall I wait?" She gave him a shake of her head and blew him a kiss before he pulled off, likely to another safe house so he didn't have to cross the checkpoints without her in the back.

Genevieve took in the exterior of the pastel blue townhouse, clutching the box of lemon tarts in her hands. A few planter boxes hung outside of windows and allowed green tendrils of ivy to curls and wind down the walls. It would surely take years off the home's life, but it was beautiful while it would last. She took the four steps up to the door and knocked twice in quick succession pausing briefly and then repeating.

The door swung open and she was met with an elderly couple who beamed at her in their doorway. "Genevieve! My darling, it has been so long. It was so nice to get your call, and you've brought us a treat. Come in, come in." The woman lead her inside after kissing her cheeks and taking the pastries from her hands. As soon as the door shut she was lead into the front room where a radio was playing classical music.

"How long will you be staying?" The man asked.

"I'll be gone before morning." Genevieve searched the room for any secrets and was met with the old woman laughing.

"You won't find anything. Here, let me show you. Just got it installed this week by the order." The order. It was never referred to by its official title lest someone be dropping eaves. She went to the radio and turned it off. It clicked once more, past the usual limit of the dial, and she watched as a door opened. It blended in seamlessly with the wooden planks on the floor. Each had been carefully laid individually so that any cracks would seem as though they belonged there.

It was blatantly placed in the middle of the floor, hidden in the open void of any rug over the top to conceal it. It was perfect. The Germans would never find it. Each safe house in Paris was connected by a series of underground tunnels below each of them. She had yet to use hers in her own home, located below her cellar behind a shelf of imported wine.

The old woman turned the dial back to its off setting and the door shut without so much as a click. It was impressively silent, clearly built for last minute closures should there be a pounding on the door. "There is a sensor within that will shut the door once your inside, and radio devices so you can hear if anyone is inside before you come back."

"Impressive. Has the house ever been searched?"

The old man scoffed with loathing. "Several times. Been thrown around and then some." He pointed to a purple bruise with a cut in the middle of healing just above his right eyebrow.

Genevieve clucked her tongue, feeling horrible for the old man. She gingerly brushed a finger over his wound. "Their time will come."

They nodded in agreement. "So." Genevieve clapped her hands and set her purse on the coffee table. "There has been a new development and I believe it will directly relate to Operation Achilles Heel. I may need some supplies. Discreet supplies. And I won't return here if all goes well."

The old woman grinned and walked away, heading upstairs. "I think you'll be happy with the new issues we received last week when the order installed that door."

"Weapons?"

"Oui. Just wait and see." She like his confidence. It made her anticipate the new issued weapons all the more. It seemed like only a few moments had passed before she heard the footsteps descending the stairs and the old woman reappeared.

"Small enough to fit a few in your purse. How is your memory?"

"Photographic." She boasted to the woman's delight.

"Excellent. Here you are." She deposited three tubes of lipstick into her waiting hands. "The red, which we are told is your signature color, is real lipstick. I would suggest not licking your lips, or eating, or drinking for that matter while you wear it. It's poisonous. One kiss will kill a grown man in a few hours. It will look as though he took ill and nothing can possibly be traced back to you."

"I think this may just be my favorite invention yet." She turned the black tube with the red sticker on the bottom over in her hand. She could think of dozens of men she could use it on right off the bat. "And what of these two?"

"Ah," the woman pointed to the black tube with a pink sticker, "this one isn't poisonous, but it isn't lipstick either. Just crushed, creamy pigments formed around a lock pick should you ever need one. The nude is similar in the sense that it looks like cosmetics, but there is one bullet inside. If you simply roll the lipstick up to its full extent, and then hit it against your target, it will fire. I have plenty of them, so please come back if you ever need to re-up your stash."

"This is incredible. How very modern of the order to invent these." She took a step back to where she left her purse and stuffed them inside, eager to use the red the next chance she got. Watching the life fade from a Nazi's eyes after he thought he could get lucky would be the pièce de réstistance.

"Oh!" The old woman put a hand to her forehead. "I almost forgot to give you our names, should you need to use them."

"Alfred Leblanc." The man introduced himself. "And my lovely wife, Lucile."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintances. I expect we'll be working rather closely now that I have been told you are to play the part of my dear old parent's friends. I shall make a point to visit weekly to keep up appearances." Genevieve informed them to their agreement. "Has anyone got the time? I need to make it home by curfew to avoid suspicion but I need to investigate a lead."

Alfred checked the stainless steel watch on his wrist. The little silver colored hands ticked silently on the black face. "Curfew starts in exactly two hours." Genevieve took a deep breath and chewed the inside of her cheek. It would take an hour alone to get back through all the checkpoints on her way home. That left her with an hour to hopefully discover what the soldiers had been talking about.

"Don't let us keep you, mademoiselle." Lucille shooed her away with her hands.

"Merci beaucoup." Genevieve gathered her purse, set her sunhat in its place as an excuse to return, and bid them adieu.