Free I Can't Begin to Tell You by Elizabeth Buchan

The second, a darker bird, was Achilles. ‘Hello, Hector,’ she said softly. The bird’s eyes were bright and watchful. ‘Easy now, boy.’ She walked over to the cage and placed Hector inside. ‘The books said they might be panicky and restless so we’ll have to be nice to them and talk to them in English.’ She went to lift out Achilles.
    ‘Wait a minute,’ said Felix. Extracting a box of cigarette papers, he teased out the one on which he had written a message in code.
Arrived safe. All agencies up and running. Please confirm Vinegar is operational and in place. Mayonnaise
    Folding it up, he slipped it into the tiny tube to be fastened onto the pigeon’s leg. ‘It needs to go soon.’
    ‘They need rest,’ Freya said cheerfully. ‘But I’ll send Achilles off tomorrow morning.’
    ‘What exactly have you been told?’
    Her eyelids lifted revealing misty-grey eyes. ‘Nothing much.’
    ‘Right.’ He took a decision. ‘I have to hide something.’
    Therewas a tiny pause, but one he knew was significant – as if she was gathering herself up to step into the shadow.
    ‘If you mean the wireless transmitter …’ Her gaze held his. ‘I know about that.’ She pointed to the floor. ‘It’s all arranged.’
    Dropping onto one knee, she pulled back a tarpaulin. It was so old it was rigid. Underneath, a couple of boards had been slung over a hole in the dirt floor. ‘It’s not brilliant but it will have to do for the time being.’ She assessed the case. ‘It’s not so easy to hide.’
    He shrugged. ‘I will be moving it about. But I will have to use it here very soon and, after that, from time to time.’ He touched her arm. ‘That
is
all right?’
    She sat back on her heels. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Sure?’
    She nodded and her hair swung against her cheek.
    He stowed the case in the hole and, together, they manhandled the boards and tarpaulin back into place. Seizing a broom waiting in the corner, Freya swept dust over the hiding place.
    She was breathing hard, her breath audible, nervy.
    ‘A warning,’ she said, pushing a heap of dirt across the furthest corner. ‘Apparently the Nazis disguise the direction-finding vehicles as delivery vans. They give themselves away because they are always petrol-driven. Many people round here have to make do with gaz. So watch out.’
    Again, he gave himself the pleasure of watching her. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’
    She considered. ‘Did they tell you in London about the King and Hitler?’
    Felix nodded. He had been briefed in as much detail as The Firm could muster. There had been much collective amusement when it was discovered that Hitler had sent the Danish King a fulsome telegram to congratulate him on his birthday in September and the king’s reply had been terse to the point of insult. However, it hadn’t been so amusing when a furious Hitler suspended diplomatic relations as a result and sent inGeneral Werner Best, an SS man to his last shiny button, to take overall charge of his favoured Protectorate.
    Freya propped the broom against the wall and produced a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. ‘Best’s nickname is “Hitler’s Revenge” and he’s not a nice man. But for the consequences, someone ought to kill him.’
    Her physical beauty was in sharp contrast to the notion of murder and assassination … her skin, the blondeness, the softness belonged to the mother smiling at a baby. It belonged to the lover. Beauty belonged to the deep, sweet ecstasies of the flesh and to the feelings which promoted life, not death.
    She held out the packet of Escorts. ‘Want one?’
    Actually he did, more than anything, but he pushed the packet away. ‘Not here. Smoke is a giveaway.’
    Her gaze flew up to meet his.
    Again, he felt that she was positioning herself. Pushing her mind towards acceptance? Readying herself for something which, she sensed, was inevitable?
    Finally, she said, ‘It seems I have a lot to learn.’
    Was she telling him she