Gertrud Decamps
Chapter 2 The rain never stopped. It drummed upon the roof of the villa, a relentless, rhythmic beat that time was running out. Gertie stood in the hallway, her collar pulled tight around her neck. The iron cross, safe beneath her blouse, was heavy as the stolen Rhine gold. She had not told Lucie where she was going. She had not told the housekeeper. She had simply taken the key, the letter, and her bag, and walked out the front door. The promised staff car was waiting. It was a black Mercedes-Benz 320, the kind of car that murmured of power and death. The engine was idling, a low, guttural purr that seemed to vibrate through the cobblestones. The driver sat behind the wheel, a tall, gaunt man in a grey uniform. He did not look at her. He did not smile. He simply nodded, a single, sharp motion, as if to say, Get in. Now. Gertie hesitated. The rain was heavy, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and diesel. She looked back at the house, at the dark windows of the study where her fa...