Jane Bond, Secret Agent
Chapter 13
The plane came to a halt. The propeller engines stopped. The sudden quiet was deafening. The boarding stair tapped the fuselage of the plane as the ground crew maneuvered it into place. The stewardess opened the door, and a gust of outside air relieved the suspense of landing.
Her turn, Gertie paused at the exit, hand on the rail. Her heart pounded in her ribs. The world outside came as a flash of light, activity, and movement. It was chaotic, alive with the sounds of a language she did not understand, faces she could not place.
Gertie stepped down onto the pavement, her footing unsteady. The intensity of the heat hit her instantly, a physical impact that pressed against her, resisting her advance. She looked up, wincing at the glare.
“I must get a suitable hat,” she thought.
Then she was alone. The other passengers dispersed, their movement swift and purposeful, going their separate ways, on a mission. She savored the irony of her being alone, as if on stage, in the spotlight. She had arrived.
A woman stood a few feet away, by the baggage compartment, watching the baggage crew offload. She wore a simple, khaki blouse and a navy skirt, her hair pulled back in a severe, military-style bun. She moved with a quiet, purposeful confidence, her eyes scanning the scene with a practiced focus.
"Gertrud Stemmer?" the woman called out —but not loudly, her accent a mixture of the clipped, precise English of the British administrative class and the rolling, easy cadence of the Mediterranean.
Gertie turned. The woman was older than she was, her face limned with the stoic look of a life in the service. Her eyes were a piercing, electric blue. She carried a small, leather-bound notebook under her arm.
"Yes?"
The woman stepped forward. "I represent Allied interests," she said, her voice calm, her tone devoid of emotion. "We are interested in your mission."
Gertie felt a spike of resentment. "You have no authority over me," she said, her speech taut. "I am not here to answer questions. I am here on my own “mission,” as you call it, and not in need of assistance."
The woman looked at her, her eyes narrowing. "You may think you are unaided," she said, her voice dropping a register. "However, you are an honored guest, here; and I have resources that you do not. I can get you transit headed east. I can get you a safe house. I can get you a train ticket to Tunis, a ride to Cairo"
Gertie paused. It was a good offer, a lifeline thrown into the ocean of her uncertainty. "And what do you want in return?"
The woman smiled, a thin, cold smile not reflected in her eyes. "Nothing," she said. "I'm just a middleman. I'm just trying to help you."
She held out a small card. "Meet me outside the airfield exit guardhouse tomorrow at daybreak. Do not be late."
Gertie took the card. It was a scrap of assurance. She nodded, saying, "I'll be there."
The woman turned and walked away, her figure merging into the crowd. Gertie watched her go, her heart beating, again. She was alone, but she was no longer an unfamiliar face. She was part of a great plan, a web of confidences that stretched across the world.