FLICK PAUSED AT the entrance to the great hall of the chateau.

Her pulse was racing and there was a cold sensation of fear in her chest.

She was in the lions' den.

If she were captured, nothing could save her.

She surveyed the room rapidly.

Telephone switchboards had been installed in precise parade-ground rows, incongruously modern against the faded grandeur of the pink-and-green walls and the pudgy cherubs painted on the ceiling.

Bundled cables twisted across the checkerboard marble floor like uncoiled ropes on the deck of a ship.

There was a hubbub of chatter from forty operators.

Those nearest glanced at the new arrivals.

Flick saw one girl speak to her neighbor and point to them.

The operators were all from Reims and the surrounding district, many from Sainte-Cecile itself~ so they would know the regular cleaners and would realize the Jackdaws were strangers.

But Flick was gambling that they would say nothing to the Germans.

She oriented herself quickly, bringing to mind the plan Antoinette had drawn.

The bombed west wing, to her left, was disused.

She turned right and led Greta and Jelly through a pair of tall paneled doors into the east wing.

One room led to another, all palatial reception rooms full of switchboards and equipment racks that buzzed and clicked as numbers were dialed.

Flick did not know whether the cleaners normally greeted the operators or passed them in silence: the French were great people for saying good morning, but this place was run by the German military.

She contented herself with smiling vaguely and avoiding eye contact.

In the third room, a supervisor in German uniform sat at a desk.

Flick ignored her, but the woman called out, "Where is Antoinette?" Flick answered without pausing in her stride.

"She's coming." She heard the tremor of fear in her own voice and hoped the supervisor had not noticed.

The woman glanced up at the clock, which said five past seven.

"You're late." "Very sorry, Madame, we'll get started right away." Flick hurried into the next room.

For a moment she listened, heart in her mouth, for an angry shout calling her back, but none came, and she breathed easier and walked on, with Greta and Jelly close behind.

At the end of the east wing was a stairwell, leading up to the offices or down to the basement.

The Jackdaws were headed for the basement, eventually, but first they had preparations to make.

They turned left and moved into the service wing.

Following Antoinette's directions, they found a small room where cleaning materials were stored: mops, buckets, brooms, and garbage bins, plus the brown cotton overall coats the cleaners had to wear on duty Flick closed the door.

"So far, so good," said Jelly.

Greta said, "I'm so scared!" She was pale and trembling.

"I don't think I can go on." Flick gave her a reassuring smile.

"You'll be fine," she said.

"Let's get on with it.

Put your ordnance into these cleaning buckets." Jelly began to transfer her explosives into a bucket, and after a moment's hesitation Greta followed suit.

Flick assembled her submachine gun without its rifle butt, reducing the length by a foot, to make it easier to conceal.

She fitted the noise suppressor and flicked the switch for single-shot firing.

When using the silencer, the chamber had to be reloaded manually before each shot.

She pushed the weapon under her leather belt.

Then she put on an overall coat.

It covered the gun.

She left the buttons undone for quick access.

The other two also put on overalls, concealing the guns and ammunition stuffed into their pockets.

They were almost ready for the basement.

However, it was a high-security area, with a guard at the door, and French personnel were not allowed down there-the Germans cleaned it themselves.

Before entering, the Jackdaws were going to create a little confusion.

They were about to leave the room when the door opened and a German officer looked in.

"Passes!" he barked.

Flick tensed.

She had been expecting some kind of security alert.

The Gestapo must have guessed that Ruby was an Allied agent-no one else would be carrying an automatic pistol and a lethal knife-and it made sense for them to take extra precautions at the chateau.

However, she had hoped that the Gestapo would move too slowly to interfere with her mission.

That wish had not been granted.

Probably they were double-checking all French personnel in the building.

"Quickly!" the man said impatiently.

He was a Gestapo lieutenant, Flick saw from the badge on his uniform shirt.

She took out her pass.

He looked at it carefully, comparing the picture with her face, and handed it back.

He did the same with Jelly and Greta.

"I must search you," he said.

He looked into Jelly's bucket.

Behind his back, Flick drew the Sten gun from under her overall.

The officer frowned in puzzlement and took from Jelly's bucket the shockproof canister.

Flick disengaged the cocking lever of her gun from the safety slot.

The officer unscrewed the lid of the canister.

Amazement dawned on his face as he saw the detonators.

Flick shot him in the back.

The gun was not really silent-the noise suppressor was not perfectly effective-and the shot made a soft bang like a book being dropped on the floor.

The Gestapo lieutenant jerked and fell.

Flick ejected the cartridge and pulled back the bolt, then shot him again in the head to make sure of him.

She reloaded the chamber and put the gun back under her overall.

Jelly dragged the body to the wall and shoved it behind the door, where it would not be seen by anyone glancing casually into the room.

"Let's get out of here," said Flick.

Jelly went out.

Greta stood frozen and pale, staring at the dead officer.

Flick said, "Greta.

We have a job to do.

Let's go." At last Greta nodded, picked up her mop and bucket, and walked through the door, moving like a robot.

They went from the cleaning store into the canteen.

It was empty but for two girls in uniform drinking coffee and smoking.

Speaking French in a low voice, Flick said, "You know what you have to do." Jelly began to sweep the floor.

Greta hesitated.

Flick said, "Don't let me down." Greta nodded.

She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and said, "I'm ready." Flick entered the kitchen, and Greta followed.

The fuse boxes for the building were in a cupboard off the kitchen, beside the large electric oven, according to Antoinette.

There was a young German man at the kitchen stove.

Flick gave him a sexy smile and said, "What have you got to offer a hungry girl?" He grinned at her.

Behind his back, Greta took out a stout pair of pliers with rubberized handles, then opened the cupboard door.

THE SKY WAS partly cloudy, and the sun disappeared as Dieter Franck drove into the picturesque square of Sainte-Cecile.

The clouds were the same shade of dark gray as the slate roof of the church.

He noticed four guards at the chateau gate, instead of the usual two.

Although he was in a Gestapo car, the sergeant carefully examined his pass and his driver's before opening the wrought-iron gates and waving the car in.

Dieter was pleased: Weber had taken seriously the need for extra security.

A cool breeze blew as he walked from the car to the steps of the grand entrance.

Passing into the hall and seeing the rows of women at their switchboards, he thought about the female secret agent Weber had arrested.

The Jackdaws were an all-woman team.

It occurred to him that they might try to enter the chateau disguised as telephonists.

Was it possible? As he passed through the east wing he spoke to the German woman supervisor.

"Have any of these women joined in the last few days?" "No, Major," she said.

"One new girl was taken on three weeks ago, and she was the last." That put paid to his theory.

He nodded and walked on.

At the end of the east wing he took the staircase down.

The door to the basement stood open, as usual, but there were two soldiers instead of the usual one standing inside.

Weber had doubled the guard.

The corporal saluted and the sergeant asked for his pass.

Dieter noticed that the corporal stood behind the sergeant while the sergeant checked the pass.

He said, "The way you are now, it's too easy for someone to overpower you both.

Corporal, you should stand to the side, and two meters away, so that you have a clear shot if the sergeant is attacked." "Yes, sir." Dieter entered the basement corridor.

He could hear the rumble of the diesel-fueled generator that supplied electricity to the phone system.

He passed the doors of the equipment rooms and entered the interview room.

He hoped to find the new prisoner here, but the room was empty.

Puzzled, he stepped inside and closed the door.

Then his question was answered.

From the inner chamber came a long scream of utter agony.

Dieter threw open the door.

Becker stood at the electric shock machine.

Weber sat on a chair nearby.

A young woman lay on the operating table with her wrists and ankles strapped and her head clamped in the head restraint.

She wore a blue dress, and wires from the electric shock machine ran between her feet and up her dress.

Weber said, "Hello, Franck.

Join us, please.

Becker here has come up with an innovation.

Show him, Sergeant." Becker reached beneath the woman's dress and drew out an ebonite cylinder about fifteen centimeters long and two or three in diameter.

The cylinder was ringed by two metal bands a couple of centimeters apart.

Two wires from the electric shock machine were attached to the bands.

Dieter was accustomed to torture, but this hellish caricature of the sexual act filled him with loathing, and he shuddered with disgust.

"She hasn't said anything yet, but we've only just started," Weber said.

"Give her another shock, Sergeant." Becker pushed up the woman's dress and inserted the cylinder in her vagina.

He picked up a roll of electrician's tape, tore off a strip, and secured the cylinder so that it would not fall out.

Weber said "Turn the voltage up this time." Becker returned to the machine.

Then the lights went out.

THERE WAS A blue flash and a bang from behind the oven.

The lights went out, and the kitchen was filled with the smell of scorched insulation.

The motor of the refrigerator ran down with a groan as the power was cut off.

The young cook said in German, "What's going on?" Flick ran out of the door and through the canteen with Jelly and Greta hard on her heels.

They followed a short corridor past the cleaning cupboard.

At the top of the stairs Flick paused.

She drew her submachine gun and held it concealed under the flap of her coat.

"The basement will be in total darkness?" she said.

"I cut all the cables, including the wires to the emergency lighting system," Greta assured her.

"Let's go." They ran down the stairs.

The daylight coming from the ground-floor windows faded rapidly as they descended, and the entrance to the basement was half- dark.

There were two soldiers standing just inside the door.

One of them, a young corporal with a rifle, smiled and said, "Don't worry, ladies, it's only a power cut." Flick shot him in the chest, then swung her weapon and shot the sergeant.

The three Jackdaws stepped through the doorway.

Flick held her gun in her right hand and the flashlight in her left.

She could hear a low rumble of machinery and several voices shouting questions in German from distant rooms.

She turned on an electric torch for a second.

She was in a broad corridor with a low ceiling.

Farther along, doors were opening.

She switched off the flashlight.

A moment later she saw the flicker of a match at the far end.

About thirty seconds had passed since Greta cut off the power.

It would not be long before the Germans recovered from the shock and found flashlights.

She had only a minute, maybe less, to get out of sight.

She tried the nearest door.

It was open.

She shone her flashlight inside.

This was a photo lab, with prints hanging to dry and a man in a white coat fumbling his way across the room.

She slammed the door, crossed the corridor in two

strides, and tried a door on the opposite side.

It was locked.

She guessed, from the position of the room at the front of the chateau under a corner of the parking lot, that the room beyond contained the fuel tanks.

She moved along the corridor and opened the next door.

The rumble of machinery became louder.

She shone her flashlight once more, just for a split second, long enough to see an electricity generator-the independent power supply to the phone system, she assumed- then she hissed, "Drag the bodies in here!" Jelly and Greta pulled the dead guards across the floor.

Flick returned to the basement entrance and slammed the steel door shut.

Now the corridor was in total darkness.

As an afterthought, she shot the three heavy bolts on the inside.

That might give her precious extra seconds.

She returned to the generator room, closed the door, and turned on her flashlight.

Jelly and Greta had pushed the bodies behind the door and stood panting with the effort.

"All done," Greta murmured.

There was a mass of pipes and cables in the room, but they were all color-coded with German efficiency, and Flick knew which was which: fresh-air pipes were yellow, fuel lines were brown, water pipes were green, and power lines were striped red-and-black.

She directed her torch at the brown fuel line to the generator.

"Later, if we have time, I want you to blow a hole in that." "Easy," said Jelly.

"Now, put your hand on my shoulder and follow me.

Greta, you follow Jelly the same way.

Okay?" "Okay." Flick turned off her flashlight and opened the door.

Now they had to explore the basement blind.

She put her hand to the wall as a guide and began to walk, heading farther inside.

A confused babble of raised voices revealed that several men were blundering about the corridor.

An authoritative voice said in German, "Who closed the main door?" She heard Greta reply, but in a man's voice, "It seems to be stuck." The German cursed.

A moment later there was the scrape of a bolt.

Flick reached another door.

She opened it and shone her flashlight again.

It contained two huge wooden coffers the size and shape of mortuary slabs.

Greta whispered, "Battery room.

Go to the next door." The German man's voice said, "Was that a flashlight? Bring it over here!" "Just coming," said Greta in her Gerhard voice, but the three Jackdaws walked in the opposite direction.

Flick came to the next room, led the other two inside, and closed the door before shining her flashlight.

It was a long, narrow chamber with racks of equipment along both walls.

At the near end of the room was a cabinet that probably held large sheets of drawings.

At the far end, the beam of her flashlight revealed a small table.

Three men sat at it holding playing cards.

They appeared to have remained sitting during the minute or so since the lights went out.

Now they moved.

As they rose to their feet, Flick leveled her gun.

Jelly was just as quick.

Flick shot one.

Jelly's pistol cracked and the man beside him fell.

The third man dived for cover, but Flick's flashlight followed him.

Both Flick and Jelly fired again, and he fell still.

Flick refused to let herself think about the dead men as people.

There was no time for feelings.

She shone her flashlight around.

What she saw gladdened her heart.

This was almost certainly the room she was looking for.

Standing a meter from one long wall was a pair of floor-to-ceiling racks bristling with thousands of terminals in tidy rows.

From the outside world the telephone cables came through the wall in neat bundles to the backs of the terminals on the nearer rack.

At the farther end, similar cables led from the backs of the terminals up through the ceiling to the switchboards above.

At the front of the frame, a nightmare tangle of loose jumper wires connected the terminals of the near rack to those of the far one.

Flick looked at Greta.

"Well?" Greta was examining the equipment by the light of her own flashlight, a fascinated expression on her face.

"This is the MDF-the main distribution frame," she said.

"But it's a bit different from ours in Britain." Flick stared at Greta in surprise.

Minutes ago she had said she was too frightened to go on.

Now she was unmoved by the killing of three men.

Along the far wall more racks of equipment glowed with the light of vacuum tubes.

"And on the other side?" Flick asked.

Greta swung her torch.

"Those are the amplifiers and carrier circuit equipment for the long-distance lines." "Good," Flick said briskly.

"Show Jelly where to place the charges." The three of them went to work.

Greta unwrapped the wax-paper packets of yellow plastic explosive while Flick cut the fuse cord into lengths.

It burned at one centimeter per second.

"I'll make all the fuses three meters long," Flick said.

"That will give us exactly five minutes to get out." Jelly assembled the fire train: fuse, detonator, and firing cap.

Flick held a flashlight while Greta molded the charges to the frames at the vulnerable places and Jelly stuck the firing cap into the soft explosive.

They worked fast.

In five minutes all the equipment was covered with charges like a rash.

The fuse cords led to a common source, where they were loosely twisted together, so that one light would serve to ignite them all.

Jelly took out a thermite bomb, a black can about the size and shape of a tin of soup, containing finely powdered aluminum oxide and iron oxide.

It would burn with intense heat and fierce flames.

She took off the lid to reveal two fuses, then placed it on the ground behind the MDF.

Greta said, "Somewhere in here are thousands of cards showing how the circuits are connected.

We should burn them.

Then it will take the repair crew two weeks, rather than two days, to reconnect the cables." Flick opened the cupboard and found four custom- made card holders containing large diagrams, neatly sorted by labeled file dividers.

"Is this what we're looking for?" Greta studied a card by the light of her flashlight.

"Yes." Jelly said, "Scatter them around the thermite bomb.

They'll go up in seconds." Flick threw the cards on the floor in loose piles.

Jelly placed an oxygen-generating pack on the floor at the blind end of the room.

"This will make the fire hotter," she said.

"Ordinarily, we could only burn the wooden frames and the insulation around the cables, but with this, the copper cables should melt." Everything was ready.

Flick shone her flashlight around the room.

The outer walls were ancient brick, but the inner walls between the rooms were light wooden partitions.

The explosion would destroy the partition walls and the fire would spread rapidly to the rest of the basement.

Five minutes had passed since the lights went out.

Jelly took out a cigarette lighter.

Flick said, "You two, make your way outside the building.

Jelly, on your way, go into the generating room and blow a hole in the fuel line, where I showed you." "Got it." "We meet up at Antoinette's." Greta said anxiously, "Where are you going?" "To find Ruby." Jelly warned, "You have five minutes." Flick nodded.

Jelly lit the fuse.

W H E N D E T E R PA SSE D from the darkness of the basement into the half-light of the stairwell, he noticed that the guards had gone from the entrance.

No doubt they were fetching help, but the ill discipline infuriated him.

They should have remained at their post.

Perhaps they had been forcibly removed.

Had they been taken away at gunpoint? Was an attack on the chateau already under way? He ran up the stairs.

On the ground floor, there were no signs of battle.

The operators were still working: the phone system was on a separate circuit from the rest of the building's electricity, and there was still enough light coming through the windows for them to see their switchboards.

He ran through the canteen, heading for the rear of the building, where the maintenance workshops were located, but on the way he looked into the kitchen and found three soldiers in overalls staring at a fuse box.

"There's a power cut in the basement," Dieter said.

"I know," said one of the men.

He had a sergeant's stripes on his shirt.

"All these wires have been cut." Dieter raised his voice.

"Then get your tools out and reconnect them, you damn fool!" he said.

"Don't stand here scratching your stupid head!" The sergeant was startled.

"Yes, sir," he said.

A worried-looking young cook said, "I think it's the electric oven, sir." "What happened?" Dieter barked.

"Well, Major, they were cleaning behind the oven, and there was a bang-" "Who? Who was cleaning?" "I don't know, sir." "A soldier, someone you recognized?" "No, sir.

just a cleaner." Dieter did not know what to think.

Clearly the chateau was under attack.

But where were the enemy? He left the kitchen, went to the stairwell, and ran up toward the offices on the upper floor.

As he turned at the bend in the stairs, something caught his eye, and he looked back.

A tall woman in a cleaner's overall was coming up the stairs from the basement, carrying a mop and a bucket.

He froze, staring at her, his mind racing.

She should not have been there.

Only Germans were allowed into the basement.

Of course, anything could have happened in the confusion of a power cut.

But the cook had blamed a cleaner for the power cut.

He recalled his brief conversation with the supervisor of the switchboard girls.

None of them was new to the job-but he had not asked about the Frenchwomen cleaners.

He came back down the stairs and met her at ground level.

"Why were you in the basement?" he asked her in French.

"I went there to clean, but the lights are out." Dieter frowned.

She spoke French with an accent that he could not quite place.

He said, "You're not supposed to go there." "Yes, the soldier told me that, they clean it themselves, I didn't know." Her accent was not English, Dieter thought.

But what was it? "How long have you worked here?" "Only a week, and I've always done upstairs until today." Her story was plausible, but Dieter was not satisfied.

"Come with me." He took her arm in a firm grip.

She did not resist as he led her through to the kitchen.

Dieter spoke to the cook.

"Do you recognize this woman?" "Yes, sir.

She's the one who was cleaning behind the oven." Dieter looked at her.

"Is that true?" "Yes, sir, I'm very sorry if I damaged something." Dieter recognized her accent.

"You're German," he said.

"No, sir." "You filthy traitor." He looked at the cook.

"Grab her and follow me.

She's going to tell me everything." F L I C K 0 P E N E D T H E door marked Interview Room, stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and swept the room with her flashlight.

She saw a cheap pine table with ashtrays, several chairs, and a steel desk.

The room was empty of people.

She was puzzled.

She had located the prison cells on this corridor and had shone her flashlight through the judas in each door.

The cells were empty: the prisoners the Gestapo had taken during the last eight days, including Gilberte, must have been moved somewhere else .

or killed.

But Ruby had to be here somewhere.

Then she saw, on her left, a door leading, presumably, to an inner chamber.

She switched off her flashlight, opened the door, stepped through, closed the door, and switched on her flashlight.

She saw Ruby right away.

She was lying on a table like a hospital operating table.

Specially designed straps secured her wrists and ankles and made it impossible for her to move her head.

A wire from an electrical machine led between her feet and up her skirt.

Flick guessed immediately what had been done to Ruby and gasped with horror.

She stepped to the table.

"Ruby, can you hear me?" Ruby groaned.

Flick's heart leaped: she was still alive.

"I'll free you," she said.

She put her Sten gun down on the table.

Ruby was trying to speak, but her words came out as a moan.

Swiftly, Flick undid the straps that bound Ruby to the table.

"Flick," Ruby said at last.

"What?" "Behind you." Flick jumped to one side.

Something heavy brushed her ear and thumped her left shoulder hard.

She cried out in pain, dropped her flashlight, and fell.

Hitting the floor she rolled sideways, moving as far as possible from her original position so that her assailant could not hit her again.

She had been so shocked by the sight of Ruby that she had not shone her flashlight all around the room.

Someone else had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance, and had slowly crept up behind her.

Her left arm was momentarily numbed.

Using her right hand, she scrabbled on the floor for her flashlight.

Before she found it, there was a loud click, and the lights came on.

She blinked and saw two people.

One was a squat, stocky man with a round head and close-cropped hair.

Behind him stood Ruby.

In the dark Ruby had picked up what looked like a steel bar, and she held it above her head in readiness.

As soon as the lights came on, Ruby saw the man, turned, and brought the steel bar down on his head with maximum force.

It was a crippling blow, and the man slumped to the floor and lay still.

Flick got up.

The feeling was rapidly returning to her arm.

She picked up the Sten gun.

Ruby was kneeling over the prone body of the man.

"Meet Sergeant Becker," she said.

"Are you all right?" Flick said.

"I'm in bloody agony, but I'm going to get my own back on this fucking bastard." Grasping the front of Becker's uniform tunic, Ruby heaved him upright, then, with an effort, pushed him onto the operating table.

He groaned.

"He's coming round!" Flick said.

"I'll finish him off." "Give me ten seconds." Ruby straightened the man's limbs and strapped him in by his wrists and ankles; then she tightened the head restraint so that he could not move.

Finally, she took the cylindrical terminal from the electric shock machine and stuffed it into his mouth.

He choked and gagged but could not move his head.

She picked up a roll of electrician's tape, tore off a strip with her teeth, and secured the cylinder so that it would not come out of his mouth.

Then she went to the machine and fumbled with the switch.

There was a low hum.

The man on the table let out a strangled scream.

His strapped-down body shook with convulsions.

Ruby looked at him for a moment; then she said, "Let's go." They went out, leaving Sergeant Becker writhing on the table, squealing like a pig in the slaughterhouse.

Flick checked her watch.

Two minutes had passed since Jelly lit the fuses.

They passed through the Interview Room and stepped out into the corridor.

The confusion had died down.

There were just three soldiers near the entrance, talking calmly.

Flick walked rapidly toward them with Ruby close behind.

Flick's instinct was to walk straight past the soldiers, relying on a confident air to get her through, but then she glimpsed, through the door, the tall figure of Dieter Franck approaching, followed by two or three other people she could not clearly see.

She stopped abruptly.

Ruby bumped into her back.

Flick turned to the nearest door.

It was marked Wireless Room.

She opened it.

The room was empty.

They stepped inside.

She left the door an inch open.

She heard Major Franck bark in German, "Captain, where are the two men who should be guarding this entrance?" "I don't know, Major, I was just asking." Flick took the silencer off her Sten gun and flicked the switch for rapid fire.

She had used only four bullets so far, leaving twenty-eight in the magazine.

"Sergeant, you and this corporal stand guard.

Captain, you go up to Major Weber's office and tell him Major Franck strongly recommends he conduct a search of the basement immediately.

Off you go, on the double!" A moment later, Franck's footsteps passed the Wireless Room.

Flick waited, listening.

A door slammed.

She peeped out.

Franck had disappeared.

"Let's go," she said to Ruby.

They left the Wireless Room and walked to the main door.

The corporal said in French, "What are you doing here?" Flick had an answer ready.

"My friend Valerie is new to the job, and she came to the wrong place in the confusion of the blackout." The corporal looked dubious.

"It's still light upstairs, how could she get lost?" Ruby said, "I'm very sorry, sir, I thought I was supposed to clean here, and no one stopped me." The sergeant said in German, "We're supposed to keep them out, not keep them in, Corporal." He laughed and waved them on.

o I E I E R T I E D T H E prisoner to a chair, then dismissed the cook who had escorted her from the kitchen.

He looked at the woman for a moment, wondering how much time he had.

One agent had been arrested in the street outside the chateau.

Another, if she was an agent, had been caught coming up the stairs from the basement.

Had the others come and gone? Were they waiting somewhere to be let in? Or were they here in the building right now? It was maddening not to know what was happening.

But he had ordered the basement searched.

The only other thing he could do was interrogate the prisoner.

Dieter began with the traditional slap in the face, sudden and demoralizing.

The woman gasped with shock and pain.

"Where are your friends?" he asked her.

The woman's cheek reddened.

He studied her expression.

What he saw mystified him.

She looked happy.

"You're in the basement of the chateau," he told her.

"Through that door is the torture chamber.

On the other side, beyond that partition wall, is the telephone switchgear.

We are at the end of a tunnel, the bottom of the sack, as the French say.

If your friends plan to blow up the building, you and I will surely die here in this room." Her expression did not change.

Perhaps the chateau was not about to blow up, Dieter thought.

But then what was the mission? "You're German," he said.

"Why are you helping your country's enemies?" At last she spoke.

"I'll tell you," she said.

She spoke German with a Hamburg accent.

"Many years ago, I had a lover.

His name was Manfred." She looked away, remembering.

"Your Nazis arrested him and sent him to a camp.

I think he died there-I never heard." She paused, swallowing.

Dieter waited.

After a moment she went on.

"When they took him away from me, I swore I would have my revenge-and this is it." She smiled happily.

"Your foul regime is almost finished.

And I've helped to destroy it." There was something wrong here.

She spoke as if the deed was already done.

Furthermore, the power cut had come and gone.

Had the blackout already served its purpose? This woman showed no fear.

But could it be that she did not mind dying? "Why was your lover arrested?" "They called him a pervert." "What kind?" "He was homosexual." "But he was your lover?" "Yes." Dieter frowned.

Then he looked harder at the woman.

She was tall and broad-shouldered, and underneath the makeup she had a masculine nose and chin...

"Are you a man?" he said in astonishment.

She just smiled.

A dreadful suspicion dawned on Dieter.

"Why are you telling me this?" he said.

"Are you trying to keep me occupied while your friends get away? Are you sacrificing your life to ensure the success of the mission-" His train of thought was broken by a faint noise.

It sounded like a strangled scream.

Now that he noticed it, he realized he had heard it two or three times before and ignored it.

The sound seemed to come from the next room.

Dieter sprang up and went into the torture chamber.

He expected to see the other woman agent on the table and was shocked to find someone else there.

It was a man, he saw immediately, but at first he did not know who, because the face was distorted-the jaw dislocated, the teeth broken, the cheeks stained with blood and vomit.

Then he recognized the squat figure of Sergeant Becker.

The wires from the electric shock machine led to Becker's mouth.

Dieter realized that the terminal from the machine was in Becker's mouth, secured there by electrician's tape.

Becker was still alive, twitching and emitting a dreadful squealing sound.

Dieter was horrified.

He swiftly turned off the machine.

Becker stopped twitching.

Dieter grasped the electric wire and jerked hard.

The terminal came out of Becker's mouth.

He threw it to the floor.

He bent over the table.

"Becker!" he said.

"Can you hear me? What happened here?" There was no reply.

UPSTAIRS, ALL WAS normal.

Flick and Ruby walked quickly through the ranks of telephone operators, all busy at their switchboards, murmuring into their headsets in low voices as they plugged jacks into sockets, connecting decision-makers in Berlin, Paris, and Normandy.

Flick checked her watch.

In exactly two minutes all those connections would be destroyed, and the military machine would fall apart, leaving a scatter of isolated components, unable to work together.

Now, Flick thought, if only we can get out...

They passed out of the building without incident.

In seconds they would be in the town square.

They had al most made it.

But, in the courtyard, they met Jelly- coming back.

"Where's Greta?" she said.

"She left with you!" Flick replied.

"I stopped to set a charge on the diesel fuel line in the generator room, like you said.

Greta went on ahead of me.

But she never reached Antoinette's place.

I've just met Paul, he hasn't seen her.

I came back to look for her." Jelly had a paper packet in her hand.

"I told the guard at the gate that I just went out to fetch my supper." Flick was dismayed.

"Greta must be inside-hell!" "I'm going back for her," Jelly said determinedly.

"She saved me from the Gestapo, back in Chartres, so I owe her." Flick looked at her watch.

"We have less than two minutes.

Let's go!" They ran back inside.

The switchboard girls stared at them as they raced through the rooms.

Flick was already having second thoughts.

In attempting to save one of her team, was she about to sacrifice two more-and herself? When they reached the stairwell, Flick paused.

The two soldiers who had let them out of the basement with a joke would not let them in again so easily.

"As before," she said quietly to the others.

'Approach the guards innocently and shoot at the last moment." A voice from above said, "What's going on here?" Flick froze.

She looked back over her shoulder.

On the staircase coming down from the top floor stood four men.

One, in major's uniform, was pointing a pistol at her.

She recognized Major Weber.

This was the search party Dieter Franck had asked for.

It had appeared at precisely the wrong moment.

Flick cursed herself for a bad decision.

Now four would be lost instead of one.

Weber said, "You women have a conspiratorial air." "What do you want with us?" Flick said.

"We're the cleaners." "Perhaps you are," he said.

"But there is a team of female enemy agents in the district." Flick pretended to be relieved.

"Oh, good," she said.

"If you're looking for enemy agents, we're safe.

I was afraid you might be dissatisfied with the cleaning." She forced a laugh.

Ruby joined in.

Both sounded false.

Weber said, "Raise your hands in the air." As she lifted her wrist past her face, Flick checked her watch.

Thirty seconds left.

"Down the stairs," said Weber.

Reluctantly, Flick went down.

Ruby and Jelly went with her, and the four men followed.

She went as slowly as she could, counting seconds.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs.

Twenty seconds.

"You again?" said one of the guards.

Flick said, "Speak to your major." "Keep moving," said Weber.

"I thought we weren't supposed to go into the basement." "Just keep going!" Five seconds.

They passed through the basement door.

There was a tremendous bang.

At the far end of the corridor, the partition walls of the equipment chamber exploded outwards.

There was a series of crashing sounds.

Flames billowed over the debris.

Flick was knocked down.

She got up on one knee, pulled the submachine gun out from under her overall, and spun around.

Jelly and Ruby were on either side of her.

The basement guards, Weber, and the other three men had also fallen.

Flick pulled the trigger.

Of the six Germans, only Weber had kept his presence of mind.

As Flick sprayed bullets, Weber fired his pistol.

Beside flick Jelly, struggling to her feet, cried out and fell.

Then Flick hit Weber in the chest and he went down.

Flick emptied her gun into the six bodies on the floor.

She ejected the magazine, took a fresh one from her pocket, and reloaded.

Ruby bent over Jelly, feeling for a pulse.

After a moment she looked up.

"Dead," she said.

Flick looked toward the far end of the corridor, where Greta was.

flames were billowing out from the equipment chamber, but the wall of the Interview Room seemed intact.

She ran toward the inferno.

DIETER FOUND HIMSELF lying on the floor without knowing how he had got there.

He heard the roaring of flames and smelled smoke.

He struggled to his feet and looked into the Interview Room.

He realized immediately that the brick walls of the torture chamber had saved his life.

The partition between the Interview Room and the equipment chamber had disappeared.

The few pieces of furniture in the Interview Room had been thrown up against the wall.

The prisoner had suffered the same fate and lay on the ground, still tied to the chair, neck at the horrid angle that indicated it was broken and she-or he-was dead.

The equipment chamber was aflame and the fire was spreading rapidly.

Dieter realized he had only seconds to get away.

The door to the Interview Room opened and Flick Clairet stood there holding a submachine gun.

She wore a dark wig that had fallen askew to reveal her own blonde hair beneath.

Flushed, breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes, she was beautiful.

If he had had a gun in his hand at that moment, he would have mowed her down in blind rage.

She would be an incomparable prize if captured alive, but he was so enraged and humiliated by her success and his own failure that he could not have controlled himself.

But she had the gun.

At first she did not see Dieter but stared at the dead body of her comrade.

Dieter's hand moved inside his jacket.

Then she lifted her gaze and met his eyes.

He saw recognition dawn on her face.

She knew who he was.

She knew whom she had been fighting for the past nine days.

There was a light of triumph in her eyes.

But he also saw the thirst for revenge in the twist of her mouth, and she raised the Sten gun and fired.

Dieter ducked back into the torture chamber as her bullets chipped fragments of brick off the wall.

He drew his Walther P38 automatic pistol, thumbed the safety lever to the fire position, and pointed it at the doorway, waiting for Flick to come through.

She did not appear.

He waited a few seconds, then risked a look.

Flick had gone.

He dashed across the burning Interview Room, threw open the door, and stepped into the corridor.

Flick and another woman were running toward the far end.

As he raised his gun, they jumped over a group of uniformed bodies on the floor.

He aimed at Flick; then a hot pain burned his arm.

He cried out and dropped his gun.

He saw that his sleeve was on fire.

He tore off his jacket.

When he looked up again, the women had gone.

Dieter picked up his pistol and went after them.

As he ran, he smelled fuel.

There was a leak-or perhaps the saboteurs had holed a pipe.

Any second now, the basement would explode like a giant bomb.

But he might still catch Flick.

He ran out and started up the stairs.

IN THE TORTURE chamber, Sergeant Becker's uniform started to smolder.

The heat and the smoke brought him back to consciousness and he cried for help, but no one heard.

He struggled against the leather straps that bound him, as so many of his victims had struggled in the past, but, like them, he was helpless.

A few moments later, his clothes burst into flame, and he began to scream.

FLICK SAW DIETER coming up the stairs after her with his gun in his hand.

She was afraid that if she stopped and turned to take aim at him, he would be able to shoot first.

She decided to run rather than stand and fight.

Someone had activated the fire alarm, and a klaxon blared throughout the chateau as she and Ruby raced through the switchboard rooms.

All the operators left their stations and crowded to the doors, so that Flick found herself in a crush.

The crowd would be making it difficult for Dieter to get a shot at her or Ruby, but the other women were slowing them down.

Flick punched and kicked ruthlessly to get people out of her way.

They reached the front entrance and ran down the steps.

In the square, Flick could see Moulier's meat van, backed up to the chateau gates with its engine running and its rear doors open.

Paul stood beside it, staring anxiously through the iron railings.

Flick thought he was the best thing she had ever seen.

However, as the women poured out of the building, two guards were directing them into the vineyard on the west side of the courtyard, away from the parked cars.

flick and Ruby ignored their waved instructions and ran for the gates.

When the soldiers saw Flick's submachine gun, they reached for their weapons.

A rifle appeared in Paul's hands.

He aimed through the railings.

Two shots rang out, and both guards fell.

Paul threw open the gates.

As flick dashed through the gateway, shots whistled over her head and hit the van: Dieter was firing.

Paul jumped into the front of the van.

Flick and Ruby threw themselves into the back.

As the van pulled away, Flick saw Dieter turn toward the parking lot, where his sky-blue car stood waiting.

At that moment, down in the basement, the fire reached the fuel tanks.

There was a deep underground boom like an earthquake.

The parking lot erupted, gravel and earth and slabs of concrete flying into the air.

Half the cars parked around the old fountain were overturned.

Huge stones and chunks of brickwork rained down on the rest.

Dieter was thrown back across the steps.

The gas pump soared into the air, and a gout of flame spurted from the ground where it had stood.

Several cars caught fire, and their gas tanks began to explode, one by one.

Then the van left the square, and Flick could see no more.

Paul drove at top speed out of the village.

flick and Ruby bounced on the metal floor of the van.

It dawned slowly on Flick that they had accomplished their mission.

She could hardly believe it.

She thought of Greta and Jelly, both dead, and of Diana and Maude, dead or dying in some concentration camp, and she could not feel happy.

But she felt a savage satisfaction as she saw again in her mind the blazing equipment chamber and the exploding parking lot.

She looked at Ruby.

Ruby grinned at her.

"We did it," she said.

Flick nodded.

Ruby put her arms around Flick and hugged her hard.

"Yes," Flick said.

"We did it."

DIETER PICKED HIMSELF up off the ground.

He felt bruised all over, but he could walk.

The chateau was ablaze, and the parking lot was a shambles.

The women were screaming and panicking.

He stared at the carnage all around.

The Jackdaws had succeeded in their mission.

But it was not over yet.

They were still in France.

And if he could capture and interrogate Flick Clairet, he could yet turn defeat into victory.

Sometime tonight, she must be planning to meet a small plane, in a field not far from Reims.

He had to find out where and when.

And he knew who would tell him.

Her husband.

THE LAST DAY Tuesday, June 6,1944