Addison

Part 8 // The Retribution

The knock was urgent, angry; the type that demanded to be answered. Rhea and Victor of them jumped up. It that instant, the horror of the realisation had hit them. It was only then they noticed the thundering of feet. The faraway yells. They both exchanged a look of horror.

Victor went into a tearing mess. Sweeping the code off the table, scrunching it up in fistfuls. A few loose papers flew into the air. Rhea faltered momentarily. The severity had just dawned on her. The Nazi were here, and they knew what they were doing.

Victor shook her by the shoulders. "Help me!"

The banging was deafening. The neighbours must have been staring through their curtains, and Rhea was sure at any moment the door would be broken from its hinges. Rhea slammed the briefcase closed – wires were hanging from it, but they were on a pressing deadline of approximately one more minute before the flat was stormed by the Abwehr.

Ingrid had appeared at the doorway. It must have been a scene of manic chaos – Victor, running to the sink and drenching the papers, Rhea trying to disguise the heavy equipment in the bottom cupboards. Ingrid was in a state of fear. Panicking, Rhea pushed her away as the girl ran over.

"Go," she said urgently.

"That isn't Florence, is it?" Ingrid trembled.

"The bedroom," Rhea untangled her hands from the child's grasp. "Hide!"

The papers had fallen apart in the sink. Ink was running down the drain. Victor wiped his hands hastily on his trousers, waiting until Ingrid had whipped out of sight. It was then the bolt on the door was broken, splintering the wood; and a stream of uniformed officers came bursting into the flat in a mad frenzy.

It was like a scene from the pictures. The Nazis entered the flat like a bullet from a gun, fast and angry. There were at least five of them. The one in charge barked orders at the rest; Rhea began to loosen her grip on her senses. The floor wavered – as if she was had been caught in some cruel lucid dream. Numbly, they could only stand petrified as the men ransacked their belongings, without permission, with dignity. The leader advanced towards Rhea.

He was a gentleman who had just passed middle-age. As he grasped her by the upper arm, Rhea couldn't help but cry out in pain.

"Where is the transmitter?" he spoke brusquely.

Rhea pretended to glance at her husband with confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

One mean-faced officer kneeling on the kitchen floor raised his voice. He uttered a German phrase, which the translation made her blood run cold. We've located it, Schwarzkopf.

The man called Schwarzkopf brought he face up to his own. "Don't pretend you do not know! The transmission vans are under control of all network traffic. We've had reports of contact with the United Kingdom from this address!"

Victor was saying nothing.

It was as in architect had designed their inevitable destruction – so artful, and ironic. The very thing that had brought back Rhea's sense of life and compassion would be the thing that caused her death. Evidence of the SOE and connections to the French Resistance were ready to betray them in these very walls.

The suspense was killing them.

"You've got the wrong place." Cold dread coursed through her body. "Please, I don't know anything. This is a mistake. My name is Addison and I work at Bijoux de –"

"IRRELEVANT!" The officer bellowed. "I'm not concerned about the personal lives of French scum. Tell the truth!"

Rhea was overcome with defiance. "Let go and I shall! My name is Addison, we have no connections with British intelligence, and I work at –"

At first, she hadn't even realised she had been struck. The force of the blow stunned her – as Schwarzkopf's hand made contact with her cheek, Rhea recoiled. The stinging sensation left her knocked against the wall. Disorientated, she heard Victor shout. The uniformed Germans had been forced to restrain his struggling frame.

"Keep your hands off my wife!"

Her thoughts snapped to Ingrid. How frightened she must be, crouched underneath the bed. It was not hard to imagine how she was. Scared and alone. The sound of the moving furniture, the ugly foreign language and to hear the outbreak of ferocity must have been tough to hear.

Rhea hoped she would have the sense to remain there.

"Addison, they're not going to take me away, are they?"

"No! No, they aren't. As long as you're with me, I won't let that happen."

There was nothing she desired more than to uphold her word.

The discoverer of the wireless operator walked over. Dragging her hands away from her throbbing face, he informed her of the unfortunate truth. "You are being placed under arrest for using enemy code." Her hands were pinned behind her back.

"You promise?"

"I wish I could promise."

Victor's breaths were shallow. The man known as Schwarzkopf gave his team a nod. At once, they started to push both of them towards the door. A mixture of protests, screaming and confusion was all combined – Rhea didn't know which one was coming from her mouth. Dragging her down the steps, Rhea could barely keep her footing as the man pushed her from behind. The brutal strength made her limbs ache. It was impossible to resist.

They were being hauled off for interrogation.

Blind panic consumed Rhea. The men were pounding down the staircase, the group powering her along. It was too unsafe to risk lashing out. The training techniques were re-surfacing. What if she hurt Victor? Besides, her head was clouded, she was in handcuffs and within a ceaseless grip.

The cold night air was without mercy. They had been given no opportunity to grab their coats. Rhea was sure he heart had stopped. There was no one she could lay eyes upon from her scale of the street. Victor was being manhandled into a vehicle. Rhea considered shrieking for help.

But who would help?

Who would dare defy the Gestapo?

A strangled cry escaped her throat.

Ingrid was leaning over the threshold to the building. The blonde-haired girl was on the verge of tears. Rhea saw her pain as she saw what was happening. The stability she had discovered was crumbling before her; liberation was lost, and now Ingrid had seen the secret police arresting the first parental figure she had in years.

"Addison? Addison!"

But now it wasn't a child's voice emitting her name.

Florence was glued to the pavement. She appeared as if she had just arrived on their road, ready for a pleasant meal. She had dropped her handbag in alarm, her eyes darting to and fro. It was as if she'd witnessed a ghost.

Raising her hands to the hat on her head, Florence was overridden with emotion. "Addison, what's going on? Where are they taking you?"

Her swastika-bearing captor was forcing her head in the car. Rhea fought, struggling against him to shout her final words to her friends.

"Look after her!" her throat burned in agony. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Blinking them away, she gazed directly in her colleague's direction. "Promise me, Florence, nothing can happen to her!"

The Nazi pushed her into the car so hard, her face collided with the door. Like some kind of slow-motion horror show, all she could do was watch, ignoring both the physical and mental agony overtaking her. Florence and Ingrid were getting smaller as the car sped away.

The river of red was flowing thickly; coming from what was unmistakably a broken nose. Rhea could hear the tyres of the automobile screech on the sidewalk. It was all purposefully designed to make the whole situation so much worse.

All she could do was cry.