Angels Don't Die (Madeleine Toche Series Book 2) (2 page)

             
As today was Monday, the restaurant was closed, but as always there was work to do.  The rest of her staff was enjoying their day off.  Her husband Jack was at his office as an executive for a liquor distributor in St. Louis.  So many years of her life, during the war, she had been alone, and she didn’t mind it now.  It gave her time to think, get some exercise in and have a cigarette without someone reminding her of their health consequences.

She smiled as she lit up a Gauloise, pulled out of the pocket of her apron.  Had it almost been thirty years since she last killed Nazis for the British Army and the French Resistance?  That life had had health consequences too, deadly ones.

             
As Madeleine smoked her cigarette, an all too familiar feeling swept over her, filling her with dread, erasing the feel of the sun and the scent of basil and rosemary.  It was a premonition, and it hit her hard, wiping everything from her mind.  She dropped her cigarette.  She’d felt this many times before, but it had been years since it was this strong.  Leaning on her shovel, she slipped down onto one of the timbers that held a raised planting bed.  The women in her family all had the gift of clairvoyance to some degree.  In her case, the strength of the vision depended on the closeness of the connection.  The feeling held panic for her today, as she hadn’t felt it this strong since facing danger head-on during the war.  Not knowing what was wrong or to whom some terrible thing might have happened was unbearable.  Her incapacity lasted a second before she raced towards the kitchen door and the nearest phone.

             
“Be there, be there,” she whispered to herself as she phoned her husband Jack.  If her daughter was in danger or worse, she knew it would be news she couldn't face alone.

             
“Teach,” came the immediate reply on the third ring.  Madeleine's relief steadied her as she leaned into a cabinet, exhausted by the surge of adrenaline that accompanied her panic.

             
“Jack, thank God.  I just had a bad premonition.  Something’s happened, I can feel it.”

             
“Madeleine, call Marie,” Jack said referring to their adult daughter who lived and worked at Chez-Toche in La Ciotat France.

             
“But it's the middle of the night,” Madeleine said half-heartedly.  They both knew she would call.  Jack never discounted anything about Madeleine Toche.  Her premonitions were real, and when they came to Madeleine, they came to one of the deadliest assassins the world had ever known.  Together, they had faced death during World War Two.  Jack had trained Madeleine as an agent for the British Special Operations Executive.  For three years she survived alone in occupied France, killing Hitler's elite. Only she knew how many.

Their love survived the war and she gave most of herself to him.  There were still parts locked away that he would never see, parts that were best left in the past, during a war defined by atrocity.

             
“Call your mother.  She’ll understand.  I’m coming home immediately,” Jack said, hanging up the phone.  After all these years, his voice still rang with command.  She took comfort in it.

             
Claire Toche heard the clang of the old rotary phone down in the office tucked back next to the pantry in the restaurant's kitchen.  She glanced at her sleeping husband and muttered, “Don’t bother, I'll get it.”  She marched down the stairs, through the dining room with all the chairs placed upside down on the tables so that the floors could be washed before lunch service.  Picking up the phone, she prepared a stinging comment for the late night caller.

             
“Maman! Is Marie alright?” Madeleine blurted.

             
“Madeleine, what's wrong?”  Claire said, concerned.

             
“I had a bad premonition.  Jack is fine.  Where's Marie?”

             
“Wait, I'll check,”   Claire said placing the phone down on a cutting board. Claire was quite familiar with the Toche women's premonitions.  She'd had several herself, over the years.  As a rule, they were never treated lightly.  Without bothering to cover her night dress, Claire pushed open the front door and ran across the square to the modest set of apartments in which her granddaughter lived.  She simultaneously rang the doorbell and pounded on the door.

             
A man's head popped out the upstairs window.  An angry retort died on his lips when he saw who was standing below.  Night dress or not, Claire Toche was not a woman you indiscriminately yelled at.  If she was pounding on the door in the middle of the night in her pajamas, she had good reason.

             
“Grandma!  What are you doing here?” Marie said, throwing open the front door.
             

             
“Your mother had a strong premonition something was wrong.  We had to make sure you were alright.”

             
“I'm fine. Is Dad okay? And Grandpa?”

             
“Everyone is fine.  Sorry to wake you, but these things can't be denied.”

             
“We have to get up soon for prep anyway,” Marie said kissing her grandmother on the cheek.

             
“You remind me so much of Yves.  You love the business so much,” Claire said with a smile. “The people of La Ciotat will enjoy our little family restaurant for a long time to come.”

             
Marie grinned having heard the story countless times how her mother had avenged her brother's death.  His spirit was still very much alive at Chez-Toche.  The customers often spoke of him to Claire and Jean-Pierre.  After the pain of his death lessened, their love and memories kept him alive.

             
“Your mother is still on the phone in the kitchen, I'll let her know you are safe.  I've had these premonitions myself, but your mother seems to get the strongest ones.  Something is surely wrong somewhere.  I'll call around a bit later just to make sure.”

             
Marie closed the door as Claire walked back across the street.  Claire would never sleep now and decided to brew the first pot of coffee for the day.  She worried about Madeleine and the part of her the war had awakened.  She prayed that it was just a false alarm and that Madeline would continue the peaceful life she'd found in Missouri with Jack surrounded by good friends and neighbors, and enjoying the work of running her successful restaurant.  As her kitchen filled with the aroma of fresh coffee, her mind kept returning to Madeleine’s premonition.  She hoped there’d be an answer soon.

CHAPTER THREE

             
John and Karen Trunce sat at their kitchen table drinking coffee and glancing at the phone from time to time.  The dishes were done, the yard immaculate and the garden weeded.  Although they had both reached fifty, they were lean and tanned from chores and long walks.  They enjoyed one another's company more and more as John had finally retired from the US Army Paratroopers, after thirty years and three wars.

             
“Why hasn't Tracy called?  He calls every week and he's more than a week overdue.”

             
“Karen, I don't know.  He's NSA, sometimes they don't keep regular hours,” John said without conviction.

             
“He's only supposed to be training, not on a mission, if that's what they do.  Why do all you Trunce men have to find yourselves in some kind of uniform?”  Karen said, breaking eye contact, looking away, fighting her urge to cry, as she toyed with a cookie sitting on a plate in front of her.  John reached over and squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her when he was unsure himself.

             
“That was Tracy's choice.  You know you can't talk him out of anything.  He didn't just jump in without looking.  When they recruited him out of college, I gave him all the information I had.  I even got some old friends to fill him in on the real scoop before he made his decision.  He was never going to stay in Patience Missouri and hide from the world, Karen.  At least it kept him out of the draft.  If he'd even thought about volunteering for ‘Nam, Joseph and I would have tried to stop him.”

             
“I'm glad you're out,” Karen said.

             
“Three tours is enough for anyone.  I’ve had enough of war, and I’m afraid I've used up most of my nine lives.”

             
“What do we do now?  Isn’t there anyone we can contact?”  Karen said.

             
“We've both tried calling his apartment. He was training with the Mossad the last I heard.  They aren't even going to admit he exists, much less take a message for him to call his parents,” John said running one hand through his hair.

             
“Can you call someone?”

             
“I'll try a couple of old buddies who went over to the spooks.”

             
“I hate that word,” Karen shuddered.

             
“Sorry, it’s just an old army nickname for the intelligence community.  I know a few men who are still active.  It won’t be easy.  I might have to twist an arm or two.”

             
“Could Jack or Madeleine help?”

             
“If Madeleine finds out that her godson might be in trouble, you might as well unleash the hounds of hell,” John said his voice thick with warning.

             
“Oh John, it's been years since the war and her work with the Resistance.”

             
“Karen, you know I’ve never told you everything about Madeleine’s work in France in those years because it’s not mine to tell.  But she’s a professional of the highest caliber, despite her retirement these last years, and if I call her, you know she’ll come.  But not yet. Not till we know more.”

             
“Please find out as soon as you can.  This whole thing is starting to scare me. Let's at least tell Joseph.”

             
“You're right. He’d expect me to tell him as soon as I was concerned.  Joseph and I trained Tracy out in those woods,” John said gesturing out the window.  “He won’t be happy if I don't let him know.  He's smart and levelheaded and that’s what we need right now.  I’m sure he has a few contacts of his own.  We'll find a lead one way or another.”  John walked over to the wall phone, placing his hand on Karen’s shoulder as he walked behind her.

             
Joseph Harper picked up the phone on the second ring.

             
“Joseph, it's John.  Do you think you could come over, I need your advice?  Tracy's call is overdue and I'm not sure who might be able to help us with this.  It may be nothing at all, but we need to find out,” John said.

             
“I understand. I’m on my way Colonel,” Joseph said.

             
Nothing in Patience County is very far from anything else and Joseph was there within five minutes. He stepped in the door with a question, “How long since you heard from him?”

             
“It’s been a little more than a week. Joseph, who do we know that might owe us a favor and be in a position to find out if Tracy is okay?” John asked.

             
“I know Brad Smith is with army intelligence now, stationed in DC.  He’ll be cautious about it, but I think he'd do just about anything you asked of him, Colonel, you did save his life,” Joseph answered.

             
“It's not a matter of whether he will or not, it's if he can do it and not break any rules. I don't want anyone losing their job just because our grown son's call is a few days overdue,” John said.

             
Joseph shook his head. “There's the Russian problem too, Colonel.  We're both vying for an advantage in the region without overtly seeming to try to do so.  The KGB is snooping around, just like we are.  I doubt we're grabbing each other's agents, but I'm sure the
CIA
knows if an NSA agent has been taken. Both the USSR and America have too much at stake to start a war there,” Joseph said, reaching for the coffee pot on the stove.  He moved over to the kitchen table, seating himself as Karen slid the plate of cookies none of them wanted to eat in front of him.

             
The room was silent, except for the measured tick of an old wall clock.  The sun shone through a white curtain hanging over the kitchen sink onto the yellow wall, piercing the shadows and announcing the day.

             
“We might not start it but either the Arabs will or the Israelis, or both.  There's no way the USSR or Americans are going to be seen to start anything.  The death of one agent won't matter in the scope of open warfare,” Joseph said, breaking the silence.

             
“Then what do we do?” John said leaning forward in his chair.

             
“Before we can decide that, we have to have some reliable intelligence,” Joseph said.