Cecilia Gies

They had taken everything from her... the realisation was sharp, almost as painful as the icy cold of the water that her head was forcibly submerged under. She'd had a brief warning though, had been able to get in a good lung-full of a air. One of her tormentors punched her in the stomach and unable to beat her own reflexes, she lost some air- watched it bubble away. She did not struggle, she conserved her air as best she could. But in those moments as the tight, burning sensation in her chest got sharper and sharper, as she did try to struggle, she recalled their faces all too clearly. Jean Claude with his wavy brown hair and ridiculous glasses, Mum's careworn face, creased in a smile, Dad severe-looking as usual but with hints of laugh-lines marking his face. And Amy with her new short haircut capped with that ridiculous looking WRAAF hat that she still made look good. She tried to breathe in water, choked and gagged. I'm going to die... She lashed out with an elbow as best she could with her hands cuffed behind her back, but she thought she impacted something. Her head was forced further down and spots of black danced before her eyes.
It seemed an eternity, her vision was fading, her strength was failing and she was still trying to cough up the water when finally they let her up to gasp in the life=giving air.
"How do you find your bath?" her chief tormentor, the Abwehr officer asked wryly.
She coughed violently for a while before she had enough air for an answer. "Excellent," she choked out in French. If I get them angry enough, perhaps they'll just kill me.
"But it is so cold."
"It's probably the same temperature as your blood," she returned, half-wondering why she bothered to waste the air to say anything to the man.
"You British certainly do not leave your nerve at home."
"I have told you before, my name is Cecilia Gies. You are making a mistake."
The Abwehr officer shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my dear." He made a hand motion to one of his men and quickly, violently, her head was submerged beneath the water. It occurred rather suddenly to her that the bathroom was hardly an ideal place to question a prisoner. A cell would have seemed so much more appropriate. When they'd first dragged her in she'd had a moment to notice the lion's paw style feet on the white tub, the embroidered towels on the counter and the lavender scented soap by the sink. That and a picture frame containing not Hitler, but rather an impressionist watercolour of a few boats on a lake combined for a very incongruous scene for interrogation. She knew she was trying to distract herself, hoping the faces wouldn't come back to haunt her. But as someone kicked her and she lost the scant amount of air she had left, their faces returned, as clear as ever. Jean Claude... You're dead... don't haunt me. It wasn't my fault the Gestapo captured you and took you God only knows where. Jean Claude, blind without his glasses, but otherwise a force to be reckoned with. They took you all away from me. The faces of her parents were harder to resist. She'd been devastated when she learned two weeks after the fact... that they had been killed in an air-raid. They hadn't lived directly in London, she'd thought they'd be safe. But a bomber with an engine out, trying desperately to get back across the Channel had simply dropped its load short of London. No tactical damage had been done but twelve civilians were killed, fifteen more injured.
The black spots resumed their dance. I'd be with them again... If I let them drown me here... Let them? Who am I fooling? My life is in their hands... With a final, desperate elbow jab, she could no longer hold her breath. The cold water filled her mouth and she wondered if letting go now would count as suicide or not.
She was not to find out as a bare moment or two before she thought unconsciousness must finally come, the pressure on her head was released again and she surfaced- coughing and gasping for air.
"Madam, we are growing impatient."
Madam... that's right. That's the persona, she refrained from turning the wedding band on her finger, despite the fact that it had become somewhat habitual to do so when someone addressed her as a married woman. All in the persona. You're Cecilia Gies, your husband was killed in an air-raid near Maranique. You're Catholic, of the Jansenist variety. And yes, you were out after curfew, but you have no idea what they're talking about when they ask you about Silver. She had been wondering since she was captured what had happened to her contact but she feared she would either never know or know too late to be of any assistance. That's the fortune of war,
"Please have the goodness to dignify us with a reply of some sort."
This, the Abwehr officer had said in English. Cecilia forced herself to feign incomprehension. "I don't speak English. Please, just let me go. You have the wrong person."
"I think not," the officer said. He sighed. "This has been very distasteful to me, Madam. But you understand, the Gestapo would be even worse."
Ah, but you won't hand me over to them, will you, Fritz? she thought, biting her lip. Because that'd be stealing your thunder. You Abwehr and Gestapo may be on the same side, but you certainly don't act like it.
"I'm afraid we'll have to resort to harsher measures," the officer decided and left the bathroom. Cecilia's two guards dragged her to her feet and followed the officer. Though Cecilia was grateful for the change in scenery, she also feared whatever the officer had in mind as 'harsher measures'. It took every ounce of self control she had not to tense up as they passed five neat and spacious bedrooms- the large bathroom had been at the end of the hall. The house would have been very nice to visit, she thought, under different circumstances. Down an ornate flight of stairs, to the main floor. Through another hallway. Into the kitchen?! I wonder if cooking them dinner would soften them up a bit? She was not to find out, they hardly paused in the kitchen, the officer opened the pantry door. Cecilia squinted into the darkness below. The officer paused and lit a lantern that had been hanging on a nail by the open door of the pantry. "Down we go," he said.
Don't think about this too hard, Cecilia, she ordered herself. You're going to get through this, whatever 'this' is. And if you don't... well, you'll see everyone else again.
The pantry was dark but pleasantly cool- or it would have been if Cecilia hadn't had a head of wet hair. Food supplies were stacked neatly, but the pantry didn't end down there. It went a little distance further, leading to a metal grating. The officer took a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the grating. From the empty shelves, Cecilia guessed it had once been a wine cellar.
"In you go. Handcuff her to one of the shelves, please," he ordered one of the men.
Cecilia studied her new surroundings. Not a comforting bottle remained on any of the shelves and spiders had been busy in the corners of the small room.
"I hate to put you in here, like some kind of wild animal, but this is war and I don't have the luxury right now of dealing with you further," the officer said.
"You're going to leave me down here, alone. Without a candle?" she asked.
"I'm afraid so," the officer said. Her guards went to stand beside him on the other side of the grating and he locked it. "An additional precaution," he said. "Good evening."
With that, he left.
Cecilia watched as the light from the lantern moved away and slowly was gone altogether. She tugged on the handcuffs. Even if I had a hairpin, even if I knew how to pick locks, I'd still have that great big rusty lock on the grating to deal with. And I'd have to pick them both in complete darkness. she thought bitterly. Still, it could be much worse. He seemed quite satisfied to leave me down here indefinitely... That idea grew in her mind- of being down there in the wine cellar for days or even weeks... She shuddered. Weeks. Best not to think of it. That decided, she turned her attention and her hands to finding out the dimensions of the shelves. To her surprise, she recalled they were flat shelves, not the typical lattice style holders for wine bottles- presumably the lattice working had been removed. Awkwardly she tried to gauge the dimensions of the shelves as an idea came to her. She was tired. If the space between the shelves was wide enough.... It was. She smiled in the darkness and with a little difficulty managed to pull herself up on to the shelf she chose and turn so she could use it as a makeshift bed. It was hard and uncomfortable- and made even more awkward by her cuffed hand stuck as it was. Still, it was a horizontal surface. She could sleep.
For a while, she did, then rustling noises woke her. Mice, she thought sleepily. There shouldn't be any wild animals in a cellar in France. She tried to go back to sleep, but it sounded more like paper rustling. That got her attention and she sat up-forgetting about the shelf above her.
"Ow!"
Now there was light- faint light, coming from...
Amy?! Even the sight of her childhood friend outlined in an odd sort of blue-green was not sufficient to draw anything from her in English. Although she had been left alone, she had no idea how long that state of affairs would continue.
It was indeed Amy McConnell, in her blue WRAAF uniform, carrying a sheaf of papers. "Not your time yet, Cee," she grinned. "The paperwork decrees it. Your parents said to tell you hello."
I'm hallucinating... Cecila thought, stretching out her free hand to try to touch her friend. But the vision in blue was gone as quickly as she had come. Cecilia was alone again in the darkness.
*~*
Two days later, disheveled, smelly, hungry, thirsty and pale, Cecilia was allowed back up into the waking world. The Abwehr officer interviewed her in a study this time. He sat behind the desk and offered her a chair.
She took it, thinking about how much she'd rather have a wash. But not in that tub....
"So, Mrs. Gies, it appears we have made an error,"| the officer began.
Cecilia said nothing, scarcely daring to believe her good luck.
"You are free to go. And we do apologise for the manner in which you were treated, but you know that enemies of the Third Reich must be found out- and if there is a mistake, sometimes the innocent must pay up."
"I understand," she said flatly.
"Good," he beamed at her.
He was not bad looking, Cecilia thought, evil to be sure, but he had a nice face when he was really smiling.
"So if you would shake my hand and we shall forget all about this dreadful mistake," he proffered his hand.
She accepted it, reluctantly- and found to her surprise that a tiny piece of paper was being palmed off to her. Expertly she took it, without even really thinking for a moment. Only when it was in her hand did it occur to her that it could be one last cunning attempt to trap her. But when the officer said nothing and she was escorted to the front door, free to go, she wondered. She did not open her hand until she returned to her own flat, stale smelling from her absence. The paper was damp but the ink on it had not smudged, and it was in English. Silver has been compromised. Flee at once. A verification code accompanied it. For a few moments, Cecilia could only stare. How could he- what.... but he's Abwehr! Why would he.... is it a trap? These and a dozen other thoughts flashed through her mind quickly, but she still arrived at a decision in a timely fashion. Regardless of Silver, if I suspect my group has been compromised, I must shut down operations here. Perhaps if I go to Paris my contact there can tell me more- if he hasn't been compromised too... Fate, God, something, had given her a warning and she intended to take it. They may have taken everything from me. But one day, it will be restored. And they will perish. Those were her thoughts as she began packing.