Family of Spies Read online

  Ford eyed the bags. An old, stained, beige briefcase sat on the floor next to Mom. It looked familiar.

  “Whose is that?” A wave of nausea circled his belly. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that beef burrito on the plane.

  “It belonged to Great-Granddad Crawford.”

  “Great-Granddad? Really? Cool.” Ford stepped closer.

  Mom smiled and patted the leather side. “I guess you could call it a family heirloom. It contains all sorts of papers from his war years. History is in there. You know, your great-grandfather was not just any old air force pilot from Newfoundland. He was a Rhodes Scholar.” Her eyes grew glassy. “My mom was always so proud of him. I thought it would be fun to have it with us—to see Paris from his point of view. Your dad thought I was crazy for bringing it along. Thought we’d be too busy to rifle through all his old stuff.” She laughed. “He’s probably right.”

  Ford reached for the briefcase. His head spun as his hand drew closer. He didn’t care. He needed to open it.

  “Uh-uh-uuuuuh,” Mom said, gently nudging him towards the pile of suitcases. “Later, ma’ boyo.”

  The moment Mom disappeared out the apartment doorway, Ford wrapped his fingers around the handle of Great-Granddad’s briefcase. His vision blurred. He blinked and stumbled backwards. The hardwood floors paled, greying into concrete. The hallway walls wavered and flashed, just like when a storm messes with satellite television reception.

  Goosebumps prickled up his arms. Was the apartment haunted?

  Ford gripped the leather-covered handle of Great-Granddad’s briefcase tighter, instinctively pulling it closer to his body. He blinked harder and when he opened his eyes, the walls around him slowly disappeared and in their place emerged an airport hangar. Where—how did he get here? He spun around, searching for his cousin. She was nowhere in sight. His heart raced.

  “Ellie!”

  The tang of diesel fuel filled his nostrils. A man in a uniform raced towards him yelling something in French and pointing to a single-engine prop plane—the kind you see in old black-and-white movies.

  Then a bomb exploded and everything went black.

  Chapter 5

  “Ford!” Ellie’s voice sounded muffled. “What are…”

  Ford tried to listen, but he was too tired.

  “Ford! Are you okay?”

  Why was she yelling in his ear? Why wouldn’t she let him sleep?

  “Ford!”

  Ford’s eyes blinked open. Ellie’s face was inches from his own. Her eyebrows scrunched tight.

  His head pounded, his ears rang. “What happened?” Ford sat up and smashed his head. “Ow!” He looked up.

  Why was he underneath the hall table?

  “You went crazy. You grabbed the briefcase and then screamed ‘look out’ and dove under here. Why’d you do that?”

  “I-I-I’m not sure…” Ford’s words trailed away. A smell of sulfur and something else—concrete?—burned his nose. It began to run. He wiped it across his sleeve. What happened?

  “Maybe I have jetlag.”

  “Jetlag? I don’t think so. You looked terrified, like you saw a ghost.”

  “I-I,” he stuttered, searching for words. Ellie’s eyes bore into him, her frown etched deep across her forehead. He had no answers for her. His gaze locked onto the briefcase. It lay on its side down the hall, just outside the doorway to the living room where he had thrown it in his panic. The buckles had popped open and the contents were scattered across the floor. Ford shook his head. It throbbed harder and his vision began to swirl. He took a slow breath and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, Ellie’s face stared back, her eyebrows scrunched even tighter.

  “You are holding out on me. Are you okay?” Ellie asked.

  “I’m okay. I-uh…” Ford glanced at the briefcase. “It’s going to sound insane.”

  Ellie kneeled next to him. Her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe, but you still have to tell me.”

  “I-I saw something or went somewhere or…I don’t know. It was really…weird.”

  “That is weird and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.” She stared hard at him, as if she was trying to read his mind.

  “I dunno. All I remember is seeing an airplane hangar and then, I think—uhm—a bomb exploded.”

  “A bomb exploded?” Ellie repeated. “Geez, I didn’t know you had such a crazy imagination.”

  She leaped to her feet and sped to the case. Still too dizzy to stand, Ford crawled to where she hovered over a mess of postcards, letters, old pens, photos, and paper clips.

  “All of this was in his bag?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Who knew our genius great-grandfather was a hoarder of desk supplies?” She carefully picked up a ragged black-and-white photo of a restaurant.

  Ford fought against his circling vision to stand beside her. “Let me see that.” Ford reached for the picture. The moment his thumb and forefinger grasped it, the room spun. Scared, he dropped the photo and staggered away from Ellie.

  “What’s wrong? Ford!”

  “Gotta…lie down.” He leaned against the wall for support and shuffled towards his bedroom.

  Ellie guided him through the doorway, shouldering his weight as he slumped against her. He flopped on the bed, moaning.

  Ellie swung his legs onto the mattress. “I’m getting help. Don’t move!”

  Too tired to speak, his head sank deep into the soft pillow.

  How could I go anywhere? I can’t even see straight.

  His eyelids were too heavy to lift, as if someone had placed tiny weights on them. The mere effort of thinking made his brain more sluggish.

  So…strange…I…can’t…

  He sighed and that moment of relaxation was all his body needed. Within seconds he was asleep.

  ¶

  He ran down a narrow alleyway. The walls of the buildings were so close he could almost touch each side if he stood still. But he couldn’t stop. Someone was chasing him.

  “Halt!” The man yelled, his German command echoing off the buildings.

  Not likely. I must get past the checkpoint and to the safe house before dawn. Or I’m a goner.

  He raced into the street, leaving the relative protection of the alley behind. There wasn’t a soul on the road as he veered left, purposely heading away from his final destination.

  I’ve come too far to let this Jerry get the upper hand.

  Apartment buildings and storefronts flew by as he sped from the SS agent. He searched for the sign. A flash of light from a second-storey window at the far end of the street broke through the dark night. Another flash but this time longer, followed by a wink of light.

  Thanks, Scout. Message received. I haven’t much time. The officer chasing me will soon be joined by his chums and I can’t outrun an entire troop.

  He reached into the satchel that slapped his hip, finding what he needed. Without hesitation, he yanked the pin and swiveled around, hardly slowing, and threw the live grenade. He didn’t wait to see it hit its mark. He ran faster, his legs burning and feet pounding on the pavement, his lungs screaming.

  Must reach the next light post. That should be enough distance—

  A blast of air hit him square in the back. Shrapnel pelted his calves. Pain shot up his legs. He flew forward, crashing to the cobblestone sidewalk, and rolled off the curb into the empty street, slamming into the tire of a parked car. He lay there, the wind knocked out of him, his head pounding. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat as it thumped loudly in his ears. He cradled his head in his hands, trying to focus his thoughts. He had to keep moving. His head snapped up.

  The checkpoint.

  Chapter 6

  Ford sprang up, drenched in sweat. Bright sunlight trickled through the shutters and streamed across the floor. Groggy and confused, he st
ared around the empty room.

  “Where am I?”

  His throat burned as he tried to swallow. His leathery tongue slid across chapped lips. He flexed his feet. They felt sore, like he’d been standing for a long time—or running.

  Running for his life? From Nazis?

  He rubbed his calves. What would shrapnel feel like imbedded in his legs? He shook his head. It was only a dream. Ford sniffed and caught a faint whiff of something pungent—just like when he imagined that bomb explosion in the hallway. It sure had seemed real.

  A glass of water sat on the bedside table. He took a gulp, untangled his legs from his blankets, and swung them over the side of his bed. Shivering, he grabbed his hoodie from the bedpost, slipped it on, and padded across the room. As he approached his closet, he noticed all his clothes hung in colour-coordinated rows. Ellie had been here.

  Mom bustled into the room. She came to a dead stop. “What are you doing hiding in the closet?”

  “I, ah—”

  “Never mind. Get back to bed.” She placed a tray of food on his bedside table. It was loaded with wedges of fresh breads, hunks of white and yellow cheeses, and a mound of fresh strawberries and raspberries. Ford’s mouth watered as she plopped two large marshmallows into a mug of hot chocolate. He climbed under the sheets and she fluffed the bedspread over him.

  “It took everything we had to keep your cousin out of your room. You were exhausted, kiddo.”

  Ellie bounded into the room and leaped onto his bed, swiping a large strawberry from his plate. “Finally! You missed an entire day, Monsieur Rip Van Winkle! You’ve been a total sad-sack for sixteen hours.”

  Aunt June followed Ellie into Ford’s room. “Now, Ellie, sweetie, give Ford time to wake up.”

  Mom smiled at him. “Yes, you need to take it slowly. Bed rest for you today. You had us worried, young man. If it was up to me, I’d have you at the local hospital for a checkup, but your dad convinced me otherwise. Jetlag can be nasty. The adults are going on a walking tour of famous cemeteries, but you can get a hold of us on our cell phones. We’ll only be gone a few hours. Now eat. You need something in your stomach.” Mom linked arms with Aunt June. They bent their heads together and began discussing which famous person’s grave they should see first.

  Ellie watched them disappear down the hall. “Hurry up. I’ve got something important to tell you and no way are we sticking around here all day.” Her dark eyebrows arched high, vanishing under the rim of a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap. She leaned across Ford to snatch a raspberry from the plate then reared back, pinching her nose. “Peeuw. You reek! We do have time for you to shower.” She howled with laughter.

  Ford grabbed one of the throw pillows and chucked it at her head. She ducked and it sailed passed her into his father’s face.

  “Dad, I am so sorry.”

  “I guess someone’s feeling better,” he replied, smiling as he readjusted his glasses. He picked up the pillow and tossed it back on the bed. “Glad to see you back to your normal self.”

  “Yeah, I guess the flight knocked me out.”

  “Your first overseas trip is the trickiest. The more you travel, the better you get at it, and I agree with Ellie. Fresh air is just what you need.” He patted Ford’s shoulder and whispered. “I’ll distract the moms while you three slip out.”

  “Wait. Us three?” Ford didn’t even try to keep the whine from his voice. “Gavin is coming?”

  “What did you expect? We’d let two thirteen-year-olds loose on the streets of Paris? You two are very mature, but even Ellie needs a chaperone sometimes.”

  “A chaperone! Come on Dad, it isn’t 1920,” Ford said.

  “Listen, you’re lucky I got your mother to agree to this. She wanted you to stay in bed for a good twenty-four hours. She may still change her mind, so unless you want to watch French soap operas all day, you had better get out that door.”

  “Fine.” He crossed his arms. Gavin, just great.

  “Thanks, Uncle Dave,” Ellie added.

  “Oh,” Dad replied. “And one other thing I agree with Ellie about. You need a shower—extra soap.” He winked at Ford, then left the room.

  Ellie laughed so hard she nearly tumbled off the other side of the bed. Her cap flew to the floor.

  “Hah! That’ll show you!” Ford said, as he stuffed a huge hunk of soft white Brie cheese in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything so creamy.

  “Chow down, Cuz. We’ve got some serious talking to do.” Ellie pulled a photo from the front pocket of her hoodie.

  Ford gasped. “The bug café?”

  “The bug—wait. Did you think magots meant maggots, as in baby flies?” Ellie stopped talking. She had no choice. She was laughing too hard to speak.

  Ford scowled at her. “Are you done yet?”

  With her shirt sleeve, she dabbed tears from her eyes. “Sorry. Very loosely translated, Les Deux Magots means The Two Stocky Figurines from the East. Kind of a weird name, but it is definitely not The Two Bug Café.”

  “Good to know.” Ford swallowed his embarrassment. He was too curious about the picture to get sidetracked. “Where did you get it?”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about. This is the photo you were holding when you blacked out in the hallway and the photo has something to do with Great-Granddad. I just overheard our parents talking about his mysterious war years and apparently the only thing he ever said about the war was that Les Deux Magots served the best café au lait in Paris.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yeah, and that’s not all. Apparently, there is this big family rumour that Great-Granddad worked with a famous Canadian spy named William Stephenson and, to top it off, they found out a few months ago that Great-Granddad’s nephew from Newfoundland was a codebreaker during the war at a place called Bletchley Park in England. He was trying to break secret German codes to win the war and your mom thinks Great-Granddad was up to some top-secret stuff too. Like James Bond 007 British spy work. Your mom got pretty excited at that prospect, but no one else did. It sounded like they didn’t want to waste their time in Paris running around after hunches. Your dad kept telling her she was getting all excited over nothing and I agree. I mean, all we have are a bunch of old papers and photos.”

  “Maybe my mom’s onto something. Before you came in here, I had this dream—” Ellie’s scrunched-up face halted Ford’s confession. She was too practical to think dreams meant anything in the light of day. “Never mind. Let me see the photo.”

  The moment his hand touched the picture, the room dimmed. His desk slowly faded.

  “It’s happening again,” he mumbled.

  Goosebumps raced across his arms as his desk completely disappeared, revealing a table and chairs. His stark white bedroom wall shifted and transformed into one that was butter yellow with white trim. An ancient-looking wooden statue of an Asian man quickly solidified, replacing the mirror that once hung above his now-vanished desk.

  He had to be hallucinating.

  He blinked. The wooden statue remained.

  Soft classical music and clinking silverware mixed with voices, French voices. Beyond the table, he could see shadows, but it was too hazy to make out details.

  “Ellie?”

  No response.

  “Ellie do you see this?”

  He scrunched his eyelids tightly closed. He must be going crazy.

  Please wake up!

  Ford counted to three and opened his eyes. The fog dissipated and an entire fancy restaurant emerged out of it. A slender crystal vase holding a red rose sat at every fine linen-draped table, and the men and women who filled the restaurant didn’t look like anyone he had ever seen. At least not in real life. The women wore either dresses or business suits with long skirts and all wore a hat, tipped to the side. Many even wore elbow-length gloves. Every single man had a dark suit and a Fedora hat.
Their ties looked super tight. Ford pulled at the neck of his shirt. Not one pair of jeans in sight. They looked like they walked off a 1940s Hollywood movie set.

  Ford’s heart raced. Where was he?

  “Ellie?” She was definitely not here.

  A maître d’ dressed in a long-tailed black tuxedo strode towards Ford. “Monsieur, s’il vous plait suivez-moi.”

  Before Ford could answer, a gentleman next to him replied, “English, s’il vous plait.”

  The maître d’ sucked in a sharp breath and his mouth puckered as he glowered at the man. “Monsieur, please follow me,” he said, in clipped, heavily accented English. His lips recoiled as if each word tasted bitter.

  “Merci,” the man said as he tipped his grey hat. A small smile quivered at the edge of his mouth under his pencil-thin moustache. He smoothed down the white handkerchief that poked out of his lapel pocket.

  This man seemed familiar somehow. Ford examined his short, sandy-blond hair and his grey-blue eyes, which were focused on a table across the room.

  Maybe he could help me, tell me where I am.

  “Sir, can you—” But the blue-eyed man was already across the restaurant, approaching a table occupied by three military officers. He saluted the officers and they raised their arms in response, red armbands flashed, angry black swastikas on display.

  “Heil Hitler!” They chanted as one.

  Ford staggered backward. Nazis? In Paris? Impossible. He spun around, nearly running into a waitress carrying a large tray of dirty dishes.

  “Sorry,” Ford said, but she didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at him. In fact, she didn’t even slow down. Maybe she didn’t understand English. “Excusez-moi,” he called after her in French. Still no reply. It was as if—

  “Ford!” A girl’s voice yelled. He fell backward. His head thunked against something hard. He blinked. Invisible hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. The restaurant faded away and his Paris bedroom reappeared. Cold water splashed across his face.

  Ford bolted upright, sputtering, and wiped water from his face with his shirt sleeve. Ellie stood over him, an empty water glass in her hand.