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when she’s good and ready—she won’t let us down.’ And you haven’t. You’re home.”
    â€œYes, I’m home, Dad.” She paused. “But I’ll be away for about a week or so starting next Monday. Then I’ll be back in England and not going anywhere for a long time.”
    â€œGoing on a little holiday, love?”
    â€œNot a holiday, though it will be nice, I think—I’ve got to go to Paris to take care of some matters to do with Maurice’s estate. Nothing too taxing.” She turned to her father and linked her arm through his.“And when I get back, I’ll be with Priscilla during the weekdays until I find my own flat, and here at week’s end. I can’t miss Brenda coming up to the Dower House to cook Sunday dinner, can I?”
    Frankie nodded in the direction of the plow. “Taking his time getting that done, ain’t he?”
    â€œThe soil’s probably a lot deeper than he thought.”
    â€œShould have left it for a finer day.”
    Maisie stopped, her hand in the crook of her father’s arm, and looked across the field toward the farmer, who now seemed to be having words with the plowboy. “Yes, I suppose he should.”
    And as they walked on in silence, she thought about her return to London on Monday. There she would meet MacFarlane for a journey to another location—he had not revealed the proposed destination—where she would be plunged into intense preparation for what was to come. She knew that by the end of the following week she would be leaving the country with a gun in her hand, and she would know how to use it if it became necessary to protect herself or those in her charge. She would undergo a briefing and be tested time and again, and she would receive clearance to leave for Munich not only with her schoolgirl knowledge of the German language refreshed but with a deeper understanding of Leon Donat. She would know the city inside and out, her every step planned. Except, that is, for her diversion to a place known as Schwabing, which was apparently where many artists, actors, and writers lived. Elaine Otterburn had mentioned the area in a letter to her mother, and Lorraine believed she was living in the midst of the Bohemian enclave.

CHAPTER 5
    â€œS o, this is your Enfield Mark II service revolver. And as the bods at the Royal Small Arms Factory might say, it’s been improved. You will see it’s lighter, only a thirty-eight caliber, but a nippy little piece of tackle.” MacFarlane lifted the revolver, sighted a target, and fired, the bullet tearing through the center of the bull’s-eye. He held out the weapon to Maisie. “Go on, your turn.”
    Maisie looked at the revolver and reached for the wooden grip. “Oh, it’s heavier than I thought.”
    MacFarlane laughed. “Lassie, it’s a wee feather compared to anything I was brandishing in the war! Now then, this is what they call a short-range weapon, so don’t be looking down the street and thinking you can take down a man who’s fifty yards away. But she’s a nifty little thing—you don’t have to put a lot of effort into firing, and it’s an easy reload. First of all, though, let’s get this bit over and done with, and we’ll go through it again. Then you’ll be in the hands of Strupper—that’s him over there, watching. He’s our weapons man. He’ll be in charge of making you what they call a crack shot. By the time he’s finished with you, you could make a few bob as a sniper.”
    â€œWhy am I not starting with Mr. Strupper?”
    â€œBecause I wanted to see the whites of your eyes when you used arevolver for the first time, Maisie. Now then, off you go—aim and do your best.”
    Maisie was sure MacFarlane would not have missed the whites of her eyes from quite a distance, though she did her best to keep her arm steady and her attention