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high above his head
    They were the first to arrive. The four men stood silently in the chill darkness beside their craft and waited.
    “There,” Mr. Rice breathed.
    John scanned the rolling waves and caught sight of a small vessel, similar to theirs, riding the swells to shore. Two men jumped from the boat, both armed, and pulled the craft onto the sand.
    The leader of the other group stepped from the boat and walked in their direction. His gaze met John’s, then slid to the first officer. “You have the payment?” His English thick with a French accent.
    “Aye. As agreed.” Mr. Rice pulled a bulky envelope from his inside pocket.
    “Give it here.” The man held out his hand.
    “You have our merchandise?” Rice moved toward the smuggler, but John slipped in front of him.
    “Let me,” John whispered to Mr. Rice. “ Montrez-moi, ” John nodded at the smuggler.
    “ Tu parles français? ” The smuggler’s eyebrows lifted.
    “You have the merchandise, no?” John replied, matching the smuggler’s heavy accent. “We see it first.” He held the Thompson with both hands and stared at the smuggler.
    “Louie—” The smuggler waved his hand.
    Two men lifted a long trunk from the boat. They set the crate on the sand near John and went back for another.
    “Your merchandise.”
    “Marv, take a look,” Rice instructed.
    The seaman beside John crossed the sand. He slung the strap of his machine-gun over his shoulder and knelt to unlatch the trunks. After the second lid had fallen open, he turned to Rice and nodded. “They’re all here.”
    “As agreed,” the smuggler said. “Now, the money.”
    “Give this to our friend.” Rice handed the envelope to the other crewman. “And help Marv move the trunks to our boat.”
    The smuggler’s feet remained planted while he counted the money. “I would have asked for more, as the price for weapons have risen since I met with your master.” He nodded to his men, then walked past the trunks filled with small arms to their boat. “But for a fellow Frenchman, this I will accept. Bonne chance, mes amis, ” he said over his shoulder as he boarded his watercraft.
    Marv and the crewman loaded the guns while the smuggler’s small craft move away from the beach.
    “Let them get well away from the beach,” John said to the first officer. 
    “I didn’t know you spoke French,” Rice brushed sand from his hands.
    John waited for the voices of the Frenchmen to disappear. “I have family in France.”
    “That’s right.”
    “They’re gone.” John slung the gun strap over his shoulder.
    “Step sharp, men. Master Keats will be pacing the deck.” Mr. Rice sat on one of the trunks while the two seamen manned the oars.
    John kept watch into the darkness, listening for danger while the sting of urgency rode against the side of his head. To the west, lightning flashed through the clouds.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 5
     
     
     
     
    October 1939
     
    Aubrielle Cohen arranged an assortment of colorful lilies, roses, and lavender sprigs in her market wagon and secured the awning. She leaned against her pony, Éclair, and scanned the Champ-de-Mars for customers. Few tourists remained in Paris at this time of year, especially now, after France had declared war on Germany. The exodus of tourists over the last two months left the streets empty. Everyone wanted out. Only soldiers and a few desperate vendors populated the park in the morning chill.
    She pulled her old coat tight at her throat and allowed her sight to drift to the top of the Eiffel Tower. If she didn’t make a few sales soon, she wouldn’t be able to refresh her floral stock. Greenhouse flowers came at a dear price this season, and Papa’s decline had left his millinery shop floundering—their savings nearly gone.
    Although Papa had stopped using the poisonous mercury to shape felt hats years ago, the damage had already been done. Often, his hands shook so badly he could hardly eat. Thank God her mother’s best