The Silent Flames
TANG VAN HUONG
A cold December wind swept through the deserted streets of London, carrying the smell of gunpowder and the distant sound of sirens. In the leaden sky, black dots moved like giant vultures German bombers. Down on the ground, in the darkness of a cafe with its windows covered with black cloth, a woman sat alone, her eyes scanning the street as if waiting for an invisible signal.
Tareva Jackson put down her teacup, not drinking. Her mind was recording every face, every step that passed by. She knew that one wrong look, one strange movement, and the Gestapo could be lurking. In her coat pocket was a small piece of paper, containing the code that an entire resistance unit in Paris was waiting for.
Sponsored links
