White Daisies

Chapter 15

When we get there, we chain our bicycles in the alleyway and walk through the doubled doors of La Tosca together. Cigarette smoke is the first thing that assaults my senses when I enter. It hovers and swirls in the air, coating everything with a thick illusion of mistiness. Dim light emits from the chandeliers that suspend from the molded ceiling. A long red booth lines the right wall and square tables with chairs fill the rest of the narrow dining space. Each table is adorned with an ivory colored cloth and a flickering candle. Alcohol bottles of varying sizes and shapes are posed like families for a portrait on shelves behind a long counter that extends across the entire back wall. Somewhere, jazz plays quietly from a radio, but the music is drowned out by the chatter and overall cluttered atmosphere of the restaurant. I start to look at the occupants of each table.

Frances was right: This place was crawling with Nazi soldiers. A man in a green or black uniform sits at almost every table. Some looked to be just now enjoying their dinner, while others played cards or laughed just a little bit too loudly.

Without warning, reality hits me in the face. I've spent so much time fantasizing about what it would be like to rebel that I didn't prepare myself for the actual moment. It feels so surreal. We're really doing this, right here and right now. And we're not prepared for it at all. As I look around the restaurant, I have no idea how we're going to pull this off. Do we just go up to an officer and ask them questions? How do we disguise our intent? Should we give fake names? What are we going to do if we even get any information? If someone figured out that we're spying on them, we would be arrested and maybe even executed. Fear clenches in my stomach for the first time, and I almost tell Frances and Eva that this was a bad idea and that we should leave.

I close my eyes and think about what Mr. Jensen said. You're incredibly bright and talented, Ana. I know that you'll excel at anything you choose to do.

Right, of course I don't. You make great decisions on your own. Jacob's words produce a bitter taste in my mouth.

I swallow the lump in my throat and pull Frances and Eva into the small cloakroom in the entranceway. "Here's the plan. Eva, I want you to sit at the last booth in the back right corner of the restaurant and be our lookout." I pull a white handkerchief with a blue stripe out of my clutch. "If you think that something is wrong and we need to get out of here, I want you to walk past me and drop this on the floor. After you do that, meet us outside in the alleyway. Also, make a note of everybody who comes in. If it's someone we know, we can't let them see us."

I step slightly out of the alcove to glance around the floor of the restaurant. As my eyes glide over the room, I try to find a realistic target. Some officers were too old, and it would look suspicious if two teenage girls were trying to flirt with men that could easily be twice their age. Some groups were too big. The fewer witnesses we had, the better. They also needed to be drunk, which knocked out a couple of tables that were only there for dinner. Finally, my eyes catch on two Germans that sit at a table on the left side of the restaurant, their feet sprawled out in front of them. Two bottles of empty schnapps lay haphazardly on the table, and one remains unopened. They look to be only a few years older than us. Judging by their black uniforms and the pins on their right breast, they're not only Gestapo officers, but they're also members of the Schutzstaffel.

A light bulb goes off in my head. I turn towards Frances. "Two German Gestapo and SS officers at 8 o'clock. A few bottles in. Neither of them is wearing a wedding ring. Same age, maybe a few years older than us. Ranked, but not too high up."

Frances purses her lips. "Perfect." She then peels off her coat to reveal a silky wine colored dress with a plunging neckline. It hugs her waist perfectly, and the pleated fabric of the skirt flows like water down her legs. Her thin wrists are cuffed with strings of pearls.