Re: Blood and Iron Chapter 909: Loose Lips

The thought rang throughout his head over and over again. Did he actually know anybody that actually fit the description?

Jacques was a veteran mber of Réveil de France. Comparatively, most of its mbers were teenagers and young adults who had signed up as their lives crumbled around them.

He had survived a whole year of operations. But if he were being honest with himself that was because they were mostly outside the level of violence and risk that they had just conducted.

Even so, within that year’s span he had almost exclusively interacted with the mbers of his own cell. After all, Réveil de France was deliberately disorganized and semi-autonomous to prevent crackdowns on singular cells from affecting the entire organization.

And it was generally the leaders of each cell, and perhaps sotis his second-in-command who communicated with others within the network.

Jacques continued to think about it in silence until one face ca to mind. A woman, her French a bit too flawless. Her loyalty a bit too unquestionable. In the past, Jacques had thought that she was the living personification of Marianne, the enduring symbol of the deceased French Republic and its ideals.

He didn’t know anything about the woman other than she was a liaison from central command, a node in the network Jacques knew nothing about other than they spoke for all of Réveil de France.

And when he thought about this, his voice beca cold and hesitant.

"I... I must confess I don’t know much. There’s only one face that cos to mind when you tell all of this. I never t her directly, in fact I have only seen her engage with Philippe. And I don’t know her na... All I know is that they call her conférencière. She’s the only one I ever briefly made contact with outside of our cell."

The intelligence agent seed to notice sothing about the title. There was a glint of understanding in his eyes, and perhaps even excitent, while he noted the na down on his papers.

He didn’t imdiately make a move. Instead, he was quick to ask for sothing that Jacques was already expecting.

"And did you get a good look at this... conférencière’s face?"

How could Jacques ever forget such a face? He nodded, almost too eagerly, while he recalled his mory.

"She was beautiful.... More beautiful than any living woman I have ever t."

He then went on in great detail to recount her appearance. How many of these features were actually the woman’s in question, and were instead idealized traits adopted from Marianne. Only Jacque’s subconscious really knew.

But the interrogator accurately sketched a profile based on the descriptions that Jacques had provided her.

Neither of them noticed one of the local police standing in the background behind the interrogator and his federal agents, look over the interrogator’s shoulder and smirk at the finished result.

And when the interrogator handed over the sketch to Jacques, he asked a simple question.

"Does this match the appearance of the woman you saw?"

Jacques eagerly nodded, pointing his finger directly at the sketch, which was masterfully done. Showing that the interrogator at least had so talent as an artist.

"That’s her, I’d recognize her anywhere!"

This response seed to have satisfied the interrogator, who stashed his sketchbook in his coat pocket. Patting it thrice before standing up with a victorious smirk on his face.

"You have been very helpful. I will be back soon enough, as I’m sure my investigation will require that our paths cross again. In the anti, the departnt here in Zurich will arrange your relocation and new identity. I assure you that if the information you gave leads to an arrest, you will be fully pardoned for all cris committed against the Swiss Confederation."

After saying this, the man turned to leave, slowly but surely walking out of the room with the federal agents who accompanied him trailing just behind.

Once the door was shut and the federal agent was gone; Jacques sighed in relief, relaxing in his chair as he thought about all that had occurred.

His thoughts were filled with mories, trying his best to recollect anything at all related to the potential reality of a German infiltrator in their ranks.

But his thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, as a police officer brought in a bowl of porridge and so utensils. The officer placed the al down on the table and left just as swiftly as he had arrived.

Jacques didn’t hesitate to dig into it. Truth be told, after everything that happened today he was famished.

Still lost in thought he didn’t realize that there was an unusually bitter taste to the porridge.

Nor did he see the officer who had brought him his al nod silently to the one who had looked over the interrogator’s shoulder earlier in the evening.

It was only after Jacques had finished the bowl of porridge that one of them finally spoke with a smirk on his face. His words not in Swiss-German, but perfect Low Prussian.

"You really should have kept your mouth shut.... It would have been better for everyone."

Jacques may not have known exactly what the man said. As his understanding of the German language was entirely of the Swiss dialect.

But because it was his second language, he could instantly detect that what the man had said was indicative of his true origins.

He tried to rush to his feet in panic, but the strength had already faded from his limbs before he could even fully comprehend what was happening.

The room began to blur, and his thoughts began to fade. By the ti his head hit the table, the guards were already shouting for help while his body slid from his chair.

"Help! Help! The prisoner has collapsed!"

But it was too late, Jacques was dead. And whatever additional information he may have been able to provide to the Swiss Federal Police died with him.