Chapter 8
Perfume is my memory, the chronicle of my life. - DB
4 April, 1940 - Paris, France
Jean-Claude pushed his cap back on his head and studied the diagram on the rickety chalkboard. A colleague was scratching out a complicated plan to disable the financial mechanism behind the Third Reich. Overhead the raucous sounds from a Parisian bar filtered down, in stark contrast to the seriousness of the clandestine group in the cellar.
Jean-Claude thought of his sister’s predicament, of Max’s death and Heinrich’s duplicity, of Danielle’s child and her mother-in-law now at the mercy of Nazi forces. It sickened him to the core. Since his uncle Philippe had radioed him with the news, he swore to himself that he would liberate them, and as many as he could, or die trying.
His wiry frame shoo
