Victoria Méliès lingered in a half-dream haze for as long as she dared. She did not want to leave the comfort of the eiderdown feather bed, but a slender shaft of sunlight sliced across the silky duvet under which she sought refuge, and she knew it was time to face the masses.
          She looked over her notes for the deposition she planned to give later that morning, against a man believed to be a Nazi war criminal. Her employer, MI6, had argued that open testimony during the Nuremberg trials would force her to reveal her identity and would compromise her safety. Instead, her deposition would be taken in secrecy using her code name: Evangeline.
          She dressed carefully. Her beauty often diverted attention away from the importance of her words. She pulled her hair back in a severe chignon, covered the rest of her crowning glory with a brown felt hat, and wore a modest suit.
          The butterflies in her stomach influenced her decision to skip breakfast. She could always make up for it later with a generous portion of Wiener schnitzel at the beer garden around the corner.
          She waited for a car to pick her up. Each minute felt like an hour. She paced the lobby of her hotel, hating every step she took, but knowing all the while she could not stop the apprehension that enveloped her.
          The lobby was intimate and just the slightest bit shabby. The blue-and-gold carpeting underfoot appeared threadbare in places, the wood-paneled walls lacked luster, and the marble that topped the reception desk had a crack running through the center of it. But even though the hotel had seen better days, it more than made up for its worn-out appearance with cleanliness and comfort. She smiled at the thought of the feather bed. She would enjoy going to sleep that evening, but first, she needed to get through the day.
          Victoria berated herself for having jangled nerves. It’s not like I’m appearing at the Palace of Justice with a fabricated story I need to make everyone believe. I’m going to tell the truth about an incident involving a Nazi official. Still, she could not shake the anxiety she felt.
          A sleek black car pulled up in front of the hotel. Even before a British commander emerged, she knew the car was for her. She nodded at the officer when he entered the lobby, and walked out ahead of him with her head bent toward the ground.
          As soon as she entered the Mercedes Benz sedan, a British councilor began advising her. “Only use your code name. Even if asked directly, do not state your real name. Do not give out information other than the code names of your colleagues. Do not give out your address, birth date, or any other personal information. Simply state the steps you took to prevent Heinz Bruchman from undermining an Allied invasion plan. And by all means, don’t offer any information other than what you’re directly questioned about. Your feelings are not relevant. Only divulge what you witnessed with your own eyes and ears.”
          “I feel like I’m the person on trial—rather than Bruchman.”
          “To repeat what I just said, your feelings are not relevant.”
          The Palace of Justice was a massive cream-colored edifice with a vivid red roof. Niches filled with stone statuary punctuated the top of the building. The impressive walls concealed not only courtrooms and offices, but also a prison. It was one of the few buildings of its size in the area to survive WWII nearly intact. It had been chosen for the trials because Nuremberg was in Allied territory and had been the site of numerous Nazi rallies. Some called it poetic justice.
          “We will not be going to courtroom 600,” the councilor explained. “Even though that’s the main courtroom, we have been directed to a smaller office because of the secrecy of your testimony. I’ve been there before. It’s a simple room overlooking an interior courtyard. It’s across from the prison wing. Do not allow the setting to undermine your duty. You are testifying on behalf of the British government.”
          His attempts to put her at ease made her more nervous. She dropped her handbag as she got out of the car. The councilor and her military escort continued toward the building while she stooped to retrieve her purse. She sighed as she stood up, feeling clumsy and foolish.
          A shot rang out, disorienting her. She immediately forgot the councilor’s advice.

         



CHAPTER TWO
The Pearly Gates
1946

         

          “Next.”
          The tall, bald man with the hooked nose looked directly at her.
          "Me?"
         “Yes, you. Name?”
          “Victoria Méliès.”
          “That’s not right.”
          “Well, of course it is. I know my own name.”
          “I’ve got your file right here and it says your name is Evangeline.”
          “That’s my code name.”
          “Regardless, forevermore you’ll be known as Evangeline.”
          “No. You don’t understand. It’s a code name so no one will connect me with Evangeline.”
          He stamped the top paper in her file. “You only have one name here, and it’s Evangeline. Line three. Next.”
          She turned to look where he pointed. Hundreds of people waited on line. “That will take forever!”
          He shooed her away with a flutter of his hand. “You’ve got forever. Trust me.”
          Line three snaked all around the brightly lit and expansive space. She found the end of it and took her position behind a man in a U.S. Army uniform. He turned to her. “Do you know what we’re doing here?”
          “I’m wondering if this is a hospital. I remember getting a headache. And now I’m here.” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the soldier more closely. He had a hole in his chest the size of her fist. “What happened?” she whispered, never taking her eyes from his wound.
          He looked confused. He felt the edges of the gaping hole and his face filled with fear. He looked back at Evangeline but couldn’t form the words to answer her.
          She pushed her hair back from her face and he gasped. “What is it?” she asked.
          He just stared at her temple.
          She lifted her hand to her head. Something wasn’t right. Evangeline looked for her mirror, but she had no handbag. She searched the area around her. How could this be? She had never gone anywhere without a handbag. How would she pay for a taxi? What if she needed a handkerchief? What if she were attacked? Her gun was in her handbag.
          She left the line and went back to speak to the tall, bald man with the hooked nose. After being ignored by him for what she considered too long a time, she butted in. “I seem to have lost my handbag. Is there a place to retrieve lost items around here?”
          “You’re supposed to be on line three.”
          “I was, but I can’t find my handbag.”
          “You don’t need one,” he answered abruptly.
          “But I do. There’s something wrong with the side of my head and I want to see what it is. My mirror is in my handbag.”
          “Mirrors are a symbol of vanity.”
          “And all my money is in there.”
          “Money is a sign of greed. Get back in line.”
          “No. You don’t understand. I have to see what’s wrong with me.” She tried not to sound hysterical, but her voice rose in pitch and volume.
          “You don’t understand. You don’t understand,” he mimicked. “Is that the only thing you know how to say?”
          Evangeline frowned. “Why are you bring so rude to me?”
          “Okay.” He reached toward her and turned over his hand. Her tiny gold mirror sat in his palm.
          She snatched it away. “You have my handbag. I want it back this instant.”
          Saint Peter sighed. “I don’t have your handbag.”
          “You have my mirror,” she retorted.
          “No. You have your mirror,” he said pointing to her hand. “Now, go away.”
          “I demand to see your superior.”
          “I’d like to see him myself. I agreed to be the bishop of Rome. Everyone said ‘nice work if you can get it.’ But before I knew it, they hung me upside down and bing-bang-boom, they crucified me. And now I’m here, shepherding his flock. I’m thinking you’re one of the black sheep.”
          “I beg your pardon?”
          “Look in the mirror.”
          Evangeline surveyed her reflection. She pushed her hair back. She had a hole in her temple big enough to stick a cigar in. She fainted, but as soon as she went down she felt something pull her back up.
          “There’s no fainting here. You’re dead, Evangeline. For a spy, you’ve got very little gumption. Now get back on the line for Purgatory, or I’ll send you to Limbo instead. You wouldn’t like it there. No one does.”
          “I can’t be dead. I’ve got too much I still need to do.”
          “Don’t we all. You’re lucky I didn’t send you straight to Hell. You’ve assassinated quite a few people. And you lie like a rug. But you’ve got a good heart. Some of the people you killed were honest mistakes. Others truly deserved to die. But one of the bad guys got you before you could get him. Or was it her? I can’t recall.”
          “Shot me,” she said quizzically. “You mean intentionally? I was murdered?”
          “Please,” he said with disgust, “Don’t tell me you want to go back and avenge your death. There are too many ghosts in the ether already and revenge – I might point out – is a sin.”
          “But I need to know what happened.”
          “Oh, for crying out loud, all you secret agents are the same. You think you’re so smart. But you’re not, you know, or you wouldn’t be here making my death miserable.”
          “I demand…”
          “Stop with the demands, already. You want to go back? Good, I’ll send you back. But you’re going to languish there until you find your killer. I was being nice. I was trying to give you some peace of mind. Purgatory isn’t heaven, but we can’t all stay at the Five-Star Hotel.”
          “I wish I could remember...” her voice trailed off.
          “And now you want special favors?”
          “I think I was in Germany.”
          The man looked up. The heavens above changed to a warm golden hue, and they heard the herald of trumpets followed by the sweet sigh of violins.
          “Well, Evangeline, this must be your lucky day.