For months, the resistance had sought to place someone close to Eckhart. If they had succeeded, Marie had no need to know. But now she stood inches from the general himself. He towered over her slender frame and was handing her a special ration card.<br/><br/>One did not gain such a card for free. No German would ordinarily grant a simple seamstress this privilege. Yet now she held in her hand a Friend of the German Third Reich card signed by Eckhart himself. This was literally like gold. Any German seeing that signature on her ration card would shudder to interfere with her movements. Possession of such a card alone meant that her value to the resistance had gone up immeasurably.<br/><br/>A loyal Frenchman might refuse such a card and be shot. Carrying it meant you would forever be branded a collaborator. Such a person would be feared during the war, but if peace ever came they would be hated and despised. It was a critical juncture in her young life.<br/><br/>Slowly, her heart slowed. Marie suspected she would be made to spy on her friends and employer in return for the card. It might present the opportunity to feed false information to the Germans. But the risk was incalculable.<br/><br/>Her slender hands were strong and calloused from long hours at the sewing machine. One trembled as she reached up and took the card. It burned where it touched her skin. This was akin to signing a contract with the devil in blood. She forced herself to look into Eckhart’s eyes. In her fevered imagination, they held all the warmth of a snake.<br/><br/>“You honor me and my employer,” she said with a nervous smile. Her heart felt like hummingbird wings, so fast did it beat against her chest. She hated this man with every fiber of her being, yet she had to play nice with him. Truly, this was a deal with the devil. "I appreciate your great kindness."<br/><br/>