“WE’RE FILMING A MOVIE!”
“Oh,” Skye said, putting back her “knife” (which was really just her keys) and subtly adjusting her skirt, which in all the commotion had been turned around. The Nazis were wearing make-up. The SS officer had a tiny microphone attached to his lapel, and was holding a Walkie Talkie. The prisoner-of-war had run to the edge of the pier, to see what was going on, and the wind had blown his moustache halfway off. In the face of all these actors and crew (and cameras) who had suddenly gathered, Skye looked as introspectively as she possibly could into the depths of the Atlantic ocean to see if that would make her turn invisible, and, as if finally coming into focus, realized just how obvious the many cameras and lighting equipment of a professional film crew should have been, and how, in hindsight, that many Nazis and good-looking leading men (all dressed as prisoners) spending a nice day at the beach together probably should have been a dead giveaway that a war movie was being made, and that she probably shouldn’t have run full-speed, panicking down the beach.
And besides all that, the second World War had ended seventy years ago.