Praise for The Cryptographer’s Dilemma
Johnnie Alexander does it again with a fast-paced, engaging novel filled with rich history and fascinating characters. The Cryptographer’s Dilemma will leave you riveted and anxiously awaiting what happens next.
–Lauralee Bliss, author of thirty historical and contemporary novels and adventurer of our national scenic trails. lauraleebliss.com
Johnnie Alexander has created a masterful story of espionage set against the backdrop of World War II with characters I quickly came to care about. The twists and turns as Eloise and Phillip work to root out the saboteur leaking information to our enemies kept me turning pages until “The End.”
–Patricia Bradley, author of the Logan Point Series, Memphis Cold Case Novels, and Natchez Trace Park Rangers Series
Espionage, romance, and a strong heroine—readers of Sarah Sundin will not want to miss The Cryptographer’s Dilemma, a shocking tale of betrayal and truth being brought to light.”
–Grace Hitchcock, author of My Dear MISS DUPRÉ, The Gray Chamber, and The White City.
Johnnie Alexander’s wonderful new novel will take you back in time to WWII, and you’ll feel as though you’re really there with an intelligent and sweet cryptographer and the enigmatic FBI agent she’s paired with to solve a crime that could impact naval security. A real page-turner!
–Carrie Fancett Pagels, bestselling and award-winning author, Behind Love’s Wall
Johnnie Alexander weaves an intriguing tale full of adventure, well-drawn characters, and many surprises that kept me guessing until the end. As always, an excellent read, one that I didn’t want to put down. Johnnie doesn’t disappoint.
–Liz Tolsma, bestselling author, The Melody of the Soul and Snow on the Tulips
The Cryptographer’s Dilemma ©2021 by Johnnie Alexander
Print ISBN 1-978-1-64352-951-6
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 1-978-1-64352-953-0
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 1-978-1-64352-952-3
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Photo © Richard Jenkins Photography
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION
For Tamela Hancock Murray—the treasured answer to a fervent prayer.
Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the LORD. Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the LORD.
JEREMIAH 23:24
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
CHAPTER ONE
Washington, DC
July 1942
Green or brown. Brown or green.
Phillip Clayton set the unwrapped crayon upright on the diner’s Formica tabletop so it stood like a mocking sentinel. He could stare at it until the war was won or lost, and his 50 percent chance of guessing its color wouldn’t change. He flicked the offensive object onto the pile of wrappings he’d torn from each crayon in the box.
The bell over the diner’s door jingled. Phillip raised his eyes without lifting his head to assess the newcomer—a suit-wearing, middle-aged man with a misshapen fedora—the furtive maneuver more from habit than a professional interest in who entered the door at the far end of the long diner.
The renovated aluminum travel trailer sported booths beneath a row of windows that were separated from the stool-lined counter by a narrow aisle. Located on an out-of-the-way side street, the greasy spoon mostly attracted working stiffs like Phillip who were stuck on the home front while their buddies fought overseas to avenge the dead and wounded of Pearl Harbor.
Phillip’s gut clenched as he plucked a different crayon from the pile that resembled a stack of jumbled pick-up sticks. The pristine white one. That color he knew.
He couldn’t explain what prompted him to stop in the five-and-dime to buy the box or why he’d come in here, dumped the crayons on the table, and removed the wrappings. Maybe he expected the childish impulse to somehow offset the burn of the letter stuffed in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. If so, he’d sadly miscalculated. His thumbnail dug into the crayon’s waxy surface. Then, with little effort, he snapped it in two with one hand.
The bell over the door rang again, and Phillip inwardly groaned. His uncle, impeccably dressed as usual in a three-piece gray suit complemented with a slender gray tie, appeared as cool as an icebox cucumber despite the sweltering July heat. Richard Whitmer acknowledged Phillip with a dip of his chin then maneuvered his way along the aisle.
Phillip quickly shoved the crayons back into the box and swept the torn wrappings toward the napkin dispenser situated beneath the window.
Richard settled in the opposite bench and steepled his fingers. “Should I have brought coloring books?”
“How did you know I was here?” Annoyed at the petulant tone in his voice, Phillip deliberately lightened it. “Or is this just a coincidence?”
“I’ve taught you better.”
Phillip let a wry smile stretch his lips. “A coincidence is never a coincidence.”
“Exactly. Though perhaps this instance is an exception to the rule. I was on my way to headquarters when, lo and behold, who should I see out the window but my own dear nephew trudging down this street. I suppose that could have been mere chance.”
“‘Trudging?’” Phillip didn’t trudge. He strode. Sprinted. Raced.
Richard tapped the crayon box. “Is this an indication of bad news?”
The waitress, wearing a pale pink uniform and a frilly cap, appeared at the booth carrying a carafe. “Coffee?”
“Thank you, Irene.” Richard directed a smile her way. “Have you heard from Michael recently?”
“I received a letter last week.” She set a cup onto a saucer then filled it with the strong brew. “I have no idea where he is, but he says he’s fine and he g
ot the package I sent him. That’s a blessing.”
“Especially if your special oatmeal raisin cookies were inside,” Richard said. “I don’t suppose you have one or two of those hidden away behind the counter?”
Irene flushed at the compliment. “If I’d known you were dropping by, I’d have baked you a dozen.”
“Maybe next time then.”
“How about you, hon?” Irene gestured toward Phillip’s untouched cup. “Would you like me to freshen that up for you?”
“I’m fine.” Phillip forced a smile. As much as he wanted to lash out at the world, he couldn’t blame Irene because her son passed his physical with flying colors. Or that Michael’s youthful heroism led him to sign up with the army in the days following the Japanese attack. The kid should have graduated from high school a few weeks ago. Instead, he was only God knew where doing his patriotic duty. Phillip had never met the boy, but Irene had been a fixture at the diner for years. As regulars, Phillip and his uncle had heard numerous stories about her only child.
Her gaze shifted from Phillip to the crayon wrappings and then back again. “I’ll leave you alone then. Let me know if you need anything.”
After she was out of earshot, Phillip said, “Seems like someone at this table could find out where Michael is stationed. And that someone isn’t me.”
“A phone call or two would suffice.” Richard lifted one shoulder. “But it’s not my place.”
“I suppose not.” His uncle was right, of course. He might set Irene’s mind at rest for a time, but she wasn’t the only mother concerned about her son’s whereabouts and if he was getting enough sleep or enough to eat. Sometimes it seemed every woman Phillip knew carried worry around her shoulders like an iron collar. Most of the men too. Yet here he was, still stateside, because his work was considered essential. And because of this ridiculous issue with his eyes.
Phillip ran the edge of his thumb along his eyebrow, an old and unbreakable habit that somehow eased the saying of difficult words. “My appeal was denied.”
As Richard poured cream in his cup, the black coffee lightened to brown. Not green. A tidbit of knowledge Phillip had somehow picked up over the years but not a fact he could verify with his own eyes.
“Thus, the great crayon massacre.”
Despite his deep disappointment, Phillip couldn’t help a clipped laugh at his uncle’s quip. At least Richard was too diplomatic to say I told you so. He’d warned Phillip of this likely outcome.
Richard blew into the cup then took a slow sip. “I hope this means we get to keep you.”
“Flying a P51 Mustang isn’t my only option.” Just the one he’d dreamed about, imagining himself circling and swooping high above the earth during an aerial combat. “I can’t stay out of this fight like a weak-kneed coward.”
“I would argue that highly trained agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation are neither weak nor cowardly. Not all battles occur in Europe and Asia.”
“The important ones do. The ones that matter do.” Phillip left unsaid that it wasn’t only Irene’s teenaged boy who had volunteered to face the enemy. So had Phillip’s cousins—Richard’s only two sons who had joined the air force and trained to be pilots. So had Phillip’s childhood friends, his closest chums. He was the only one still at home. The only one left behind.
“I assume you’ve considered other options,” Richard said.
“You know me. Always a plan B.” Flip a coin. Heads, army. Tails, navy. What did it matter when he could never join his cousins to fight the enemy in the clouds?
“I won’t insult you by listing reasons this setback may be for the best,” Richard said. “Neither will I put undue influence on you to stay the current course.”
Phillip’s antennae went on full alert at his uncle’s tone. “But…?”
A slow smile crossed Richard’s face. “Your country needs you.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I need you.”
Phillip mirrored his uncle’s posture then cupped his hands around his mug and stage-whispered, “Did Hoover misplace his secret decoder ring? Did Roosevelt lose the map of the secret tunnel out of the White House?”
“Nothing that drastic. Yet a matter has arisen that may be vital to national security.”
“And we’re discussing it here?” Phillip waved his hand to encompass the diner’s interior. At this time of the day, the customers were few. But his uncle’s reputation as a stickler for protocol was well-earned and dogma by even the lowliest staffer at the agency.
Richard straightened, his eyes soft and his voice warm with affection. “Will you leave a tip for Irene? Or should I?”
As Phillip held his uncle’s gaze, the resentment that had weighed upon him since he’d opened the denial letter seemed to ease. Not by much but enough to temporarily shove aside his self-pity.
He placed money on the table and followed his uncle out of the diner.
CHAPTER TWO
Even though the random letters were in static blocks—five rows of five each—they danced before Eloise Marshall’s eyes in a staccato rhythm. The individual letters advanced, then receded, in a pattern of their own choosing that the cryptographer couldn’t explain. Not that she needed to. Her work spoke for itself.
The tempo of the dance changed as repeated letters took precedence over the others. With her focus on the coded message and barely aware of her actions, Eloise tapped the eraser end of a pencil on her desk and whispered the order of frequency for single letters, “E T O A N…”
Her voice trailed as the most common letters found in the first grid seemingly transformed before her eyes into possible substitutions.
She switched to the frequency of doubled letters and digraphs, still tapping the beat only she could hear with her pencil. “S S, E E, T T…T H, E R, O N, A N, R E…”
More of the dancing letters seemed to uncloak themselves enough for Eloise to pencil in the possibilities on a sheet of paper with the alphabet printed across the top. She meticulously wrote possible answers beneath the more common letters used in the grid. An E beneath a J. A T beneath a Q.
There was no consistency to the code, but it didn’t matter. After surmising several of the substitutions, Eloise switched to a decoding sheet, similar to graph paper but with larger boxes. First, she outlined five-by-five grids and used her preliminary alphabet key to fill in as many individual boxes as she could.
Next, she considered the trigraphs. “The, and, tha, ent, ion…” She focused on where these letter combinations appeared together, trying out possible substitutions for the remaining blank boxes and adding more answers to her alphabet key.
Each success boosted her spirits, giving her the same satisfaction as completing a complicated crossword puzzle or mastering a Bach fugue. Deciphering the codes, especially the more complex ones, could be tedious. But the more difficult they were, the more joy she experienced in successfully decoding them.
This one, however, was fairly routine. Caught up in her work, Eloise didn’t realize her supervisor hovered nearby until he cleared his throat. She glanced up at the grim, bespectacled man with his pursed lips and prominent Adam’s apple, rubbing her aching neck as she did so. Some of the girls called him Mr. Twitchy Twig behind his back. An apt description though not a kind one.
“Good morning, sir.” Expecting he wanted an update on her work, she continued, “I’m making progress, but it’ll be a bit longer before I’m done.”
“No matter.” He gathered her papers into a neat pile and placed them in a folder. “Your presence is requested. Upstairs.”
Upstairs? She’d never been summoned to that hallowed place before, and she couldn’t think of a reason for receiving a summons now.
“Are you sure they asked for me?” Eloise hated the involuntary squeak in her voice. She could control her vocal cords through an entire octave but never when her nerves took over. As they were doing right now.
“Unless there’s another Miss Eloise Marshall in this department of whom I am compl
etely unaware.” He bent slightly at the waist though he still managed to keep his shoulders and head in perfect alignment. “Go with courage. I assure you there could be no complaints regarding your work here. Or any doubt about your abilities.”
A compliment from Mr. Twitchy Twig? Another shock to absorb.
He tucked the folder under his arm. “Now go. They’re expecting you.”
Eloise smoothed her skirt as she stood. “Who exactly are ‘they’?”
“As if any of us know.” He gestured toward the door. “An escort is waiting for you in the hall.”
At least that answered the question of exactly where to go. Grinning to herself at the mental image of figuratively girding her loins, she marched toward the hallway door as if her insides weren’t a mass of lime gelatin and her knees made of rubbery goop.
In the hallway, an older woman wearing a trim jacket over a slender skirt greeted her with a gracious smile. “I’m Lisa Archer, Commander Jessup’s secretary. Please come with me.”
Eloise rubbed her bare arms. Like most of the other girls in the code-breaking unit, she wore a simple short-sleeved dress and bobby socks. A more professional style wasn’t expected of the cryptographers who worked in the lower-level warrens. Thankfully so, since the women didn’t earn enough money for a more upscale wardrobe. Besides, the area was almost unbearably hot. The few fans placed around the large rooms were adjusted to avoid blowing papers off the desks. A gal had to stand in front of one to get much comfort.
As she followed Mrs. Archer to the elevator, Eloise admired the quality of her outfit while shoving aside the feelings of inferiority, which, despite her accomplishments, often overpowered her. Not even being recruited to the secretive position of a naval code breaker had bolstered her feelings of inadequacy. Apparently, some wounds never closed.
They stepped into the elevator, and Eloise wrapped her arms around her stomach in preparation for the upward lurch.
“I don’t like it either.” Mrs. Archer gave a gentle laugh. “But we don’t have time to take the stairs.”
Her kind demeanor momentarily eased Eloise’s nerves. “Do you know why Commander Jessup wants to see me?”
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