“That’s not a question I can answer. But the commander respects skill, aptitude, and a strong work ethic. From what I understand, you excel at all three.”
Eloise’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve never met him. That’s very kind.”
Mrs. Archer merely smiled but said no more during the short upward ride.
The elevator door slid open to a well-lit, carpeted corridor. The walls were a pale yellow, a stark contrast to the institutional green found in the basement. The two women made their way to a large anteroom lined with filing cabinets. Several women sat at typewriters, busily pounding the circular keys.
“This way.” Mrs. Archer gestured toward a short hallway. They entered an outer office of paneled wood containing two desks and a seating area. “Wait here. I’ll let the commander know you’ve arrived.”
Eloise perched on the edge of a padded chair while Mrs. Archer rapped on the inner door then disappeared inside. Framed prints of Presidents Washington and Lincoln hung side by side on the opposite wall. Men who’d faced their own wartime challenges. Similar and yet so unlike what the United States was facing now. At least this time, the battles were being fought far away in places Eloise hadn’t heard of before she joined the code-breaking unit. Places like Guam, Bataan, and the Coral Sea. Plus so many more.
The inner door opened, and Mrs. Archer beckoned. Eloise took a deep breath as she stood. “You’ll be fine,” Mrs. Archer whispered as Eloise passed by her. “He doesn’t bite.”
Eloise swallowed a giggle then entered the room. An imposing figure in navy dress whites stood statue-straight in front of his desk.
“Miss Marshall. Welcome.”
Eloise didn’t know whether to extend her hand or salute. Maybe a curtsy? The vivid image almost brought on another giggle. She opted for keeping her hands at her side. “Sir.”
He gestured toward his left, where two men stood in front of a large pull-down map, their expressions impassive.
“I’d like you to meet Richard Whitmer and his nephew, Phillip Clayton,” Commander Jessup said. “They are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Shall we all take a seat?”
When they were seated across from him, Commander Jessup lifted a folder from a stack on his desk. “We’ve been reviewing your file, Miss Marshall. You’re doing tremendous work.”
Eloise folded her hands in her lap. “I appreciate that, sir.”
“So tremendous that Mr. Whitmer believes your skills may be of value to the Bureau.”
Eloise darted a glance toward Mr. Whitmer. His warm smile seemed meant to reassure her. Despite her doubts she had anything to offer such a mysterious organization, she responded with a smile of her own. “I suppose I could try.”
“I am confident you can do much more than that.” Mr. Whitmer gave her an appraising look, dispassionate yet piercing, as if he could assess her character with as much ease as he could evaluate her appearance. “Your family. What do they think of the work you’re doing for the navy?”
“There’s only my mother,” Eloise admitted, tamping down thoughts of her father and only brother. “She believes I sharpen pencils and fetch coffee.”
“She’s unaware of your talent for decoding complicated messages?” Mr. Whitmer asked. “That must be a hard secret to keep.”
“I signed a secrecy oath, sir.”
“We call that a redirect.” The nephew, Phillip, spoke for the first time. Neither his expression nor his tone was as affable as his uncle’s.
“A what?”
“We know you signed the oath. But you didn’t actually answer the question.”
“No.” She held Phillip’s stony gaze while lifting her chin. “My mother is not aware of my talent for decoding complicated messages.”
Phillip’s expression didn’t change, but Mr. Whitmer laughed. “She’s perfect.” He shifted his attention to Commander Jessup. “Will you approve her transfer to my investigative team?”
The commander turned to Eloise. “It’s your decision, Miss Marshall.”
A transfer? She glanced from the commander to Mr. Whitmer. To the FBI? She hadn’t known what to expect when she entered the office, but if she’d made a list of possibilities, the FBI would not have been on it. “Will I still be breaking codes?”
“In part,” Mr. Whitmer replied. “The assignment involves more than cryptography. I can’t provide additional details unless you agree to the transfer.”
“Are you a risk-taker?” Phillip asked, a hint of a challenge in his voice.
“Obviously.” Eloise matched his tone. “I moved here from Massachusetts all by myself with no idea what I’d be doing once I got here. All I had was an address and the promise of an opportunity to serve my country.” She gave him a brief up-and-down look, noting the wrinkles in his pants and the scuff marks on his shoes. “What risks have you taken?”
His eyebrow rose, as if he were taken aback by her assertiveness. Then his expression seemed to relax for the first time since she’d entered the room.
“She reminds me of Debbie,” he said to his uncle. “Same spunk.”
Eloise bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from asking who Debbie was. Even if they told her, she wouldn’t know if the resemblance was a compliment or an insult. Besides, she had the sense Phillip wanted her to ask, and she wasn’t in the mood to give him the satisfaction.
“I agree,” Mr. Whitmer said, his smile even broader than before. “Are you willing to take another risk, Miss Marshall? Perhaps more than one?”
Eloise hesitated, quickly evaluating the strange situation. If she walked away, she’d never know what she missed. That thought left her empty and lost. Any risk was worth satisfying her curiosity of what the FBI wanted from her.
The same sense of excitement, of independence, that had gripped her when she received the secretive offer to come to Washington gripped her again. Adrenaline boosted her heart rate, and the future seemed to beckon with a promise of breathtaking adventure.
She could only give one answer.
CHAPTER THREE
Taking her cue from Lisa Archer’s appearance the day before, Eloise dressed in her nicest suit for her morning appointment with Richard Whitmer and his nephew. She studied her reflection then frowned at a small stain on her lapel. Where had that come from?
She’d last worn the outfit, a blue skirt with matching jacket, when she traveled by bus to DC. A glance at her watch told her that she didn’t have time to change. If she were late to this meeting, Mr. Whitmer might lessen his seemingly high opinion of her. At least, he’d seemed impressed yesterday when she met him in Commander Jessup’s office. Definitely more impressed than his nephew had been. That young man had a chip on his shoulder just begging to be knocked off. What a coup if she were the one to do exactly that!
Phillip had been polite enough. She couldn’t fault him for his manners, but his thoughts often seemed to be at a distance from the conversation. When she accepted the assignment, he tried to hide his lack of enthusiasm behind a too-charming smile.
No doubt he was one of those exhausting men who believed the only suitable job for a woman was as a teacher, nurse, or secretary. But the war that took away the men also prompted the women to step out of their traditional roles.
Phillip’s views on such changes didn’t matter to Eloise. She would wipe that fake smile from his face by proving her value to Mr. Whitmer’s investigative team.
But she couldn’t make a good impression if she were late. She frowned again at her reflection then brightened. A brooch would do the trick. She rummaged through her small collection of costume jewelry and found a golden pin that would hide the offensive spot.
She turned one way in front of the mirror then the other, especially satisfied with the jaunty angle of her ivory cloche. Her eyes shone with the excitement of a new experience. Somewhere a grandfather clock boomed the quarter hour. Eloise grabbed her handbag and fled down the stairs of the Francis Scott Key Book Shop, where she and a few other women code breakers rented rooms be
hind the store, to catch a cab.
She arrived at FBI headquarters with five minutes to spare. She took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and assured herself one more time that the brooch hid the stain on her lapel. Perfectly poised with a smile on her face, she started to enter the room where she was to meet Mr. Whitmer. But the sound of her name stopped her near the doorway.
“I can do whatever needs to be done,” the voice continued. Phillip Clayton’s voice. “Whatever this assignment is, I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“You can’t break codes.” Richard Whitmer’s soothing voice was softer. Eloise leaned closer to the doorframe to hear what he had to say. “Besides, I strongly believe that this specific mission requires a woman’s touch.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Phillip’s tone hit a respectful medium between arguing and pleading. “Tell me what I’m supposed to be investigating.”
“I’ll tell you and Miss Marshall both. As soon as she gets here.”
Though Eloise couldn’t see either man, she envisioned the frown on Mr. Whitmer’s face, his glance at the door. She entered the room, shoulders back, chin lifted high. Phillip might not want her on this mission or investigation or whatever it was, but her role must be important, or she would never have been chosen.
Men!
“I’m here,” she announced, managing to keep her voice from wavering. She focused her gaze on Mr. Whitmer. “And ready to get started, sir.”
“Good.” Mr. Whitmer moved toward her and clasped her hand in his. “I was just telling my nephew that this particular assignment required a woman’s touch. I am delighted you agreed to join us.”
The tension in Eloise’s shoulders eased at the warmth of his greeting. She responded to his gracious smile with one of her own. “I want to do whatever I can for the war effort. Thank you for your faith in my abilities.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t help throwing a triumphant gleam in Phillip’s direction. He was perched on the edge of a table in the small room, his expression impassive and his eyes unreadable. Excellent qualities for an FBI agent, she supposed. But not so wonderful for an investigative partner. Hopefully, his prejudice against her wouldn’t hinder their mission.
As she stared at him, he slowly stood and joined his uncle. “You heard what I said.” His tone was direct but not accusatory. Nor apologetic. “Didn’t you?”
Eloise chose to be similarly straightforward. “I did.”
“It’s nothing personal.” His lips curved in a slight, self-deprecating smile. “I prefer to work alone, that’s all.”
“Why is that?”
A strange noise emanated from Mr. Whitmer’s throat, a combination of a gasp and a chuckle that he quickly turned into a cough. Was he horrified by her audacity? Or amused?
“Excuse me?” Phillip stared at her, the smile fading. Eloise’s cheeks burned, but she stiffened her shoulders again. She refused to be intimidated by his glare. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
As much as she wanted him to see her value, she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. His uncle wanted them to be partners, so whether he liked it or not, they needed to work together.
“Of course you don’t,” she said. “But I trust you will give me a chance to prove myself. Especially when you know little about my abilities.”
“Well said, my dear.” Mr. Whitmer propelled her toward the table and pulled out a chair. “Phillip isn’t as crotchety as he’d like you to believe. He’d rather be on his way to a different type of service, you understand, but here he is, at my request, ready to investigate a puzzling mystery. I can always count on him, and I believe you will come to count on him too.”
As Eloise took her seat, he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I confess he’s my favorite nephew. And he’s grown into a fine agent. Though when he and my sons were boys, they got into their fair share of trouble. The stories I could tell you.”
“No stories,” Phillip said firmly as he took a seat across from Eloise. “And I didn’t get into that much trouble.”
“He’s not good at taking criticism either.” Mr. Whitmer winked at Eloise then took his place at the head of the table.
“Could we please stop talking about my faults?” Phillip tapped the folders stacked in front of his uncle. “We have more important matters to discuss.”
“I simply want Miss Marshall to know what to expect from your partnership.”
“Okay, then.” Phillip shifted his gaze from his uncle to Eloise. “I’d like Miss Marshall to know that I know a great deal about her abilities. That I spent last night reading her dossier, and she may be surprised to learn that I am most impressed with her accomplishments.”
“What does that mean, you read my dossier?” Eloise suddenly felt exposed. She folded her arms across her body as if to protect herself from prying eyes. “What’s in my dossier?”
“It’s what the agency knows about you,” Mr. Whitmer replied. “Your biographical information, your college transcripts, the navy’s personnel records regarding your cryptology work.”
The college transcripts and personnel records didn’t concern her. She graduated magna cum laude from Wellesley College with a bachelor’s degree in mathematics and a minor in music. Her personnel reviews were exemplary. But what about the biographical information? Did that mean the basic data of her existence? Name, date of birth, gender, daughter of Leonard and Sylvia Marshall? Or did the dossier delve into the deeply personal?
She wanted to ask the questions burning a hole in her spirit, but she couldn’t form the words. Did the FBI know about her brother’s death at Pearl Harbor? Of course they did. What about her father? What did the FBI—what did Phillip—know about him?
Anger roiled in the depths of her stomach.
“What about his dossier?” She pointed at Phillip. “When do I get to read about him?”
“You can’t,” Phillip retorted.
Mr. Whitmer pulled a thin folder from the stack and slid it toward Eloise. “It’s heavily redacted, of course. You don’t have the security clearance to know about his previous operations.”
“Wait a minute.” Phillip reached for the folder, but Eloise snatched it out of his reach.
“Turnabout is fair play,” Mr. Whitmer said. “But you’ll have to read it another time, Miss Marshall. We have work to do.”
Eloise placed the folder, along with her handbag, on the empty chair next to her. She couldn’t help flashing a triumphant smile at Phillip, who scowled and looked away.
“I’m ready,” she said to Mr. Whitmer with a pert smile.
But was she really? Or had it been a mistake to leave the safe, underground world of ciphers and codes? A place where mathematics and transposed letters were priorities and so-called biographical information didn’t matter.
She was about to find out.
CHAPTER FOUR
Though his poker face was legendary, Phillip placed his hand over his mouth and bent his head to hide his amusement. Eloise’s confident facade was simply that—a facade. Despite her professional demeanor and rapt attention, she was one ticked-off lady. The set of her chin, the tilt of her head, the primness of her folded hands spoke a language he understood. She reminded him so much of Marcy in that moment. Calm on the outside but boiling on the inside.
Not that he could blame her. Even though he didn’t want Eloise or anyone else reading the personal information in his dossier, he should have quelled his impulse to grab his folder. But he had to admit Uncle Richard made a good point. He’d read her dossier. Now she could read his.
Her qualifications were superb. Graduating at the top of her class and with honors from both high school and college. Volunteer work as a math tutor at an orphanage. Turning down more prestigious jobs so she could continue living at home to help support her mother. Both musically and mathematically gifted—two attributes that indicated a knack for cryptography. No surprise that the navy recruited her.
The more interesting
aspect of her dossier, the sections that had given him pause, concerned her family. The effects of the Great Depression on her social status. The family’s tragic loss when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Who could blame her for feeling her privacy had been invaded? Certainly not him.
A twinge of guilt poked him in the gut, but he swatted it away. His job required him to know his partner. Even a partner he didn’t want.
He raised his eyes to his uncle. “Who or what are we investigating?”
Richard opened the top folder. “We have reason to believe that an American traitor is providing information to our enemies. The two of you are tasked with finding this spy and bringing him to justice.”
“Why would an American do such an awful thing?” Eloise asked. The shock in her eyes didn’t surprise Phillip. Though she’d experienced brutal heartache because of the war, this young woman had no idea how cruel life could be. Violence rocked the country even during peacetime. Less than ten years before, lawmen killed Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow in an ambush after they robbed, kidnapped, and murdered their way around the Midwest. Few people expected such horrors to invade their small-town havens, but they did.
“Maybe the traitor isn’t a ‘true’ American,” Phillip said. “He might be someone with German roots who feels more loyalty to Hitler than to the red, white, and blue.”
“How can we possibly find this person?” Eloise asked.
Instead of answering her, Phillip eyed his uncle and carefully chose his words. Most of the details of his last mission, which technically hadn’t ended yet, were classified. After the last saboteur was arrested, the FBI had issued a general press release about the eight Germans who’d been caught before they could cause any damage in the United States.
Eloise might be part of this team, but as far as he knew, she didn’t have a high enough security clearance for any information beyond what had appeared in the newspapers. “Could there be a connection with those German saboteurs?”
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