Richard hadn’t yet received the package, but Phillip didn’t have much hope that the Clark letters were going to provide any evidence that would be helpful.
As time went on, he found himself doubting that even the original letters meant anything. There was no proof that “Mr. Shaw” referred to a navy destroyer or that the dolls that were mentioned referred to specific kinds of ships. Only Eloise’s guesses. And on that basis, Richard had sent the two of them on this giant wild-goose chase when bona fide saboteurs were being executed for their intentions.
Eloise.
He’d seen the confused hurt in her eyes when he’d told her to stay in the lobby. She must have wondered why she couldn’t be with him when he called Richard. How could he tell her it was because he knew the call was about Operation Pastorius and that he would need time alone after the call to make sense of the senseless? To gather his thoughts and compose himself before he returned his focus to their current mission?
A fool’s errand.
He stood as a niggling thought worked its way into his consciousness. What if his frustration with their current mission had more to do with his own unsettled mood than with the facts? It wasn’t like him to be close-minded, an attitude that definitely didn’t bode well for any agent.
His uncle had chosen him specifically for this mission because he had trust in his judgment and because he trusted him to watch over Eloise.
He opened the door as a man with striking red hair and a limp emerged from another office. “Well, if it isn’t Agent Clayton,” he called out. “What are you doing on this side of the continent?”
“Checking out a rumor,” Phillip said with a nonchalant shrug. Agent Bernard “Red” Eckers was the last person he’d expected to see here and somebody he’d rather not see again. “Last I heard, you were working out of Denver.”
“You’re behind the times then.” Red slugged Phillip on the shoulder—hard enough to make a point but not hard enough to appear as anything other than a friendly gesture. Phillip refused to give him the satisfaction of wincing, and he resisted the almost primal urge to punch back. Typical Red. Hiding his hostility behind a not-so-friendly punch just like he hid his cutting remarks behind claims that his victims couldn’t take a joke. “I did a stint in Phoenix before transferring here,” he continued. “Never could get used to that dry desert air though.”
“So, you traded it for rain.” Likely story. Knowing Red, he’d been cast out for insubordination or he’d gotten in hot water over a woman. The first had prompted Red’s move from DC headquarters to Philadelphia. The second sent him to St. Louis. Maybe it was a combination of the two that had sent him first to Denver then to Pheonix. Phillip didn’t care enough to ask for details.
Bouncing troublesome agents from one field office to another wasn’t his idea of leadership, but the Bureau didn’t like to fire a man after investing time and money in his training. Instead, the higher-ups gave second and sometimes third and fourth chances, then tightened the leash on the unrepentant ones by chaining them to a desk. That allowed them to test the patience of their superiors but limited their interaction with the public.
“You get used to it,” Red said with a smirk as he lit a cigarette. “The damp is a good excuse for adding a nip from the flask to a cup of hot coffee. But don’t you go telling your uncle I said so.”
“My lips are sealed.” Phillip started past him, but Red blocked his way.
“You’re a long way from home for a rumor. I wouldn’t mind stepping away from the paperwork for a while. Perhaps I could give you a hand.”
“Sorry, Red. I only stopped here to check in with headquarters.”
“Another time then.”
“Maybe.” Phillip waited for Red to move, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get out of the way. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“Do you know anything about that doll in the lobby?”
“What doll?” With the doll case on his mind, it took Phillip a moment to realize Red meant Eloise. His confusion turned to disgust. “Did you try anything with her?”
Red emitted a harsh laugh. “Don’t worry, big guy. I said hello, but she ignored me. Tried to anyway.”
Phillip had had enough. He pushed past Red and headed for the lobby. He wouldn’t want someone like Red anywhere near one of his sisters, and he didn’t want him near Eloise either. His pity party had kept him away from her for too long.
He hurried to the lobby, but Eloise wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d gone to powder her nose, as the ladies always said. Where else would she have gone?
“She left,” the receptionist said, as if answering Phillip’s unspoken question.
“Excuse me?” Phillip walked to the desk.
“That gal who came in with you? She walked out. I think she was crying.”
“Crying?” Phillip narrowed his eyes. “About what?”
“My guess is she read something in the newspaper that upset her.”
He darted his eyes toward the table where sections of the newspaper were stacked in a neat pile. Her handbag was on the floor beside a nearby chair.
“Don’t bother looking. She took the offending section with her.”
He grabbed up the stack anyway. The Seattle Times. What could possibly have been in it that would upset Eloise? He flipped through the sections. Sports, comics. Entertainment, op-eds.
She took the local section, but why? He shifted his attention to the receptionist. “Did you see which way she went? Did she get a cab?”
“I have no idea. Sorry.”
Sure you are.
Phillip rushed out of the building and looked up and down the street. Where would Eloise have gone? And why had she gone at all?
There was nothing for him to do but try to find her. And when he did, he’d give her a reprimand she wouldn’t soon forget. The thought caught him short. Eloise wasn’t one of his sisters. Even though they’d known each other only a short time, they’d spent much of that time together—on a train, in a car, on a plane. Eloise had a level head on her shoulders. She wouldn’t have been recruited by the navy if she didn’t. And she definitely wouldn’t have been recruited by Uncle Richard. She might be a little naive, but she wasn’t given to hysterics.
He looked around the streets and found what he was looking for—a newsstand. He bought a copy of the day’s paper and scanned the local section. A story in this paper had upset Eloise—had more than upset her. He was determined to find out which one.
Nothing jumped out at him, so he started again, this time from the last page of the section. “Where is it?” he muttered. The section included stories on local politics, a new construction project, a feel-good story about whale sightings off the Pacific coast. Other stories too, but nothing that could possibly upset a young woman who until recently had never been west of the Mississippi.
His heart racing, he carelessly folded the section and tossed the rest of the paper away. His gut tightened as he scanned the street again. Where had she gone? And more important, why?
Pacing would get him nowhere. He needed to act. For the first time in a long time, he was unsure what to do, and the uncertainty frightened him.
Show me where to go, God. Lead me to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eloise walked out of the department store and gazed at the sky. The dark clouds rolled overhead, threatening a downpour at any second. She doubted she could get to the FBI office before the storm began. She didn’t know if she should even try. Her behavior had been horribly unprofessional. But her emotions—in a rare moment—had completely overtaken her reason. Heat reddened her face. What would Phillip think of such ridiculous foolishness? He’d probably send her back to DC on the next eastbound train. Or worse, on a jolting, hot, unbearable bus that stopped at every other junction. She wouldn’t be back to the capital for weeks.
She’d been gone too long to have any hope of him finding her in the lobby after his phone call. Even if she managed to get there before he knew she’d been gone, h
ow would she explain her unkempt appearance? Especially if she got drenched on her way back.
Sometimes—not always but sometimes—she felt like he was disinterested in their mission, perhaps even that he felt it was beneath him to have been sent on an investigation like this one. Though she believed she had proven herself to be invaluable in interviewing both Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Walker, Phillip might have been able to elicit the same information from the women without her. And truth be told, they hadn’t really learned anything new from Mrs. Walker.
Embarrassed and tense, Eloise trudged toward the FBI field office. She had no idea how many blocks she’d gone when she fled with the newspaper. While in that emotional state, she hadn’t been aware of her surroundings. But now her feet ached, and each step in her dressy black pumps was torture. She tried to put the physical pain as well as the emotional pain out of her mind.
If Phillip did send her back to DC, perhaps Commander Jessup could be persuaded to let her return to her code-breaking desk. That’s where she belonged. She should never have left the comfort of letters and numbers, patterns and puzzles.
At the crosswalk, she stopped, waiting for the signal to cross the side street.
“Eloise!”
Hearing her name, she looked around. Phillip waved to her from the driver’s seat of the car they’d borrowed from the Seattle FBI. He pulled to the opposite curb then stepped out and jogged across the street toward her, her handbag tucked under his arm.
Her mind raced for some explanation she could give him. Anything that sounded plausible. Not even the truth made sense, but she couldn’t tell him that anyway. Not yet. Maybe never.
When he reached her, he held her gaze until, unable to decipher what she saw in his eyes, she looked away.
“I brought your purse.” His voice was gentle and not at all accusatory as he held out the bag. She clutched it to her chest.
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready to be my sister again?”
That wasn’t the question she’d expected him to ask. He smiled, and his features softened. In the depth of his eyes, she detected curiosity, but more than that, she found compassion.
“It’s been a long day,” she said as if the simple words explained everything when she knew—and she knew he knew—they explained nothing.
“For me too.” He glanced at the darkening skies. “It’s about to be a wet one.”
As if to confirm his words, a gust of wind swept scraps of paper and other bits of trash along the street between the buildings. Phillip’s suit jacket flapped open, and Eloise clapped her hand on her hat before it blew away.
“We’ll get a couple of rooms somewhere,” Phillip continued. “Maybe even splurge on a nice steak dinner this evening.”
His unexpected kindness added to Eloise’s emotional turmoil. It was as if he understood something about her that she didn’t understand herself. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip.
“Or we could order room service,” he suggested with a teasing lilt in his voice. “Do you play gin rummy?”
Eloise couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to cheer her up, especially when he’d said it had been a long day for him too. Maybe Richard had told him something about the case. Had she been wrong about the jargon code?
She met his gaze. “Bad news from your uncle?”
“I guess that depends on your point of view.” He started to say something more, but at that moment, the skies opened with a loud rumble. “Let’s go,” he shouted over the din of the storm as he grabbed Eloise’s hand. She bent her head against the onslaught of slanting raindrops while peering along the street to check for traffic. Together they raced toward the car and clambered inside. A streak of lightning lit up the sky.
Once she was inside Eloise leaned against the seat and looked sideways at Phillip. He removed his hat and water trickled down his face from his hair.
“I feel like a drowned rat,” he said.
“You look like one too.” Eloise couldn’t help grinning, though her insides still felt like mush.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” he shot back, his eyes dancing.
She groaned. “Do I dare?”
“No reason not to. You look mighty fine to me.”
From anyone else, the compliment might have sounded like a pick-up line. Somehow, Phillip’s tone sounded reassuring, like something her brother might have said. If only Allan were with her right now. He’d know what to do about the article she’d seen.
She placed the soggy newspaper on her lap and sensed Phillip’s eyes on her. He’d given her a choice: dinner out or room service. Which was the safer option? The one most likely to keep his curiosity at bay. The one least likely to encourage confidences that would later be regretted.
He cranked the ignition and drove around the block, past the field office, and toward the western horizon. About a hundred miles due west of the city, an ocean crashed against the continental shelf. She’d caught a glimpse of the magnificent and powerful Pacific from the plane as it circled the military airport located near the coast. The wide expanse of white-capped waves seemed to extend forever. It was an ocean that hid corpses of ships, of men, within its depths.
Phillip drove, his mood somber again, while quiet tears dampened Eloise’s cheeks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The rain intensified as the day wore on. Phillip reserved a suite in a downtown hotel that busted his expense budget and probably wouldn’t slip past the bookkeepers back in Washington. But he didn’t care. They’d been staying in small roadside motels since the beginning of the trip. What was the harm in treating themselves a little? He’d deal with any fallout when he returned to headquarters.
The two bedrooms accessed a tiny sitting room with a square dining table and chairs, an upholstered sofa, and a freestanding radio cabinet. After changing into dry clothes, Phillip tried to see beyond the rain that fell in steady sheets in front of the two tall windows. But even the buildings right across the street were difficult to see.
He turned his attention to Eloise when she emerged from her room pressing strands of her damp hair between the folds of a thick towel. She wore a blue cardigan over a scoop-necked top, a shin-length dark skirt, and fuzzy slippers. Her eyes were still red from crying. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, a temptation he’d been struggling with since he found her on the street corner. Her vulnerability touched a deep place inside of him, one he hadn’t known existed until he met her. One he wasn’t ready to acknowledge now.
“I’m starving,” Phillip said. “But I’m not sure even Captain Ahab would venture out into weather like this.”
“He would if Moby Dick were swimming in the streets.” Eloise perched on the arm of the sofa while systematically towel-drying sections of her hair. “He lost his life in pursuit of that whale.”
“A foolish obsession.”
“Most obsessions are.”
Phillip studied her, but she lowered her eyes. Something in her voice caused him to suspect that she was no longer thinking of Ahab’s pursuit of the white whale who’d had the temerity to take the sea captain’s leg. Perhaps her thoughts were connected to the newspaper section she’d clung to until she disappeared into her room—the unknown reason for her sudden departure from the FBI field office.
His gut told him that asking her a direct question would be a mistake, one he wasn’t willing to make. He turned around one of the wooden dining chairs and sat on it, his hands draped over the back.
“Uncle Richard asked about you,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “He wanted to be sure I was treating you right.”
A smile played on her lips, but she didn’t fully commit to it. “What did you tell him?”
“That you haven’t complained about sleeping on a lumpy motel bed or eating at a greasy spoon diner. At least not yet.”
“What will he think of us staying in a place like this?” She swept her arm to encompass the suite. “It may not be the Ritz, but it’s…clean. And comfortabl
e.”
Phillip swallowed his laugh. She’d been dismayed at the lack of housekeeping at the first motel where they’d stayed. But even then, she hadn’t whined or nagged him about it. He’d been put off by the place himself, though he hadn’t admitted it.
“Richard won’t know we stayed here until it’s too late,” he said. “Besides, we may be here a couple of days because of the rain. We might as well be comfortable.”
“We’re not going back to DC?”
“Not until we hear from him again.”
“What else did Richard have to say?”
The innocent-sounding question was filled to the brim with unspoken meaning. It assumed that the primary reason for Richard’s call wasn’t to inquire about their comfort or to give them instructions. If she’d asked if Richard said anything else, he could easily reply, “Not much,” and the conversation would be over. The difference was a subtle yet effective questioning technique.
She must have been paying attention in her interrogation class or she had good instincts. From the way she talked to the doll collectors, it was probably a combination of the two. He knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t be dissuaded by an offhanded answer. Maybe honesty was the best approach.
“We talked about my last mission. Six of the German saboteurs were executed on Saturday.”
Her eyes widened, and her hands, holding the towel, dropped to her lap. “Executed? Like in a firing squad?”
“The electric chair.”
“Oh.”
Phillip waited for her to ask more questions. They were there, unspoken, in her eyes. In the way her shoulders bent slightly toward him. But they didn’t come.
“They were guilty,” he said, as if he needed to justify the executions. “They were our enemies.”
“But their deaths disturb you.” Her gaze was direct, open. “Because you’re a good man.”
Her unexpected words stunned him. “Is that what you think of me?”
The Cryptographer's Dilemma Page 10