“Wha—?” he said, opening his eyes. He was unshaven and unkempt, with thinning gray hair and a weather-beaten face. His plaid flannel shirt had yellow stains under his arms.
“We’re looking for some people, sir,” Hugh began. “Not from around here. They might be in a cottage or shack close to the beach? Have you seen anyone?”
“Go ’way. Wanna sleep.”
“Sir!” Maggie said. Which was not at all the word she wanted to use.
No response.
No, no, no—we’ve come too far to be stymied by a drunk. She wanted to slap him, but instead grabbed the gin bottle from his lax hands. “I will take this gin and pour it all over the floor if you don’t answer our questions.”
“Bitch!” he slurred, trying to reach for the bottle with dirty hands with filthy broken fingernails.
Maggie tipped the bottle and let a few drops of liquid trickle out. She had to admit that while it was technically illegal to dispose of his property, it was probably the fastest way to get him to talk. It was also grimly satisfying.
“Al’ righ’,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Give i’ back!”
“Not until you tell us what you know.” Maggie held on to the bottle and kept it out of reach.
“There’s a girl. Pretty,” he slurred. “Pretty. French. Pretty French girl.”
Maggie started. “Audrey,” she said to Hugh, who nodded.
“Where?” Hugh said. “Where have you seen her?”
“Pretty girl,” he repeated. He tried to sit up and then dropped back down. “Comes to the cottage sometimes.”
“What cottage?” Maggie asked. “Where is it?”
“Downna beach,” he said, pointing then turning back over. “Givver a kiss for me.…” he managed before beginning to snore again.
Maggie set the bottle down as she and Hugh looked at each other. It could be any French girl. Or it could be Audrey. “Come on,” she said at the door, bracing to run through cold wind again. “Let’s go ‘downna beach’!”
A new shift had just started at the Submarine Tracking Room. “Sir,” a young officer said to Donald Kirk, sitting behind his desk in his office. Kirk was looking over various memos. One was an alert, issued from the War Office, saying a man and a woman, plus a kidnapped girl, were on the run and might be trying to leave the country by boat. The next was a memo from Beeston Regis Y-station, saying that they had intercepted a radio communiqué between a location somewhere near shore and a Nazi U-boat. Martin Leaper, head of the Y-station, said that the transmission on the British side came from somewhere near Grimsby. The man had no idea what he’d stumbled on.
The two memos in hand, he rose, and with the help of his silver-tipped cane, made his way to the main room and the North Atlantic map table. The junior officers were repositioning various pushpins to reflect recent movement.
Kirk stared down at U-246. It hadn’t seemed to have moved much. He jabbed the point of his cane at it. “U-two-forty-six!” he called to the heavy-set middle-aged man moving the pins.
The man snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Is that her current position?”
The man, beginning to sweat, checked his list of coordinates. “No, sir.”
“Where is she now, then?”
The man looked to his clipboard and noted the position, then moved the red pin symbolizing U-246, toward land.
“Looks like she’s moving in closer to shore, sir.”
Two people on the run with a kidnapped girl, a radio transmission from the coast, a U-boat moving into position. It could mean only one thing—a pickup and rescue of two spies. And whoever the girl was. But there was only one girl, in all of England, who would be that important.…
“Get me Peter Frain at MI-Five on the line,” Kirk barked. “And hurry!”
Maggie and Hugh, breathing heavily, knocked at the door of the cottage. Maggie’s lungs were burning, but she couldn’t even think about her body, she was so focused on Lilibet’s safety.
There was no answer.
Inside, Audrey froze. Lilibet tried to scream through her gag.
Maggie and Hugh tried the door. It was locked.
Hugh pulled out his gun and handed it to Maggie. As she covered him, he kicked open the door. Even in the throes of the chase, Maggie was surprised and not a little impressed—she’d never seen Hugh in action before. But there was no time for that.
As the rickety door flung open, Hugh and Maggie entered the cottage, taking in the gagged and bound Princess, with Audrey standing beside her. An unconscious David, hands tied, was lying on the sofa.
“David?” Maggie gasped before she pointed the gun at Audrey. What’s he doing here? “Hands up,” she managed to get out. “On your knees.” Oh, what I wouldn’t give to pull the trigger, Maggie thought, surveying the petite Frenchwoman. What I wouldn’t give …
As Audrey obeyed, Hugh went to the Princess. “We’ll get you out of here in no time, Your Highness,” he said, working at the knots.
“Ahem.” Maggie and the others turned to see Gregory and Poulter standing in the doorway, dripping water.
Gregory was just as shocked to see Maggie, holding a gun no less, as she was to see him. It was with a mix of admiration and shame that he ordered, “Put your gun down on the floor. No one’s going anywhere. At least, not until I say so.”
“Gregory?” It has to be some sort of hallucination, Maggie thought. It can’t be Gregory. He can’t be wrapped up in this mess too—can he?
At the Y-station in Beeston Regis, Leaper went to his office and sat down at his desk, still shaking his head. “Spies!” he muttered, going through his inbox. “Indeed! That’s what comes of having these young girls about, with their movie-star daydreams and their—”
He suddenly remembered the courier delivery and picked up the MI-5 memo about the alert. He read it, feeling the blood drain from his head. As he put his head between his legs in order not to faint, he called out his door, “Miss Manley!” Then, louder, “Mary Manley! Get in here with that U-boat transmission right away!”
As Poulter tied up Maggie and Hugh, she wondered, How did I get so much so wrong? Why did I waste so much time worrying about the wrong people? When it was Gregory, she realized, feeling sick. As much as she thought, she found no easy answers—except that she’d let her own prejudices blind her and lead her astray. Then she started to add up what she’d observed: Gregory’s increased drinking, his erratic behavior, a few of his more cryptic sayings, that he didn’t wear his RAF uniform to dinner.…
She looked over at Lilibet, who was pale, with shadows under eyes and the beginning of a mottled bruise on her cheek where she’d been slapped. “It’s all right,” she said to the girl. “Everything’s going to be all right.” Her heart nearly broke when she was able to get a better look at David, his hands and feet tied with heavy rope, a gag in his mouth. Trickles of blood from a head wound had run down his face and were now scabbing over. Never had she felt more powerless. Think, Maggie. Keep your head and you’ll get them out of this.
“What time is it?” Audrey asked.
Poulter checked his watch. “Almost three-thirty. We need to hurry.” He jerked his chin at Maggie and Hugh. “What are we going to do about them?”
“Actually,” Gregory said, “the question is, what are we going to do about you?” He and Boothby exchanged a look. Without preamble, Boothby shot Poulter through the heart, and then, before Audrey could scream, he shot her through the forehead. They each slumped to the floor. Then he took aim at Hugh.
“Nooooo!” Maggie screamed.
“Give me the gun,” Gregory said.
“What are you doing?” Boothby snapped.
“Give me the goddamned gun!”
Boothby handed it over and Gregory shot Hugh in the thigh, wounding, but not killing, him.
Hugh doubled over, moaning. “Sweet Jesus!”
“Hugh!” Maggie fought against the ropes binding her. “Are you all right?” she cried.
<
br /> “I’ll live,” Hugh managed to gasp, trying to keep pressure on the wound. Nonetheless, crimson was staining his pant leg.
“Don’t want you following us,” Gregory said. “Sorry, mate. And I also need someone to tell the muckety-mucks that their precious Princess is still alive. And on her way to Germany.”
“Us?” Maggie said. She and Hugh locked eyes. It’s going to be fine, she tried to tell him mentally. I’ll take care of Lilibet. And I’ll be all right, too. I promise.
Gregory nodded. “You’re coming with us. Take care of him,” he said to Boothby, indicating the body. “I’ll bring the ladies.”
As Boothby lifted David’s inert body while still keeping a gun on the girls, Gregory untied the princess from the chair, leaving her hands bound and gag in place. “I suppose you’ve figured out what I’ve done,” he said, grabbing Maggie and the princess by an arm and hustling them to the door. Maggie gave Hugh one last look and then they were outside, in the cold and dark. He sounded just the slightest bit guilty.
“A lot of it,” Maggie said, trying not to trip on the stones. “But I still don’t understand Lily’s part.”
“Lily and I grew up together, remember?” he said, his voice rising against the wind. “We spent every summer together? We were soul mates.”
“So you and Lily had planned this operation?” Maggie tried to appeal to his vanity. “That’s quite the coup. How did you manage to pull it off?”
Gregory smiled, a grim smile. “Lily and I grew up with any number of other privileged young people. Another was Victoria Keeley.”
Realization dawned. “The woman from Bletchley who was murdered at Claridge’s,” Maggie said. “So, how does Benjamin Batey fit in?”
“Benjamin Batey was walking out with Victoria, and she exploited it. She stole the decrypt from him.”
“But why?”
Gregory snorted. “Why do you need to know?” The little party was trying to keep their balance on the slippery rocks strewn with seaweed, nearing the boat.
Maggie thought desperately. “Well, it’s been quite the victory for you, after all. I was sent by MI-Five to figure everything out and I didn’t—not in time, at least. So you might do me the professional courtesy of telling me how you did it.”
Lilibet’s eyes widened as she heard Maggie reveal that she wasn’t really a maths tutor but an agent.
And then she realized—the decrypt hidden in Lily’s copy of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra was meant for Gregory. It was right in front of you the whole time! Still, there was no time for self-flagellation. “Tell me your part—and I’ll tell you what happened to the decrypt.”
“The decrypt?” Gregory staggered a little and looked stunned. “How the hell do you know about that?”
“Tell me what I want to know—and I’ll tell you what happened to it.”
Gregory looked shocked, then smiled. “Victoria stole the decrypt because Lily asked her to. But Victoria, unfortunately, had fallen in obsessively in love with Lily. And when Lily made it clear she wouldn’t be with her exclusively, Victoria threatened to expose Lily as a traitor.”
“So Lily killed her,” Maggie said, understanding. “And then Lily herself was killed, not long after, by Mr. Tooke.”
“Actually,” Gregory said. “Boothby killed Victoria. He was concerned Victoria might make good on her threats and jeopardize our little operation. He took the decrypt from Victoria’s hotel room at Claridge’s and gave it to Lily. She said she’d hidden it—where did she hide it? And how did you find it?” They were approaching the boat.
“Tell me the rest first,” Maggie said with a tight smile, picking her way over rocks that made way to coarse wet sand. She stumbled then righted herself.
Gregory was breathing hard. “Clever girl.”
“If you knew about Enigma,” Maggie continued, “then why did you even need the decrypt? Surely your connections in Germany would have believed you?”
They’d reached the boat, and Boothby overheard this. He began to chuckle, and Gregory joined in. “Oh, Maggie. You may know many things, but you don’t know Germans—their pride, their arrogance. They believe they’ve written the ultimate, the unbreakable code. Quite simply, they would not believe anyone could possibly break it without proof. Absolute proof.” Boothby dumped David’s body into the boat.
“So without the decrypt, you had no proof,” Maggie said. “And then David, with his briefcase of top-secret documents, came to Windsor. And you kidnapped him, along with his briefcase.”
“He had it handcuffed to him. And I didn’t have the heart to cut off his hand.” He smiled. “I think he’ll thank me for it, someday. You see, in Germany, my contact will pay me—us, that is—dearly for the information you have. Whatever David has in his briefcase must be worth a small fortune.”
“And Boothby?”
“Boothby—do you want to tell her?”
Boothby gave a barking laugh. “My name isn’t really Christopher Boothby,” he said in his perfect English, “it’s Krzysztof Borkowsky. I’m Polish. I was one of the Poles that Chamberlain and Britain betrayed when he traded us for ‘peace in our time.’ “ He spat. “A peace paid for with the blood of Poles.”
“How did you get to England?”
“When Poland handed over its machine, I was recruited to Bletchley, to translate for some of the Poles that came over with it.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Pretending to like the British and work for them at Bletchley seemed like a small price to pay. But when I met Victoria and then Lily and Gregory, it was a perfect plan—to double-cross the bloody British.”
“Ah.” Christopher was the spy at Bletchley that her father had been trying to find! Two misses! Maggie thought. Thanks a lot, Dad.
She turned back to Gregory. “And what’s your relation to Audrey and Pouter?”
“Pouter was my manservant for years and another of our little group. You see, we are quite democratic. He began sleeping with Audrey, who was working for someone named Commandant Hess. Poulter shot the King, while he and Audrey arranged the kidnapping of the Princess with Commandant Hess in Berlin. The plan is to put the Duke and Duchess of Windsor on the throne when Germany invades. How is the King, by the way?”
“He’s fine,” Maggie said grimly.
“Pity.”
Boothby, who’d maneuvered David’s body into the boat, snapped, “Less talking, Gregory.”
“She knows what happened to Lily’s decrypt!”
Boothby whistled. “The lost one?”
“My dear girl,” Gregory said, ignoring Boothby. “You can come with us, or I’ll have to kill you.” In a jovial tone he said, “Set sail with us—what do you say?” He looked at her and she realized that he didn’t actually want to kill her. And yet he would if he had to.
Maggie knew the risks of getting into a boat with these two, but she had no intention of letting them take the Princess or David anywhere without her.
“Fine,” she said, feigning more bravado than she felt. “I’ll go.” Lilibet and Maggie stepped into the craft and took their seats, Maggie’s heart beating wildly. The goddamned Royal Navy’s supposed to be here, she thought. The Coast Guard. The police, even. Where the hell is everyone?
Boothby and Gregory pushed the boat into a few feet of water, then jumped in themselves. The boat rocked violently, then steadied.
“And, off we go,” Gregory said. “Just like old times.” He took a seat opposite Maggie as Boothby started the motor. “Keep an eye on her, would you?” he said to Boothby.
He turned his attention to the motor, which chocked a bit when he pulled the cord, then started to purr. The tiny craft set out through the wind and roiling white-tipped waves, out to sea. As they pulled away from the shore Maggie could see the headlights of cars on the shore and tiny black figures running toward them. Here! We’re here! She wanted to scream into the wind. But they were still too far away to catch up.
“What about Lily’s baby?” she asked. She hadn’t forgotten that a baby had be
en murdered as well. “Was it yours?”
“I knew about the baby,” he said. “She told me, right before she was murdered. But it wasn’t mine. I, alas, can’t have children.”
“Whose was it, then?” Maggie called.
“Christopher’s.”
Maggie wasn’t expecting this. “Christopher’s?”
Boothby nodded his assent. His face was unreadable.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Gregory said. “Lily, Victoria, Christopher and I—we—we shared many things.”
“I see,” Maggie said. She managed a quick glance at Lilibet. Maggie hoped the girl didn’t know what he meant.
“Would you take off her gag, at least?” Maggie asked. “It’s not as if anyone can hear us out here.”
Gregory pulled out his flask from his inside jacket pocket. He took a long pull, emptied it, then tossed it over the side. “Go ahead,” he said to Boothby, who went over to the Princess and undid the knots that tied the gag. As it loosened, she spit the moldy bread out of her mouth.
“Thanks, Maggie,” she managed.
“‘Elizabeth and Leicester, beating oars.’” Gregory quoted, finishing off the bottle and throwing it in a long arc over the water. He winked at Lilibet. “I suppose that would make me Leicester.”
“I hardly think Elliot was thinking of us all ‘supine on the floor of the narrow canoe,’” Maggie said. The wind was stronger now and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. She looked at David. In the darkness, she could see his eyes were still closed.
“So now it’s your turn,” Gregory said. “Where was the decrypt?”
Maggie gave a grim smile. “In the frontispiece of Lily’s Le Fantôme de l’Opéra.”
“How the hell do you know?”
“Because I was the one who found it,” Maggie shot back, pride wounded.
“It was Lily’s nickname for me—after I was burned so badly on one side of my face. It was our little joke, her calling me Le Fantôme.” Then, “This is it,” he said to Boothby, who cut the engine and turned on a kerosene lantern.
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