The first was a series of handwritten notes documenting past meetings with the Prime Minister. Her eyes scanned over Thomas’s precise, angular handwriting, skimming over notes about mundane banking arrangements. Leila flipped the paper over and continued. She had almost reached the bottom of the page when a single line of text screamed out at her.
Our contact in Berlin will monitor Haber’s work and sabotage it as needed.
Leila sucked in a breath. Fritz Haber was a well-known chemist, the architect of a project that could alter the outcome of the war and the future of Europe.
She squinted, peering closer at the document. There was no date. At a quick glance, it appeared that the ink was not recent which meant that Thomas could have written the note some time ago. If the British had compromised a member of Haber’s team, Werner needed to know. She would have to get another message to him tonight. She was about to flip to the document below when the faint thud of a slamming door reached her ears.
“Leila!”
Malcolm. Her pulse spiked. She spun back to the desk then threw the documents into the drawer. She waited for the telltale click as the lock engaged then dashed toward the door.
“Leila!”
She stepped outside, mind whirling, and softly pulled the door shut behind her. Malcolm’s feet clicked on the hardwood floor. He’s at the edge of the corridor. I’ve got four seconds.
Leila slipped her shoes back on, held her breath to still her racing heart, then plastered on a sedate smile. “Oh, there you are darling!” She minced toward him, eyes wide. “So, did you conquer the old dragon?”
He caught sight of her and paused, standing before the three paintings of his ancestors. His face was worn, creased by lines that hadn’t been there only a few minutes earlier. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. “Malcolm?” Her voice quavered. “Malcolm, what is it?” His eyes had never been so dull. Whatever had happened in that room seemed to have sucked the life out of his blood.
“We... we have to leave, Leila. Now.”
Her blood ran cold. “He’s done it, hasn’t he? He’s disinherited you.”
Malcolm nodded, averting his eyes. “He’s kicked me out of my home.”
“It’s my fault.” Leila touched his chest as guilt washed over her. “Malcolm, I’m to blame. Were it not for me...”
He stepped closer and cupped her cheek with his hand.
“No, Leila.” His blue eyes roamed over her face. “I made my choice. I love you.”
Tears stung the back of her eyelids and she looked away. What have I done? If he only knew the truth...
“You don’t understand.”
“Shh...” He pressed her to him and she listened to the rhythm of his heart. She had been sent to use him, not fall in love with him. But she did love him. And he loved her enough to walk away from his father and all that he knew—for her.
Her cheeks burned as she pulled away and glanced at the portraits.
He followed her gaze. “I brought you through the side entrance because I didn’t want you to see that I wasn’t... on the wall.”
“Now you’ll never be there.”
“I know.” His head drooped.
She took his hand. “Leave me Malcolm.” Jaëger would see this as a betrayal but she loved Malcolm too much to see him throw everything away. “Only your father knows about our marriage. Tell him you’re sorry and you’ve made a mistake. Tell him—”
He crushed her lips against his own. For a long moment, he just held her, ignoring the tears that slipped down her cheeks. At length, he pulled away. “That’s a no, in case you were wondering.” A faint smile touched his lips as he fingered a few strands of her blonde hair.
She hesitated, her heart splitting with guilt and concern. “I have a flat in London,” she said. “We’ll go there and sort out what we’ll do next.”
He nodded, and together, they slowly descended the grand staircase that spiraled down to the main landing. She squeezed his hand, her heart aching for him. Each step must seem to be a thousand miles in Malcolm’s eyes.
“How many times have I taken this place for granted?” He sniffed, glancing around at the massive columns that supported the upper levels. “Now, when I’m being stripped of it all, it feels like I’m being expelled from paradise.”
Footsteps echoed on the tiled flooring and the imposing butler that had met them at the door stepped from between two pillars.
“Sir Thomas sent this to help you on your journey.” He extended a small wad of bills.
Malcolm stiffened. “We don’t need his charity.”
“Yes, Malcolm. We do.” Leila stepped around him and took the money.
“I trust this ‘psycopath’ may offer one more piece of advice.” The butler’s face was stern.
Malcolm flushed. “I didn’t know you were snooping around, Greyson.”
The older man ignored his barbed words. “The path to redemption is long and often difficult to perceive, but those who have eyes to see will find it.”
Then, stepping back into the shadows, Greyson opened the door. A blast of wind swept into the massive hall, raising the pores on Leila’s bare arms and neck.
“Come, Leila.” Malcolm pulled her close and she shivered as she clung to his crumpled shirt. Then, the rejected couple staggered out of Northshire’s light and into the dark embrace of the cold winter night.
Chapter 3
Berlin, Germany. January 1, 1915
Fritz Haber locked eyes with each member of the team of elite scientists that surrounded him. They were called the Disinfection Unit and had been tasked by the German War office to develop a weapon that would cleanse Europe of all who resisted the Kaiser’s will. After months of disappointing research and failed tests they had stumbled upon the formula that would irrevocably change the way man made war.
“We’ve done it.” Fritz’s gaze flitted from one masked face to another. Muffled cheers broke through the gear that protected their faces from the deadly substances with which they played.
Fritz felt as though he could shout his triumph from the university’s highest ramparts. The world had to know that, for the second time, he had altered humanity’s future with his rubber tubes and glass vials.
“Are you sure it will work?” The gruff voice belonged to Karl Schmidt, a renowned chemist who had stood at Haber’s side through the project’s bleakest hours.
Fritz could no longer contain his excitement. “We’ll have to test it, of course, but it will work.” He walked around the black lab table that separated him from his comrades and clapped Karl on the back. “We’ve done it!”
Muffled cheers again filled the lab.
“Chlorine.” Fritz chuckled as he lifted his white-gloved hands high. “The answer was always chlorine. Not bromine with its seven electrons but chlorine with its natural aggression.”
“Do you think it will break the stalemate in the trenches?” Karl pointed to the glass tube in Haber’s hand. “Can we use the gas in the Western Front to finally achieve victory?”
Haber carefully deposited the glass vial in its container and moved to stand in front of the skeptic. He would not have this sacred moment of triumph contaminated by the man’s persistent doubt. Of course, it was precisely Karl’s lack of faith that made him a peerless scientist—second only to Haber himself. Faith was an illusion, a fantasy meant to delude those who had no other foundation upon which to rest their hopes. Only hard scientific evidence could be deemed infallible.
“I mean no disrespect.” Karl backed away, palms raised in front of him. “You are, after all, the man whose manipulation of nitrogen produced a fertilizer that now feeds the world.” He cleared his throat. “But the Kaiser is depending on us to find a way of breaking the stalemate and we must not fail him.”
Haber pulled off his mask as a cocky smile slid over his rotund face. “Science never fails, Karl. In the hands of a genius, such as myself, the laws of nature can be manipulated to manufacture miracles. We are experimenting with life a
nd death. I swear to you that the gas, when loaded into bombs, will win the war.”
His cheeks flushed. He closed eyes that squinted out of oval glasses, lost in his dreams of the future. “Our names will be remembered for ages to come. Nothing—not even God—can stop us now.”
GENERAL WERNER JAËGER, commanding officer of the German intelligence unit known simply as Department 3B, grunted as he fingered a thin piece of paper. It was the second of two messages that he had received from Leila in one night. Both had been conveyed by homing pigeons to her contact across the English Channel, then forwarded to German headquarters at Castle Pless via encoded radio transmission.
She’s done it.
“Good news, sir?”
The baritone voice belonged to his assistant Christophe who, like most of the staff that were married to the secret war of espionage, slept little and trusted less.
“It will be good news, Christophe, when the war is over and our nation is victorious. Until then, it is only news.” Werner’s eyes flitted to the wall behind the man’s shoulder. A double-row of stag heads lined the surface, each separated by a pair of electric lamps.
“How things have changed.” He pointed to a stag. “The men of Germany now pursue prey more dangerous than deer. Like the hunter, our quarry runs on two legs and shoots to kill.”
Christophe turned to drop a folder of decoded messages into a filing cabinet and locked the drawer. “Most of us thought the war would be a quick one.”
“Yes.” Werner stroked his thin beard. “But victory is a fickle god. The world now knows that this will be a much longer conflict.”
Christophe turned back toward him. “Some claim that the world is on the brink of Armageddon. Especially now that the Ottoman Empire has joined our fight.”
Werner grimaced. “That is the talk of the fearful.” Fear was an enemy he had conquered long ago.
“What do you think?” Werner’s leather armchair creaked as he leaned backward, the beginning of a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Christophe shrugged. “I think the end of the world will have to wait until I’ve lived my life. Besides, the Fatherland will prevail—there can be no doubt about that.”
Again, Werner stroked his beard. Once, like the man before him, it had been black. Now, time had added a layer of silver. Time had a way of destroying things. Even empires had to bow to its iron will. His thoughts shifted back to the note that now rested beneath his fingertips.
“Christophe.” Werner rose, tore the note into pieces and tossed them into the blazing fire that burned brightly in the hearth.
“Yes?”
Werner waited in silence until the note was completely incinerated before speaking. “Have some of our men keep an eye on that team of chemists.”
“You are referring to Herr Fritz Haber?” Christophe’s voice did not betray the surprise he doubtless felt.
“We have an enemy in the camp, Christophe.” Werner threw a glance over his shoulder. “I want the entire team watched.”
He turned back toward the glowing flames, closing his eyes and stretching out his hands to embrace the warmth. He was Werner Jaëger. His surname meant hunter. The term jaëger was often used to describe German infantry but, unlike the regular army, his quarry was information—not men. Information that had the power to cripple governments and destroy nations.
Now the chase had come home.
“It appears, Christophe,” his lips thinned in a tight smile, “that I am going hunting.”
KARL SCHMIDT GLANCED over his shoulder as he hurried along the dark, narrow street that curled around the outskirts of Dahlem. The night was cold, but it was not the winter chill that made his hands tremble. It was the knowledge that he was about to leak confidential information about Haber’s project to the enemy once again.
Quickly, Karl shoved his incriminating hands into the pockets of his beige trench coat and glanced around once more. A crescent moon cast a faint outline on the empty road, silhouetting his solitary figure as he skulked forward. Somewhere in the darkness, a dog barked, setting Karl’s jangled nerves further on edge.
Three, four, five! This was it, the fifth house from the end of the street. Karl leaned over and squinted, barely able to make out the faded miniature cross that had been scratched onto the uneven floorboards of the house’s porch. Like many of the buildings in this part of town, the house had been abandoned and fallen to neglect. Vagrants sometimes loitered in the area for weeks on end before moving on, leaving behind a trail of refuse and damaged property.
But no vagrant had made this mark. It was a deliberate sign, made by a British agent, to identify a place where Karl could leave information London might find useful.
Karl knelt before the small cross, then slid his hand to the right, feeling for the loose board. There! He hurriedly pulled the note from his pocket then, squeezing his eyelids shut, the scientist lifted the floorboard a fraction of an inch and slipped the message into the miniscule space.
Rising slowly, he shoved away the feeling of guilt that gnawed at his conscience and began retracing his steps. He loved his colleague, Fritz Haber, as a son but the man’s ambition had lured him from the path of true science to one of madness that tainted Germany’s integrity.
Some would call this an act of treason, but he saw tonight’s work as one of true patriotism. I will preserve the Fatherland’s honor... whatever the cost.
Chapter 4
London, Great Britain. January 1915
Eleanor Thompson smiled as her gaze shifted from her husband, Will, to her infant daughter, Abby, who slumbered peacefully in a small basket, oblivious to the horrors of an insane world. The child was covered in a worn, sky-blue blanket that Eleanor had often joked would look better on a boy. Still, it had been all they could afford, and she was grateful their child was warm.
“I want to memorize every detail of her face.” Will tipped the edge of the basket toward him and inhaled the sweet scent of a freshly-washed infant. “God only knows how long the war will last. I never want to forget what my little girl looks like.”
His wife slipped her slim hand in his, her smile fading. She took in the brown belt and uniform that marked her husband as another of Britain’s sons who willingly left hearth and home to defy Germany’s hordes, then led him from their dilapidated one-room apartment. Together they walked outside.
“I’m not ready to let you go, Will.” She laid her palm on his broad chest. They had been married for only two years and the thought of losing him petrified her.
“Are you afraid?” He lifted her small oval chin and raked his fingers through her hair. She pulled back, knowing it was a tangled mess, but also knowing he would call it a mane of finely-woven silk.
Eleanor looked at the dirt road beneath her feet. “I know I shouldn’t be anxious, but I can’t help it. The thought of you bein’ out there with the Huns all around it...”
She bit her lip. “And if anythin’ should happen to you, me and Abby’d have nothin’ left. We’re barely makin’ it by as it is!”
“Hey.” Will pulled her into his arms. “You’re my bricky girl, right? There’s no woman alive as strong as you.”
“Right now, Will, I don’t feel quite bricky.”
“We’re a family of faith, Eleanor. How many times has God come through for us? Remember when we couldn’t pay the rent just last month?”
She sniffled, nodding.
“What happened?” His gentle voice prodded her memory.
“The neighbor gave you a beat-up bicycle and you sold it for just the amount we needed.” Eleanor sighed. “You’re right.”
His mouth drifted to her lips. “It’ll be alright.”
“Yeah.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. “You’re my world, Will.”
“And you’re my sun, El.” He held her close then disentangled himself from her embrace. “I’ve got to go. Tell Abby every day that her da loves her.”
Eleanor nodded, wiping he
r eyes with the corner of her smudged checkered sleeve. “Yeah, I will.”
“Don’t forget, I’m with the Sherwood Foresters, 6th Division. Write to me.” Will pulled her close again. “I’ll write to you every day.”
She kissed him once more. “I’ll know each letter by heart ten minutes after I get it.”
He pulled away, waved once more, then walked down the dark, trash-ridden alley lit dimly by sputtering gas lamps. Dawn would find him aboard a ship headed for the British training camp of Etaples, France.
Eleanor stifled a cry as he rounded a corner and left her line of sight. She slipped inside, conscious of how empty the flat felt without her husband. How could such a small space suddenly seem so huge?
She lifted her sleeping daughter from the basket and held her close.
“Soon, love.” She rocked the child in her arms as she whispered the words into her ear. “The war will be over soon and your da will come home. I promise.”
THE SOUND OF PANICKED voices jerked Eleanor from a fitful sleep.
“Zeppelins!” The voices were muffled but what she heard was enough to turn her blood into ice. Baby killers! The window across the room began to rattle and the booming roll of exploding bombs made the glass panes shatter.
Zeppelins, or stealthy flying machines, were the most feared weapon that the Germans had unleashed thus far. Silent and virtually invisible in the inky skies, the bombs they dropped flattened entire neighborhoods within minutes.
Sweat beaded Eleanor’s forehead. She had to get out of the house. Now.
Abby, awakened by the noise, began to fret and pounded her tiny fists against her pink gums.
“Shh, it’s alright little lamb.” Eleanor wrapped the child’s blue blanket around her body. “Just goin’ to take a little walk, alright?”
“Take cover!”
The voice penetrated the paper-thin walls of her apartment.
She heard a faint whine then the roar of a massive explosion. The walls around her shook with the impact.
In the Shadow of Your Wings Page 4
