"It's going to be even worse in the Mediterranean," Graham murmured. "Did you know Peter's ship is going to Oran?"
''Bloody war!" Selwyn repeated bitterly.
After a moment, the brigadier gestured with his pipe. "Let's get back to the duke," he said softly. "You've confirmed my fears about the situation in Plymouth, Gray. If you did want him to come, would it be possible for him to bypass Plymouth?"
"Certainly. But Plymouth should be resolved by the fifth. I'm simply trying to anticipate potential problems in advance." Graham glanced at Selwyn. "I'm not sure I have the authority to make a final decision, anyway. I'm only the acting chief. If David says no, then it's no."
Selwyn turned slightly in the moonlight, silver gleaming in the once-dark hair. He had been their chief for nearly fifteen years, since the death of his father after the Great War. With Alix, he had led them with careful wisdom, not objecting or resisting as Graham's emerging talents gradually equaled and even surpassed his own in some instances, though leadership had remained firmly in his hands until a year ago. When, at the beginning of the war, it became clear that Selwyn himself would be at sea much of the time, Graham had been the logical choice to assume the leader's role for the duration, especially in light of the need for the Lammas coordination. The brigadier judged himself too old, and the other men were far too young and inexperienced.
But the habits of fifteen years could not be put aside as easily as the mere words were spoken, by either Selwyn or Graham. They had already discussed the Dieter affair, and Selwyn had apologized for encroaching on Graham's still-hesitant supervision. The matter of William was an altogether different proposition, for immediately it touched on everyone who would be present at the Drake working, not to niention the more far-reaching implications for William's future involvement. Even if the decision were put in Graham's hands, the others must also agree, especially Selwyn.
"It will have to be your decision," Selwyn finally said. "I told you before that I'd try to avoid stepping on your toes again. Right now, however, I'm thinking about the security of this group. His Royal Highness doesn't know me in this context, and I'd really rather he never did. But you need me at Buckland, Gray—and if he's there, my cover is blown. And frankly, besides yourself, I probably have the most to lose of any of us if he were to go sour."
"He wouldn't go sour," Graham muttered, half turning away, hands jammed in the pockets of his black wool robe. "I'd stake my life on it."
"You may be doing just that."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Graham retorted. "Look, David, I haven't any proof, but I think he may see his participation as a way to do something positive for the war effort— something besides making speeches and doing all the other dreary things so often expected of royals. Maybe I overdid it when I was trying to convince him he was useful, but he'd gone off on that old fifth-wheel argument again." He sighed. "I have to consider the charts, too. Something's at work here besides coincidence. I've also been thinking about the tarot reading Mix did. What if William is the Knight of Wands, who's supposed to offer help?"
"She told me about the reading," Selwyn said, "but I'm not sure we want his kind of help. The last thing we need is to get a member of the Royal Family overtly involved with the old ways."
"Don't be too sure,** the brigadier said, chomping on his pipe. "There's a heavy weight of tradition in the old line regardless of the fact that the present-day incumbents aren't consciously aware of it." He blew smoke toward the ceiling, letting his pale eyes follow its drift. "They seem to come along when they are needed, and when they do, they seem to know what's to be done." He shifted his glance directly to Graham, the old eyes strangely piercing. "Do you want him there when you scry for Drake, Gray? You sound as if you're half convinced he should be there."
Graham bowed his head. "I don't know. But if the logistics are p>ossible, I'd like to have that option. I can say that my misgivings have nothing to do with whether or not I trust him. It's whether I could put his presence sufficiently out of mind to work effectively. I wouldn't want him frightened. And I certainly wouldn't want him hurt because he got frightened for me and tried to interfere."
"Yes, but will he accept your discipline if you tell him that?" Selwyn asked.
"I think so."
"You have to know.''
"Come and have some tea while it's still hot," Alix said, pushing between them and drawing the blackout curtains back into place. "You men are all alike: grouchy as bears until you've had something to eat. Afterward, I'll read the cards again if you like, David, but Gray just may be right. Anyway, I don't think any of us need to make up our minds on empty stomachs."
As she hooked an arm in the arm of each of the two men and Audrey turned up the lights, Graham glanced across at his chief. The Earl of Selwyn wore a look of resignation.
Alix got out the cards after they had eaten. After Selwyn shuffled the deck, she laid the cards in the old, familiar pattern and began. The first card up was the Knight of Wands.
"Well, fancy that," she murmured as she glanced at her stunned husband and the equally aghast Graham. "I'm sorry, David, but you shuffled them. I can't help how they fall."
Selwyn only shook his head resignedly as she turned her gaze back to the cards.
"At the heart of the matter lies the Knight of Wands. He offers new ideas which may be advantageous."
She pulled the next card and turned it, laying it across the first with a faint snap.
"Crossing it for better or worse is the Nine of Wands." She paused a beat. "Discretion is in order, protection of one's own interests, but obstinacy could be a problem. The basis of the situation"—she turned the third card and raised an eyebrow as she laid it on the table—"is the Ten of Wands. Tremendous responsibilities, perhaps oppressively so. David, this seems to be focusing on you as well as Gray."
As her husband frowned and eased his chair a little closer, she turned the next card.
Selwyn was less skeptical when they had finished. By the time they had reviewed the reading and compared it to the previous one, discussed William's potential involvement further, and outlined the measures that would have to be taken to accommodate the presence of an outsider, even Selwyn had to admit that the duke's attendance might be safe enough if Graham still wanted him to attend.
"I suppose we can hardly just cut him off after you've told him as much as you have," he said to Graham, tilting his empty teacup to glance idly at the leaves in the bottom. "Other than us, he isn't going to see a great deal—as long as you don't produce any pyrotechnics in the mirror, of course."
"Pyrotechnics?" Graham grinned weakly. "Not bloody likely, thank you. Wrong element. Drake worked with air, if you'll recall—storms and such. Besides"—his face assumed a more sober and troubled expression—"I'm not yet sure I want him there."
More than a week later, Graham still had not made up his mind. Nor had his official duties allowed him time to dwell on the matter. William rang almost daily at first and left openings each time for an obviously wished-for response, but he made no overt reference to their last meeting. Then he was gone on an inspection tour to Scotland for nearly a week, which made it easier for Graham to delay reaching a decision.
By the third of July, two days before the scheduled Buckland working and a fortnight since his last real contact with the prince, Graham was still undecided. He had been watching developments at Plymouth more closely than he might have, just to keep his options open. He had even investigated ways of getting William safely to the vicinity of Plymouth without arousing any undue curiosity. That part, unlike the ultimate decision, had been easy.
It now appeared that the seizure of the French fleet would be quite resolved by the fifth, thereby eliminating any potential danger to William's physical safety. A boot-legged copy of Selwyn's sailing orders had crossed Graham's desk over the weekend directing the earl to bring in his shipload of men the night of the second. If all went smoothly—if all had gone smoothly, for it was now nearing noon
of the third—the exercise would provide an ideal excuse for H.R.H. The Duke of Clarence to make a surprise inspection visit to Plymouth to view the aftermath and bolster morale among the French crews. Selwyn would have to make the final decision on whether that part of the potential plan was feasible, based on his assessment of what was now occurring.
After that, however, it was Graham's decision again. By calling in a series of favors owed by an air conmiodore at Southampton, he had been able to get Richard and Geoffrey placed on standby for a flight to Plymouth on the fifth, but that part was still quite flexible. So were tentative arrangements for housing and for getting William to Buckland. Now he was awaiting the go-ahead from Selwyn, still undecided.
With a sigh, Graham returned his attention to the transcript he had been working on all morning, checking the translation of an unusual phrase against the original and making a marginal note for someone tp check a possible quirk of wording against their files. He had been reminding himself for hours that the Drake operation must be kept in its proper perspective. Magic was a very good thing, and powerful if appropriately employed, but it was an adjunct, not a substitute, for hard, honest work of the more usual sort. The latter was what Graham's superiors must always see. They could understand an astrologer called Rote Adler, who appeared to be advising the Third Reich.
To a dull background chatter of teleprinters in the next room, Graham immersed himself for the next several hours roughing out a synopsis of everything they now knew about Rote Adler, for sufficient data now existed to begin realistic counter measures. They had received confirmation the previous week that Sturm and Rote Adler were one and the same—from an agent in Berlin, who nearly paid for the information with his life. An unsolicited follow-up report from Dieter had provided additional biographical material that validated the first report.
The Oakwood reaction to Dieter's report had been resoundingly negative, even from Michael, despite its strategic value. Useful though Dieter's insights on Sturm might be, the taint of the Satanic connection made them all very uncomfortable. Far too much was at stake in the weeks ahead to risk a betrayal. In fact, it made Graham uneasy that Dieter knew as much about their plans as he did.
Considering Dieter, Sturm, and Rote Adler, Graham succeeded in putting William out of his mind for a while, but shortly after two, the racket of the teleprinters intruded briefly as the connecting door between his office and the next opened and closed. The sight of Denton approaching with a yellow signal flimsy snapped him instantly back into his previous concerns.
"Is that what I hope it is?"
"Lord Selwyn's signal? Yes, su*. I don't know if it's the answer you're wanting, though," he added, handing it across the desk.
"You read me too well, Denny," Graham replied, running his eyes quickly over the few lines.
OBJECTIVE SECURED STOP
IF STILL DESIRED CAN ARRANGE MATTER WE DISCUSSED FOR FRIDAY FIFTH JULY STOP
RSVP STOP
SELWYN ENDS
He could feel Denton watching him expectantly, but he only nodded and laid the signal aside before gathering up the notes he had been making.
"Thank you, Denny. I'll handle it from here. Would you please give these to Grumbaugh and ask him to follow up as I've indicated?"
As the chatter of the teleprinters receded once more with Denton's departure, Graham moved the signal back to the center of his blotter and stared at it unseeing.
He could say yes now, if he wanted to. He had only to open his desk drawer and take out the timetable he had constructed in the preceding week and pick up the phone. As his hand came to rest on the cool bakelite of the receiver, he realized he did want William at Buckland. Nor was there now any physical excuse of danger to prevent it, any logistical reason to refuse.
Still, there were other dangers, not the least of which was not knowing where things might lead next if William came and saw and was not satisfied with that. Nearly all his life, Graham had been trained to protect and shield the Royal Family from harm. To let William become involved with the occuh, even if only as an observer, was to open the possibility for terrible scandal and controversy. Graham was not sure he was ready to shoulder that kind of responsibility merely to satisfy a royal whim and ease his own sense of isolation.
Annoyed with his continuing vacillation, he closed his eyes and nudged his body into a light hypnotic trance to relax for a few minutes while he set his mind to correlating everything one last time. He even let himself cling to the possibility that William might have changed his mind, that he might not be so keen after further consideration in the stark reality of the passing days. It might be true....
Rousing himself, Graham pulled the single sheet from his desk drawer and scanned its well-known contents slowly, aware that he was but stalling, then picked up the phone and resolutely dialed William's London number. The prince was not there, so he tried Windsor. He got through after only two intermediaries. He kept his voice carefully formal as he tried to frame his words just so.
"Good afternoon, sir. John Graham here. Sorry to be so long getting back to you."
"Gray? Delighted! How did you know where to find me?"
Graham allowed himself a grim smile, glad that the prince could not see his face.
"Why, this is MI.6, sir," he said lightly. "We make it our business to know everything." He drew a deep breath. "Are you by any chance still serious about that request you made over the after-dinner drinks the other week, or were we both just a bit in our cups?"
There was a quick intake of breath at the other end and then dead silence for several heartbeats. Graham had given the prince an easy way out if he wanted it. As he held his breath in anticipation, he could sense that William was framing his words just as carefully as he, as aware as Graham that this was not a secure line.
"Yes, I am. Gray. I'm quite serious. Is it on, then?"
To his immense relief, Graham felt no twinge of apprehension or regret once the words had been spoken. The real venture into the unknown was only now beginning, but his anxiety seemed to have vanished with William's confirmation. Perhaps it was going to be all right.
"It's on," he replied, forcing his hand to release its death grip on the phone as he began breathing again. "Perhaps I can tell you more about it when I see you. That isn't why I rang, though," he continued, shifting into the transition speech he had rehearsed so many times in his mind. "I don't know whether you'd heard—probably not, since it's such a new development—but the French fleet at Plymouth and Portsmouth are now secure. Royal Marines seized the ships early this morning. Word just came in."
"That's fine news," the prince replied with an expectant lift to the end of his statement.
Graham picked up a pencil and began drawing little circles on the edge of his notes. "Yes. Our chaps apparently did a first-rate job. In fact, the admiral commanding, Plymouth, wondered whether you might possibly come down and make an impromptu inspection, periiaps on Friday. I know it's rather short notice, but the combined fleet will be sailing fairly soon. He thought a royal visit might be good for morale, theirs as well as ours."
"Yes, I think it might at that," William replied. "Wells, bring my calendar, would you?"
Other voices in the background became more distinct— William evidently had been working in his office—and his tone was more certain as he continued. It was obvious he had made the proper connection immediately: a visit to Plymouth only coincidentally had to do with what had just occurred in the historic harbor.
"We're checking my schedule now. Gray. Yes. I've got something on tomorrow, but Friday would be fine. What arrangements have been made?"
"I have a flying boat standing by at Southampton," Graham said. "They can fly you over Portsmouth Harbor for an aerial look at that half of the operation, then have you in Plymouth for luncheon with the admiral and his flag officers and a tour of inspection in the afternoon. Overnight in Plymouth and return on Saturday at your leisure. Can you get a train out of Victoria early Friday morning, or woul
d you rather come as far as Southampton tomorrow evening?"
"Hold on. We're checking."
He listened to more murmuring, the crackle of timetables being opened and refolded, the hollow, muffled change of sound as William apparently put his hand over the receiver.
"How about an 0847 arrival at the Southampton Terminus on Friday morning?"
"It couldn't be better," Graham replied, making a note of the time on his own schedule. "How many shall I tell them to expect in your party? Td suggest as few as possible, since we're operating on such short notice."
"Let's see: Wells and Griffin, my valet, I suppose," came the tentative response. "I don't think I can do with any less if it's overnight."
Graham smiled grimly to himself and made another note. He did not know whether William had yet thought about what his staff would do while he and Graham went traipsing off to Buckland, but Graham had decided days ago that he did not want to have to deal with alibis that might later be questioned. Two men could be incapacitated with relative ease, however, and never suspect a thing amiss the next morning. He would have to enlist William's cooperation in that, but the prince had done such things before when he worked for Graham; Denton would be available to watch-dog the two while Graham and William were gone.
"We can manage that, I think," he said confidently. "I'll have a driver collect you at the Terminus Station at 0847. Your flight shouldn't take more than three-quarters of an hour."
When he and the prince had exchanged a few more pleasantries, Graham rang off. He sat and shivered in afterreaction for several minutes, breathing deeply. Then he quickly encoded two brief messages and took them to the signal room: one to a ship at anchor in Plymouth Harbor and another to an air crew at RAF Calshot, near Southampton.
Lammas night Page 14
