Secret Breakers: The Power of Three

by H. L. Dennis

  The door of Hut 11 clicked open.

  Friedman stood in the doorway, his face flushed, eyes wild.

  ‘Friedman, my dear, dear friend,’ said Smithies. ‘Join us. Wonderful news.’

  ‘I can’t,’ muttered Friedman.

  ‘But we’ll keep you hidden. The authorities think the search is over. You’ll be safe here now. Come on.’

  Friedman shook his head. ‘No, Smithies. My time has passed. We waited too long.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  Friedman shook his head again. ‘For Veritas it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it matters,’ Smithies retorted. ‘Nothing matters more. You gave up your career for this code. Some gave up their lives. What could stop it from mattering?’

  Friedman pointed his hand towards the mansion building. ‘Them,’ he said quietly. ‘Always them.’

  Smithies’ eyes narrowed.

  ‘I was waiting at the station as we agreed. They’re on their way here. I came to warn you,’ Friedman said.

  ‘They?’

  ‘Vernan and the Director of Level Five.’ Friedman’s mouth twitched. ‘I saw them make their way over to the mansion,’ he said. ‘If the Director himself is here, it can’t be good.’

  The Director walked to the front of Hut 11, gesturing with his hands that all should take a seat.

  Brodie slumped down beside Hunter. She’d never felt so tired.

  The Director clapped his hands together. Slowly. Rhythmically. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this has been quite a ride, has it not? Fun while it lasted, you could say. Well, you could. We’d just say it was wrong.’ He pulled the lobe of his ear, shaking a thought of revulsion from his head. ‘Let me, if I may, make things quite, quite plain. The work of the reformed Veritas must stop. It’s a point worth noting that by calling your little band of workers the Third Study Group you at least acknowledge the failings of the other two.’ He sniffed as if laughing at his own private joke. ‘What a shame though you didn’t give more thought to the history of the groups. Great men and women, learned men and women have tried and failed to break the secrets of MS 408. And why you’d ever, for a moment, think a band of has-beens and children could come closer to an answer is beyond me.’ He allowed a thin spectre of a smile to sweep across his lips. ‘MS 408 is prohibited. No exceptions. No breaking of the rules. There’s no future for your Black Chamber. You found only ash in the hidden places of the palace. There’ll be no more hunting for clues. Smithies and Miss Tandari, your employment is terminated. Ingham, you’ll find returning to your retirement most conducive to your health. For you all, Bletchley Park is out of bounds. A Ministry of Information ban on your presence here takes force from noon tomorrow.’

  Smithies rushed forward. ‘You can’t prove we were looking at MS 408. A school trip to the Royal Pavilion. There’s no rules against that. And if we’re all together you can’t prevent us searching for the truth!’

  Brodie scanned the room to see who’d speak next. The air was charged with electricity.

  The Director rebuttoned his jacket and pushed his hand into his pocket. ‘No truth to find, old man,’ he said. ‘Your searching is an irritant to me. If we’ve learnt nothing else from this fiasco then it’s the need to be thorough. To leave nothing to chance. All the time the lure of the code remains, there’ll be people like you looking for answers. Well, no more,’ he sniffed. ‘Your operation here, schooling these children, breaks government legislation. You’re right. I’ll find it hard to prove you’re meddling with Voynich’s Manuscript. But your trespass on Ministry of Information property is obvious. It’s time for you all to go home.’ He walked down the aisle between the chairs to where Kerrith waited for him, her form wrapped tightly in a long fur coat.

  From outside, Mr Bray had heard every word.

  ‘You all set?’ Fabyan released his hold on the older man’s arm. ‘You gonna break it to them or shall I?’

  ‘Oh, I’d be very happy to tell them the news myself,’ said Mr Bray. ‘Although of course you should come with me. I’ve a feeling they’ll be keen to meet you.’

  Brodie had closed her eyes, trying to squeeze back tears. When she opened them she didn’t expect to see her granddad and it was as much as she could do to stop herself from bounding over to him and hugging him tight. From the way he winked at her though, he hadn’t just come to speak to her. He made his way slowly to the front of the room, accompanied by a tall, lean-looking man dressed in a rather long black leather jacket and remarkably bright red cowboy boots.

  Her granddad turned to face the rest of the room. ‘Very interesting speech,’ he said with a note of sarcasm.

  The Director lifted his lip into what could only be described as a snarl.

  ‘If you’d be so kind as to let me take the issues you raised one at a time, I think there’s a few things I can shed light upon,’ Mr Bray continued before winking at Brodie once again.

  ‘Who’s the old man?’ whispered Hunter.

  ‘My granddad,’ Brodie said proudly.

  ‘And the other man?’ chipped in Tusia.

  ‘No idea.’

  Mr Bray teased his rather unruly hair flat against his head. ‘Firstly, the issue of the legality of the children being here,’ he began, glancing down surreptitiously at the notes the solicitor had prepared for him. ‘Smithies was very careful and the issue is clearly covered by section 7 of the UK Home Education Law of 1996. If the guardians and parents of the children involved have no issue with the education being received, then they’re at liberty to allow them to stay being taught here at Station X.’

  ‘He’s good,’ whispered Hunter, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I can see where you get your persuasive skills from.’

  ‘Now of course there’s the issue of site ownership, especially if you’re making suggestions about banning people from the premises.’ He narrowed his eyes to show his annoyance. A look Brodie knew only too well. ‘My solicitor has been most helpful in this matter. It seems the mansion house itself was only temporarily in the care of the Black Chamber. A careful testing of the lease documents suggests ownership of the mansion was sold by the Leon family to the government in 1937. But there was a seventy-five-year clause to the purchase.’ He coughed then, as if allowing a pause in his words would let the information register. ‘It seems now, seventy-five years on, the lease has run its course and the building of Bletchley, and indeed the huts around it, are once more eligible for private purchase.’

  The Director gulped. ‘Don’t be preposterous.’

  Mr Bray smiled. ‘I am particular about the details, maybe,’ he said, ‘but certainly not preposterous. I’ve completed the necessary paperwork to purchase the mansion and several of the surrounding huts so our presence in the grounds of Bletchley cannot be prohibited. I have of course had to sell my own house to do so, but I must say I didn’t hesitate.’

  ‘Hey, your granddad knows his stuff,’ whispered Tusia.

  Brodie swelled with pride.

  ‘Thirdly, there’s the issue of employment and funding. Now of course it may very well be you no longer wish to keep in employment those you deem to be investigating a prohibited document.’ Brodie shot a look towards Smithies. ‘However, it just so happens my involvement with the Second Study Group reminded me the government’s not alone in their interest in MS 408. The very first Study Group was funded by the very generous sponsorship of George Fabyan. I’ve taken it upon myself to contact the great-grandson of that very generous and forward-thinking man and would like to introduce to you George Fabyan III.’

  The man to his side lumbered forward, raising his hand in a rakish wave. ‘Howdy,’ he said, glancing along the lines of those that listened. ‘Swell to be here. My own great-grandfather loved the mystery of code more than anything else. It was he who set up Riverbank Labs, the Black Chamber who first looked at MS 408. When Mr Bray called me I was more than happy to lend my enthusiasm for research and, perhaps more importantly, the rather colossal weight of my fa
mily fortune behind the project. With funding secured and premises title deeds similarly acquired, I think you’ll acknowledge that whether the government wants it or not, the reformed Veritas will continue with their quest to read MS 408. Of course, we’ll be making no use of government money or funding, and once Bletchley is under our ownership, proving we’re spending any time at all looking at MS 408 will be extremely difficult. I think you’ll find access to a now privately owned site and recently closed museum just a little tricky.’

  It took a while for the news to sink in. The Director, with Kerrith beside him, seemed totally at a loss, like a passenger arriving at a station to see his train pulling quietly but purposefully away from the platform. His eyes narrowed and small purple patches raised beneath his eyes across the bones of his cheeks. ‘It’s not over, Smithies,’ he hissed.

  Smithies smiled his answer. ‘I think, sir, that’s the very point we’ve been trying to make.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ said Brodie.

  ‘It leaves you right here,’ smiled Smithies, tucking into a slice of treacle tart which Miss Tandari had heated through by way of celebration. ‘All I said this morning remains true. We’ve solved the code you were brought here to solve. And yet it seems the puzzle that awaits us now is more far-reaching and much vaster than we ever dared to imagine.’ He rubbed his hands together.

  ‘More far-reaching?’ Hunter spluttered through a mouthful of pudding.

  ‘Look, there must be some important reason why the Director wanted our operation closed down. I accept MS 408 has cost people their careers but that doesn’t explain why he’s so keen for the manuscript to be so totally off-limits. And I just don’t accept his premise that the manuscript’s a fake. If it were, then the code-crackers in the past would’ve proved that.’ He dug his spoon into his pudding bowl and lifted it to his lips. ‘We’ve rattled him. And I’d like to know what’s got him so angry.’ He swallowed the last spoon of custard and wiped a rather large streak of treacle from his tie before continuing. ‘Of course we may get no further in our search. We have to remember those who’ve gone before us, who’ve been lost to the code, and even those who’ve been a little damaged on the journey.’

  Brodie saw him glance across the room at Ingham, who was sipping from a mug chained securely to the radiator. She felt a strange tightening in her stomach.

  ‘But, you remain the brightest brains in the country, and so your continued service at Bletchley will be greatly appreciated. And of course with Mr Bray and Fabyan on board now, our chances of finding out just what Van der Essen meant in his final code comes many steps closer. And as Bletchley is now out of bounds for those we don’t invite there’s also no good reason why, if we’re careful, we can’t bring Friedman up to the mansion now.’

  He gestured across the table to Miss Tandari, who took up his lead and continued. ‘Our suggestion is we all take a three-week break in proceedings here,’ she said, her silver bracelets sparkling on her arms as she waved her hands. ‘A holiday. Time for you to regroup at home and catch up with the family. It’ll give us time too, to sort the quarters for Mr Bray and Mr Fabyan.’ She smiled rather coyly down the table at the American. ‘I’m thinking our accommodation, isn’t quite up to the standards of a modern-day billionaire.’

  ‘Billionaire,’ spluttered Hunter, spilling a dollop of ice cream from his spoon on to his lap.

  Fabyan ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Billions, trillions. Let’s not get caught up in details. And anyhow, you don’t need to give my needs no mind. I’m a gigantean fan of camping. I can cope with the accommodation arrangements inside an English countryside mansion.’

  Miss Tandari smiled encouragingly although she was clearly not altogether sure. ‘Anyway – three weeks to get our affairs in order. The path we’ve embarked on is going to be long and challenging.’

  ‘Hey. We’re all about the challenge.’ Hunter wiped the spilt ice cream with the back of his hand and then licked it. ‘What?’ he said in response to the dismissive frown from Tusia. ‘It’s Rocky Road. My favourite flavour. Shame to waste it.’

  The feast over, Brodie stood with Tusia and Hunter in the doorway. ‘Amazing man, your granddad,’ offered Hunter.

  ‘We Brays like to find ways out of a puzzle.’

  ‘You did great earlier, by the way,’ Hunter added. ‘Your mum would be proud of her daughter as well as her dad.’

  ‘Don’t get me crying again,’ Brodie mumbled, pushing him so he hobbled on his heavily bandaged foot. ‘I only just stopped from earlier.’ For the third time that day she took hold of the locket round her neck.

  ‘You’ll definitely come back after the break, won’t you?’ asked Tusia in a way which suggested she’d beat either of them with her stress pig if they dared say no.

  ‘Well, my granddad has sold his house to buy the huts in this place so I’d be out of a home if I didn’t want to come back,’ Brodie laughed.

  ‘You try and stop me,’ added Hunter, ‘after all, my crumpled unicycle’s still waiting in the garage. It’s about time I got around to fixing it properly. Smithies was helpful but admits he’s better when a thing has two tyres. Anyway, with a billionaire on site I may be able to afford a new wheel.’

  Brodie hit out playfully again and this time Hunter hobbled clear. Above them the moon shone brightly.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ said Hunter, lowering his voice. ‘This is all pretty scary. I mean working on something the government wants left alone. What sort of secrets are we going to uncover?’

  Brodie frowned. ‘Ones people gave up their lives for?’

  Hunter smiled and linked his arm through Tusia’s. ‘Hey, stop with the disgusted face,’ he snapped. ‘I’m injured and in need of support.’

  ‘Brodie can help you,’ Tusia replied.

  ‘I think it’s about time Brodie caught up with her granddad,’ Hunter said. ‘Poor old man’s been waiting to get a word in edgeways for hours.’

  ‘Well, you’re the one going on about the billionaire and the unicycle.’

  ‘You make it sound like the name of a song,’ said Hunter as Tusia led him away back towards the huts. ‘Or perhaps the name of a circus act which could appear alongside you and your whacky thai chi or whatever you call it.’

  Brodie watched them move off, away from the mansion, the sound of their voices still lifting on the breeze as they walked.

  Brodie’s granddad was sitting on a bench in front of the mansion, the broken-headed griffin lit by the moonlight behind him. ‘There’s so much to catch up on,’ he said.

  ‘I wish you’d told me about Mum and the accident,’ she said at last, without looking at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed, without looking up. ‘We were never sure. Perhaps a part of me was frightened of the truth.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Look, Brodie. I shouldn’t have kept the truth from you. I shouldn’t have hidden what I know. But at the time it seemed best. You’d lost so much. I couldn’t face you losing more.’

  She put her hand in his. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘Really glad. It’ll make everything nicer.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Looks to me as if you’ve formed a great little team.’ He glanced over into the distance where the figures of Hunter and Tusia could just be seen hobbling in the torchlight, towards his hut. They looked very much like a pair of delivery-men carrying an invisible, heavy load.

  Brodie and her granddad sat for a moment staring in the direction of the lake. The moon showed only the water as it left the fountain. Darkness obscured where it fell.

  ‘I hope I’ve done the right thing, Brodie,’ Mr Bray said at last.

  ‘I think you have,’ she answered.

  Mr Bray sighed. ‘Anyway, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. As Miss Tandari said, we’ll need a few weeks to get things in order. I suggest you go and get some sleep.’

  Brodie’s brain was racing too quickly for sleep. ‘I’ll stay here for a while,’ she said. ‘I like the q
uiet.’

  Mr Bray pushed himself up to stand. ‘Don’t expect you get much of that sharing a room with Tusia,’ he laughed.

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Still, don’t stay up too long. You’ll need all the energy you can get. I’ll need help packing my rumba records for the move here and I have to admit I’ve added a little to my collection since you went away.’

  Brodie was unsure how long she’d sat there alone before Friedman arrived. ‘May I?’ he said gesturing to the place beside her.

  She moved up to let him sit down.

  ‘Quite a night, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘After quite a day.’

  Brodie waited. ‘I’m glad you’re part of the Group now,’ she said at last. ‘I think my mum would like that.’

  Friedman sniffed. ‘You, your mum and Smithies. Probably the only people who’d be pleased about it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, I saw the way your granddad looked at me. Smithies warned me some people have long memories. It’s hard to shake off the “mantle of madness”, Brodie. People have a way of holding it against you.’

  ‘He’ll change his mind,’ she said, in a way she hoped sounded reassuring.

  ‘Hope you’re right.’ He turned to face her as if studying a portrait. ‘Your wonderful mother, Brodie … you look so much like her, you know.’

  Brodie felt her cheeks colour.

  Friedman’s eyes sparkled. It was then Brodie remembered where she’d seen his face before. In the yellowed photograph her granddad had shown her, months ago now, when all this first began. Friedman, and Smithies and her mother. When they were children here. Together. Working on the code. She looked up. It was as if Friedman was remembering too.

  ‘Was that locket hers?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘Granddad gave it to me just before I came here.’

  ‘He gave me something once too,’ Friedman said, reaching down the neck of his shirt and pulling out a thin chain with a tiny golden key.