Lineage Most Lethal

by S. C. Perkins

  I blew out a breath and felt goose bumps pop up all over.

  “Do you remember the name of Hugo’s grandfather—the one you said he was representing at the OSS reunion? Could he have been Rupert? I know some Americans worked for SOE, especially early on, before America came into the war.” Smiling, I threw in another factoid. “Virginia Hall was one of them. The Germans dubbed her the most dangerous Allied spy, and she had a wooden leg she named Cuthbert. She also later worked with the OSS.”

  Grandpa beamed at my spy facts. “Ah, yes, you are correct. The Germans called her the Limping Lady. I never worked with her, but she was a damn fine operative.” Then he shook his head. “I never asked Hugo about his granddad. It’s unlikely he would’ve known his code name, though.”

  “What was your code name?” I asked quietly, almost afraid he wouldn’t tell me.

  Grandpa held out his hand for me to shake. “Nice to meet you, I’m Robert,” he said. “Robert Runyon, but everybody calls me Bobby.”

  I grinned, shaking his hand and marveling at how naturally the alias rolled off his tongue. “That’s a good name,” I said.

  “I liked it,” he said. “Let’s just say Bobby and I had some adventures.”

  “I have a lot of questions for Bobby once this is done,” I teased.

  Grandpa merely chuckled, so I moved on.

  I picked up the fountain pen’s cap. “So, these bands. The three thin bands and one larger one. Do they mean anything, or were they merely a specific, but random, decoration?”

  Grandpa took the cap and held it out and away from me, then turned it sideways.

  “You tell me. If you look at the bands this way, and straight on, what do you see?”

  I stared. It took me a long minute and my grandfather waited patiently. If I hadn’t known to think about the war and espionage, it might have taken me longer. With those hints, however, I finally saw it when I focused on the width of the bands and what that might signify.

  “Three dots and a dash,” I said excitedly, reaching out and taking the cap to look closer. “It’s Morse code, isn’t it?”

  Grandpa beamed. “For the letter ‘V.’”

  The history geek in me came out and I crowed, “For ‘Victory!’”

  Now he laughed and, taking my face in his hands, gave my cheek a loud kiss. “You make me prouder every minute, my darlin’. V for Victory, yes indeed.”

  At my exultation, NPH leapt lightly onto the island to check out the pen cap. He seemed to approve of its coded message with a quick rub of his cheek.

  “The V also stood for something else, but that’s another part of the story,” Grandpa said, stroking NPH’s back and getting a loud purr in response.

  “What about the two crossed feathers and the scrollwork on the nib?” I asked, eager for more spy stuff.

  This time, Grandpa pulled out a small, flat object from his wallet and handed it to me. It was a magnifying glass, and I used it to peer at the nib.

  “They aren’t feathers, love,” he said. “They’re palm fronds.” He smiled again. “But the scrollwork is just that. There to catch the eye so the fronds are less obvious.”

  “Palm fronds,” I repeated with a groan. “I should have recognized them. I see palm fronds on gravestones quite a bit. They symbolize victory as well. Victory over death, to be specific.”

  Grandpa looked proud again as he started to put the pen back together, minus the little microdot reader. I realized he hadn’t completed his story, that he hadn’t told me what was so important about the joint OSS–SOE mission that could have a connection to Hugo Markman’s death. Yet at the same time, I felt like he wanted to be sure of his facts before he told me the tale.

  If it had been anyone else, from any other time period, I might have thought them a bit ridiculous for not being willing to explain a situation that had happened nearly eighty years ago. But the Greatest Generation were different. They held the war and what happened in it close to their hearts.

  And for those who worked in intelligence and swore their oath of secrecy? Well, there were wartime intelligence veterans today who still wouldn’t speak of their experiences, no matter how many times they’d been told it was all right to do so. Their honor wouldn’t let them break their word. My grandfather was clearly one of those types of veterans, and it was tougher than I’d given him credit for to even tell me what he’d said thus far. I could see it in the crags of his still handsome face.

  I got up, scratching NPH behind the ears. “Come on, Grandpa. Let’s go.”

  He looked at me inquiringly.

  “To the police station,” I said. “You said the microdot is likely in Hugo’s possessions, and I trust you and your need to verify before you speak further. So let’s go get it and see what Hugo left us.”

  My grandfather looked at me with emotion in his blue eyes for a long second before pulling back his shoulders.

  “After you, my darlin’,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward the door.

  I first went and retrieved all our devices from my bedroom. My hand was on the front door handle when there was a loud knock.

  “Open up!” shouted a deep, gruff voice.

  FOURTEEN

  Grandpa and I both froze.

  “I know you have Lucy in there. Let her go!”

  This time, the voice sounded less deep. Less gruff, and with less maturity in tone, too. In the distance, I heard another noise and recognized it. Someone—a second person—was running up the stairs on the side of my condo building. Someone bigger and heavier.

  “Yes, open up!” called the second person, his voice tinged with a Mississippi drawl.

  NPH, who’d been my attack cat just a couple of months earlier, was at my side. But his tail was up. He knew that voice. He knew both of them, it seemed.

  And so did I.

  Smiling at Grandpa, I threw open the door.

  “Lucy!” they both exclaimed in unison at the sight of me in one piece. The bigger one sighed heavily with relief, his hand on his heaving chest. The smaller one, headphones around his neck, glared over my shoulder at Grandpa, until he glanced at me, then at his big friend, and his expression went uncertain.

  “Hi, Diego,” I said, grinning at the boy, who was all dark hair, big eyes, gangly limbs, and brand-new braces. “Hi, Jackson,” I added to my out-of-breath condo manager, whose mane of auburn hair and butter-yellow cashmere sweater stretched over his belly gave him the look of a stylishly mature lion about town. NPH had dashed out and was curling himself first around Diego’s legs, then around those of his actual owner.

  Jackson’s relief turned to a smile when he recognized my grandfather.

  “Mr. Lancaster!” He clasped Grandpa’s outstretched hand and pumped it. “It’s wonderful to see you again, sir.” Looking slightly wild-eyed at me, he added, “Heavens, Lucy, you scared Diego and me half out of our wits.”

  Grandpa held his hand out to Diego. “Young man, I take it you saw me walking upstairs with my granddaughter, and when you didn’t recognize me, you raised the alarm with Jackson here.”

  Diego, his brown eyes wide, just nodded and shook Grandpa’s hand.

  “I thank you for doing that, sir,” my grandfather said, his tone serious. “I thank both of you for looking out for my Lucy, even though all of us know she’s strong and smart and can look after herself.”

  Diego nodded again, then blurted out, “Lucy told me you were in World War Two.”

  “I was,” Grandpa answered. “Sergeant George Lancaster, Fourth Infantry Division, pleased to meet you.” He gave Diego a salute.

  “Mr. Lancaster was in D-day,” Jackson told Diego.

  Jackson didn’t know the half of it, I thought.

  Diego was agog. “I have to write an essay about the war,” he said, before becoming shy, intermittently looking down at his boots, then glancing up at Grandpa. “Can I—” A glance at Jackson, and he said, “I mean, may I ask you what it was like?”

  “Sir,” whisper-reminded Jackson, who h
ad become an excellent de facto father figure to Diego, since the boy’s biological father was not in his life.

  “May I ask you what it was like, sir?” Diego repeated.

  Grandpa smiled. “I would be honored to tell you, Diego. However, my granddaughter and I have some errands to run and things to do, which may keep me busy for a few days. When is your paper due?”

  “In two weeks, sir.” Diego was currently being homeschooled, but would be going to the local public school at the start of the next school year. As such, his mother was making sure to give him strict deadlines for his projects. If she said it was due in two weeks, it was.

  “I expect that should give us more than enough time. When Lucy and I are done with our project, I’ll either come back here and you can interview me, or Lucy can bring you and your mother out to my house in Wimberley. How does that sound?”

  Diego beamed. “That would be great! I mean, that would be great, sir. Thanks!” And all at once, he was nothing but a kid again, waving to us as he streaked off and clattered down the stairs, NPH in hot pursuit.

  Jackson shook his head, watching NPH tear after Diego. “Sometimes, I swear my cat loves you and that boy more than me.”

  “Ah, but he always comes home to you,” I reminded him.

  Jackson’s response was all tongue-in-cheek drama. “Between NPH and Jud, it’s my lot in life to share those I love with others, and wait for them to come home to me at night.”

  “If you didn’t share Jud with others, I’d hog-tie you faster than you could say ‘mint chocolate chip,’” I shot back with mock severity before smiling at my grandfather. “You know that ice cream you enjoyed so much, Grandpa? Jackson’s boyfriend makes it. He does small-batch only and sells out by lunchtime every day.”

  “Can he be bribed to set a pint of that chocolate–peanut butter aside for me?” Grandpa asked as I locked my door. “Or three?”

  “Jud can’t, but I sure as heck can,” Jackson replied, and, thankfully, nothing more interesting than ice cream was discussed as the three of us made our way downstairs.

  * * *

  The whole drive to the Austin police department, Grandpa would only tell me that I was giving the decoy Montblanc pen as evidence in place of the real one and that he would be claiming Hugo had something that belonged to him. For the rest, he told me, we would be winging it.

  “Winging it?” I repeated. “Don’t you think we should have some kind of plan?”

  “Nah,” Grandpa replied. “The only thing you need to do is follow my lead. Just stay as close to the truth as possible and you’ll be fine.”

  At a stoplight, I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. “And what exactly does that mean? What are you planning?”

  He just pointed to the light. “It’s green, darlin’.”

  “Grandpa,” I said, “you’re really enjoying being cryptic, aren’t you?”

  He merely grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

  The rest of the short drive, I could only think of how much Ben and my grandfather would like each other. I’d come to the shocking realization the latter could be just as infuriating as the former, and both clearly loved infuriating me when they wanted to.

  Inside the Austin PD headquarters, the lighting was unnaturally bright, and it was colder than it was outside—which wasn’t saying much, since the day was still hovering around sixty-eight degrees.

  “May I help you?” asked the young officer with close-cropped dark hair working the front desk.

  I looked at Grandpa, just stopping myself from doing a double-take. Gone was his straight-backed posture and watchful but open expression. Now he stood hunched, his head jutting forward like a turtle. He looked like a truly old man instead of my much-younger-acting grandfather, and I didn’t know that I liked it. He didn’t speak up, though.

  Okay, I thought. We’re winging it, and I guess I’m taking the lead.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’m here to drop off a piece of potential evidence relating to the death of a man yesterday at the Hotel Sutton.” When Grandpa didn’t chime in, I added, “And my grandfather here believes the man who died had something that belonged to him.”

  The officer showed zero interest in either piece of information, but asked, “Do you know the name of the case officer you dealt with?”

  “Officer Carr,” I replied.

  He asked us to present our driver’s licenses and sign in. Grandpa took longer than normal to sign. In fact, he hesitated with the pen for a good second or two before finally, slowly, writing his name as the officer watched. I felt my eyebrows knit, but the officer was already on the phone, speaking in low tones to someone, presumably Officer Carr.

  We sat. Grandpa looked around, but didn’t speak. Officer Carr strode out after a few minutes.

  “Ms. Lancaster,” he said, shaking my hand. I introduced him to my grandfather, whose posture had gone even more turtlelike and feeble, while his expression had gone grumpy.

  Unbidden, a streak of worry shot through me. Was Grandpa acting or not? I honestly couldn’t tell.

  Officer Carr was speaking. “I understand you found some evidence? Is this the pen you said had been dropped?”

  I nodded, pulling out my sunglasses case and opening it to show the Montblanc. “It got picked up by Ms. Sutton’s dog, as it turns out. I’m afraid the dog slobbered all over it.”

  Officer Carr looked at the pen, which Grandpa had systematically wiped clean before having me hold it to put my prints back on it. “Did you wipe it down?”

  I blushed. “I’m afraid I forgot myself when I finally got it away from Boomer—that’s the dog. It was really slobbery, so I automatically wiped it off.” Officer Carr looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, and I said, “Maybe there’s some prints on the inside?” Though I knew there wouldn’t be.

  “You don’t need any prints,” Grandpa said suddenly, looking at Officer Carr like he was an insolent child. “I told you, I know him and he has my ticket.”

  Then Grandpa turned to me, his blue eyes suddenly huge and childlike. He’d naturally shrunk a bit with age, of course, but now that he was hunched over, his face was very nearly level with mine.

  “They’re going to give me my ticket, aren’t they, Elinor? I need my ticket back.”

  FIFTEEN

  I suddenly couldn’t breathe, feeling like I’d just been doused with ice water. Grandpa’s eyes looked unfocused, and he’d just referred to me by my grandmother’s name.

  I glanced at Officer Carr, knowing I must have looked unnerved, and his expression softened with understanding.

  Grandpa was reaching out a shaking hand to me. “Hugo had my ticket to the play, Elinor. The one we’re going to see together. It’s Oklahoma!, your favorite, and I can’t get in without my ticket.” When I grasped his hand, though, feeling like I was about to burst into tears, I felt something. Two quick squeezes. Tears sprang to my eyes, but this time in relief.

  Gently, I said to Grandpa, “I’m Lucy, remember? Your granddaughter?”

  My grandfather blinked several times, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Yes … so sorry, love,” he said, with a helpless note in his voice.

  I turned back to Officer Carr with a sniffle I didn’t have to fake and whispered, “My apologies. Elinor is—was—my grandmother’s name.”

  I swallowed hard. “My grandfather … well, he tends to focus on certain things these days and doesn’t always remember things in order.” With a flash of inspiration, I added, “See, my grandmother loved going to plays, and he still likes to go because it reminds him of better days. I took him to Oklahoma! last week, but he’s not remembering correctly that we’ve already gone. Would it be possible for the ticket we found in Mr. Markman’s wallet to be returned to my grandfather?”

  Officer Carr was clearly pitying my grandfather’s plight, but he wasn’t stupid. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Lancaster, but I can’t give your grandfather the ticket. It’s evidence until we know what happened to the victim.
” When Grandpa looked around the room as if easily distracted, Officer Carr leaned in and said, “How did he know it was in the wallet anyway?”

  Grandpa’s eyes flashed and he jabbed a shaking finger at the officer’s chest. “Young man, I’m not deaf. I heard what you just said. I knew about the ticket because it’s mine!”

  Officer Carr played along. “And how did you know this Mr.—”

  “Markman,” Grandpa replied imperiously. “Hugo Markman. I knew him because we were in the war together.” He made a show of standing taller, which, with his head still jutted forward, made him look like a suddenly defiant turtle.

  “Grandpa,” I said gently. “You were in the war with Hugo’s grandfather, not Hugo himself.” Looking up at Officer Carr, I said, “Mr. Markman was kind enough to look after my grandfather from time to time and, well, Grandpa can sometimes get Hugo mixed up with Hugo’s grandfather.”

  Officer Carr’s eyes had narrowed. “I thought you said you had never seen this man before, Ms. Lancaster. How do you suddenly know so much about him?”

  Rats. One step too far, Luce. I went for injured dignity, just to see where it got me.

  “I most certainly did not know him, Officer Carr,” I replied, lifting my chin while grasping Grandpa’s hand. “My grandfather here lives in Wimberley, and when I went to see him today, he was upset, having read about Mr. Markman in the paper. But it wasn’t until I’d asked his neighbor that I learned that Hugo—Mr. Markman, that is—would occasionally visit Grandpa, because his grandfather and mine were war buddies.”

  I felt a quick pressure on my fingers, like you might pump a bike’s handbrake. I’d gotten too far from the truth, and Grandpa was telling me to rein it in.

  Officer Carr’s eyes were still narrowed. “That doesn’t explain how this man would have your grandfather’s ticket to the play.”