Kingston nodded. ‘Enigma. Damned good one, too.’ He polished off the last strawberry and took a sip of the dessert wine. ‘The coded messages were transmitted daily on a code-making machine the Germans called Enigma,’ he said. ‘It was a devilishly clever contraption capable of scrambling messages in an astronomical number of ways. To make things even more difficult, the Jerries changed the wiring set-up for their transmitters and receivers daily. So the messages intercepted by our lads were utter gibberish.’
‘The odds against anyone breaking the code must have been staggering,’ said Kate.
‘I’m told that, for anyone who didn’t know the machine settings, the odds were a hundred and fifty million million million to one,’ Kingston replied.
Kate whistled.
‘I read somewhere that it supposedly pioneered the age of the computer,’ said Alex.
‘That was actually the contraption our chaps developed to decipher the codes sent on the Enigma. It was called Colossus. And you’re right, Alex, it’s believed to be the world’s first programmable electronic computer.’
‘Those chaps must have been awfully clever,’ said Kate.
‘Sheer genius is more like it. Helped by counter-espionage and a bit of luck here and there.’
‘How did they find all these geniuses at such short notice?’ asked Alex.
‘At the beginning it was quite a motley group. A lot of them were cryptic crossword puzzle whizzes – mostly The Times and the Telegraph, I believe. There were chess masters, mathematicians, all kinds of intellectuals. One was a rare book dealer, apparently. People with eidetic minds,’ Kingston added.
Kate had never heard of the word. She reminded herself to look it up later.
‘What was amazing,’ Kingston continued, ‘was that they were all sworn to absolute secrecy – not only at the time but for some thirty years after the end of the war. Churchill described it as “his goose that laid the golden egg but never cackled”.’
‘Where on earth did you learn all this, Lawrence?’ asked Alex.
‘At Bletchley Park. After seeing Jennifer, I stopped off there. It’s a museum now, run by a charitable trust – the grounds are lovely. You should go up there sometime.’
‘I think we will, when this rose business is over,’ said Kate.
There was a pause in the conversation while she stacked the dessert plates and placed them to one side. She smoothed the tablecloth in front of her and looked at Kingston. ‘So, Lawrence, your theory is that since we now know that Major Cooke and Captain Farrow were part of the secret team at Bletchley, it’s almost certain that, one way or another, they were familiar with cryptography. Is that the right word?’
‘Yes, it is. And yes, that’s right, Kate,’ Kingston replied. ‘It’s quite plausible that they would have known of the Enigma programme. Which means,’ he said, picking up his glass and gently swirling the last drops of wine, ‘that instead of inventing a code for their horticultural experiments, they simply used an existing code. Perhaps one of the more fundamental ones. Impossible for most people to decipher, but a piece of cake for any former Bletchley cryptographer.’
‘Why use a code for hybridizing roses in the first place?’ asked Alex. ‘It all seems a bit pointless. Aren’t we over-reaching just a wee bit? All this cloak and dagger stuff?’
‘Not necessarily,’ Kingston retorted. ‘Not if Cooke and Farrow sensed they were close to a breakthrough as earthshaking as a blue rose.’
Kate thought Alex’s question reasonable but it was clear by Kingston’s frown that he didn’t agree one bit.
‘Under the circumstances,’ he said, straightening up in his chair and looking down his nose at Alex, ‘some kind of coded entries of their cross-pollinating would be logical – even advisable, I would say. It’s not at all far-fetched. Besides, they were old army chums. It was fun. Brought back memories of their old days.’
‘You know something,’ said Kate. ‘Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead. It seems to me that if we continue digging into this code business we might well end up establishing that Cooke and Farrow did, indeed, create the rose. This seems counterproductive to what Adell is doing – trying to establish us as the rightful owners.’
Alex was looking testy. ‘Look, if I recall correctly, Adell’s last words were that we were to proceed on the assumption that we are the sole owners.’ He looked briefly at Kate, then rested his eyes on Kingston. ‘So, for the time being, why don’t we do that?’
‘I think Alex is right,’ said Kate, breaking the momentary silence.
Kingston simply shrugged.
Alex folded his napkin and placed it tidily in front of him. ‘Going back to what you were saying, Lawrence – about the code thing. I’ll buy your theory,’ he said, ‘but who the hell would be capable of cracking the Major’s code now? This Enigma business was nearly sixty years ago. Surely most of those people are long gone by now, aren’t they?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Kingston, ‘but I’ve been doing a little digging on my own.’
‘Of course you have,’ Alex muttered.
Kingston ignored the jibe. ‘When I was up at Bletchley I posed the question to the director, a nice lady. As I expected, nobody on the staff up there has any knowledge of the codes themselves, but she suggested that I talk to the Defence Intelligence and Security Centre people at Chicksands in Bedfordshire.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. ‘If we draw a blank there, there would appear to be no other avenues left open, I’m afraid.’
‘If we know the code, does that mean we can replicate the rose? Create more of them?’ Kate asked.
‘In all probability, yes. But there’s a small problem.’
‘What’s that?’ Alex asked.
‘The missing journal,’ said Kingston.
‘What about it?’
‘I’d bet a tidy sum that the crossing formula necessary to do that is contained in the missing journal. That’s why it’s missing.’
‘Somebody else knows about the blue rose?’ Kate asked, frowning.
‘I wouldn’t rule it out entirely,’ Kingston said, leaning back in his chair.
Chapter Nine
But ne’er the rose without the thorn.
Robert Herrick
Another week went by and July continued miserable. An umbrella shop couldn’t have wished for a better day. Stumbling along the shiny, slick pavement of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Alex did his best to shield Kate and himself from the constantly shifting curtains of rain that whipped across the square, beating a tattoo on his black umbrella. Every once in a while he would peek around the edge of the near-horizontal brolly, getting his face drenched each time he did so. At last he saw the alley and the welcoming portal of Sheridan, Adell and Broughton’s offices. In the next hour or so they would get an update on Adell’s progress with the auction arrangements. It was now three weeks since their last meeting.
‘Nasty day,’ Chris Adell said, relieving them of their coats, umbrella, and Kate’s beret.
‘Phew,’ Alex whistled, as his body adjusted to the comfortable warmth of the room. ‘They’ll be pairing off the animals soon, if this keeps up.’
Adell’s secretary entered the room and placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the table. ‘This’ll warm you up a bit,’ she said before leaving.
‘Please – help yourselves,’ said Adell. ‘Any more developments with Sapphire?’
‘Not a lot, really,’ Alex replied. ‘Except for Lawrence Kingston’s latest theory.’
‘What’s that?’
Alex then described Kingston’s recent trip to Bletchley and his visit with Jennifer Farrow.
‘He’s becoming more and more convinced now that Cooke and Farrow might have had something to do with the rose,’ said Kate.
Adell laughed. ‘It all sounds quite cloak and dagger – a missing journal, Bletchley Park, Enigma codes.’
‘Exactly what I said,’ said Alex.
‘This Kingston chap sounds awfully creative. I’d like
to meet him one day. Meanwhile, let me update you on the auction.’ He picked up the phone and punched in a single digit. ‘Martha, would you bring in the Sheppards’ file, please. I forgot to ask you to pull it out earlier. Sorry.’
Adell reached into the side drawer of his desk and extracted a manila folder. ‘I want to show you this.’ Opening the folder he removed a brochure. ‘This is a colour proof of the brochure that we’ve put together for the auction sale of the rose.’ He handed it to Alex.
Alex held it up so that Kate could see it too. It was much larger than an average brochure, folding into three panels. The artwork was a pleasing combination of fine line drawings that resembled old engravings and computer-enhanced photography. The photo of the blue rose, spanning two of the inside panels, was beautifully executed. Not quite like the real thing, thought Kate, but most impressive.
‘Nicely done,’ said Alex.
‘Keep it. It’s for you. Look at it when you get back home and let me know if you have any suggestions or changes. It’s not going to go to press for a few days so there’s plenty of time for corrections.’
For the next five minutes Adell outlined the marketing plan and overall strategy for the first-ever auction of a rose.
Adell looked pleased with himself. ‘So there we are,’ he said, leaning back and folding his arms. ‘In another couple of weeks we’ll send out the announcement and Bob’s your uncle.’ Abruptly his smile vanished. ‘By the way, word is out already, by the looks of it.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Kate.
‘We’ve already received two pre-emptive bids from growers. One of them here, in the UK, the other from Holland. You can see what I meant when I said it would be nigh on impossible to keep such a discovery under wraps.’
Kate frowned. ‘But how could they know about it if the brochure isn’t even printed yet?’
‘We’ve been having conversations with Bonham’s, the auctioneers, since you were here last. Naturally, we requested that they treat it with the utmost confidentiality, but you can see how impossible that soon becomes. The faxes and e-mails that have already gone back and forth. We knew all along that it would be impossible to contain such–’
There was a barely audible knock on the door and Martha took one step into the room, holding the door open behind her. She was empty-handed.
‘Well, Martha?’ Adell said, gesturing with his hands. ‘Where’s the file?’
‘We don’t seem to be able to find it,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you don’t have it?’
‘No. The last time I saw it was a couple of days ago. I gave it back to Betsy. I’m almost certain she put it in your tray.’
Three pairs of eyes were now fastened on Martha, who shifted uncomfortably, one hand still on the doorknob. ‘Do you think it might be connected with the break-in?’ she asked.
Alex gave Adell a quizzical look. ‘Jesus! Somebody broke into your offices?’
‘Yes – two days ago. There was no evidence of a forced entry. Just a lot of stuff disturbed, as though somebody was looking for something. Whoever it was, he or she was thorough. They tried to enter the computers too. We’ve been taking inventory but so far we’ve found nothing missing.’
‘Up until now, that is,’ said Alex. ‘What did the police say?’
‘They were as perplexed as we were. All they could do was to ask us to report any further unusual circumstances.’
Kate was clearly alarmed. ‘If someone has stolen our file–’
‘Look, let’s not jump to any conclusions,’ Adell interrupted with a growing look of annoyance. ‘There’s a perfectly rational answer for it, I’m sure.’ He looked back to Martha, who was still standing awkwardly by the door. ‘Martha, why don’t you go and take another look? Ask Betsy and Christine to do a search, too.’
It was another five minutes before Martha returned. There was no sign of the file anywhere, she said.
‘I’m sure it’ll show up,’ Adell said. ‘The minute it does, I’ll let you know.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ Alex asked.
Adell’s face darkened. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,’ he said, getting up from his chair.
After Adell had seen Alex and Kate out he went into the outer office, where Martha and the other two secretaries were busy undertaking their search for the Sheppards’ file.
‘I didn’t want to alarm the Sheppards,’ he announced, ‘but this is a serious matter. I don’t care if takes all day, or all week, drop everything you’re doing and find that damned file.’
It had stopped raining and was inky dark when Alex and Kate finally arrived back at The Parsonage. After a boisterous greeting from Asp, they went into the sitting room to check for phone messages, go through the day’s mail and read the local newspaper. As usual, Asp jumped up on Kate’s lap, wriggling himself into a comfortable position.
‘No phone messages,’ said Alex, picking up the Wiltshire Gazette and slumping on the couch.
‘I’m surprised Kingston hasn’t called,’ said Kate, scratching the top of Asp’s head.
‘If he does, darling, just for my sake don’t invite him down – not yet, anyway. Much as I admire him and appreciate everything he’s doing, I can only take him in small doses,’ he said, without taking his eyes off the newspaper.
‘More than likely he’ll invite himself. I wonder what he’ll have to say about the missing file?’
‘Hmm,’ Alex grunted, his nose buried in the paper.
She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t more upset about the file. On the train ride home they had talked about it and despite Alex’s attempts to persuade her that, odds were, it was simply misplaced, she was more convinced than ever that it had, indeed, been stolen.
‘I promise not to bring it up again, Alex,’ she said, ‘but that file most certainly contained an awful lot of information about us, not the least of which is our address. Anybody able to put two and two together will conclude that’s where the rose is located.’ She picked up Asp, put him on the floor and stood up. ‘Now, whoever has the file could come snooping around. God, they could steal the rose, or take cuttings.’
Starting towards the door, she looked over her shoulder – to see whether her words had made any impression at all. ‘Alex, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?’
Alex lowered the newspaper and peered at Kate over the top of his glasses. ‘Kate, give it a break, we don’t really know, yet, if the file was stolen,’ he said. ‘It’s probably sitting somewhere in his office, in full view. So, let’s not jump to conclusions. Wait until we hear from Adell.’
‘That’s fine, but I still think a burglary–’
‘Businesses get burgled every day,’ Alex sighed. ‘Why should it have anything to do with our file?’
‘Have it your way, then. I’m going to have a nice hot bath,’ she said with a shake of her head, walking out of the room. Asp padded along behind her.
Alex was checking the football results when the phone rang.
‘Mr Sheppard?’ The voice was unfamiliar. Alex’s name was clearly enunciated and the accent was unmistakably American.
‘It is,’ Alex said tentatively. Another one of those bloody telephone marketers, was his immediate thought. A timeshare or a free cellular phone.
The man cleared his throat. ‘I apologize for using the phone for what would normally be accomplished with a written proposal, but I prefer a more direct route.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Alex, making no attempt to disguise his impatience.
His question was ignored. ‘I understand that you have a rose bush on your property that is bearing blue roses. Is that correct?’ the man asked.
Alex almost dropped the phone. ‘What?’ he gasped.
‘This is Alex Sheppard, is it not?’
He swallowed. ‘Yes but how–’
‘Please, Mr Sheppard. It’s my job to know these kinds of things.’
Alex’s mind was still racing. How on earth–?
&nbs
p; ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘You know, I can’t hear you very well, this is a bad line,’ Alex said, playing for time. Wait – hadn’t Adell mentioned a couple of growers? Perhaps it was one of them. No, they were English and Dutch, he clearly recalled. Besides, Adell wouldn’t have given out his and Kate’s name and phone number. Alex was now annoyed. ‘How did you come by this information?’ he demanded.
Again, his question was ignored. ‘It must have been a rewarding moment – discovering a blue rose. I’m sure, by now, that you are aware of the impact such a plant will have on the world of commerce.’
‘Who are you?’ Alex asked.
The man laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. ‘It’s of no consequence,’ he said. ‘Surely you didn’t think you could keep a discovery of this magnitude secret for long, Mr Sheppard? No, that would be too naïve. Look, I’m not going to pussyfoot around. I would like to make you a proposal right now. Then you can forget this dumb auction idea.’
Alex cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he breathed. ‘The man knows everything.’ He removed his hand, now aware of his laboured breathing. ‘I’m not interested in hearing–’
‘If this rose of yours measures up to expectations, the syndicate I represent is prepared to offer you a substantial amount of money – and I mean substantial – in exchange for ownership and all patent rights. Naturally, we will want to have it examined first. If it gets a clean bill of health – if it’s a genuine botanical specimen – then you’ll be presented with an ironclad deal that will include a generous up-front cash advance and royalty payments on sales. It will add up to more money than you’ve ever dreamed of, believe me.’
‘I’m sorry, whoever you are,’ Alex said, ‘you’ll have to discuss all of this with our solicitors, Sheridan, Adell and Broughton.’
‘We know who your solicitors are, Sheppard. I’m making the offer to you. It’ll be a nice clean-cut deal. Within a few days, you and your wife will walk away multi-millionaires. What do you say?’
The Blue Rose Page 9
