“Wonder what it’ll take to get you in?”
“Not sure I want to find out.”
Henry motioned with his head back to his house. “C’mon. I told Pop we both need some sleep. Then, later on, before we head on over to London, I’d like to show you where my mom is.”
“That’d be nice.”
Lillian and Henry walked back to the house. Once inside, Lillian took the guest room while Henry retreated to the room in which he had grown up. She wondered what it would be like for her to return to her house in San Diego. Would she be able to sleep in the room that brought not only joy but heartache? This room, on the other hand, was wonderful. She pulled the shades and curtains, but a little light still intruded into the room. It didn’t matter. Within five minutes of laying her head on the pillow, Lillian Saxton was sound asleep.
***
“General Siegfried requests your presence,” Wilhelm informed his superior officer.
Herr Colonel looked up from the stacks of paper on his desk. Reading glasses were perched on his nose. “Why?”
“He didn’t say. Just to come get you.”
Herr Colonel’s heart beat a little faster. He had a nice position in the hierarchy, with enough independence to do what he wanted. But General Siegfried, veteran of the first war, could tug Herr Colonel’s leash whenever it suited him. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, Herr Colonel’s days grew markedly worse.
Herr Colonel stood and straightened his uniform. He grabbed a pad of paper and pencil and strode out of his office, chin held high. The outer office was ablaze with activity. Rows of desks were populated by uniformed men and women dutifully toiling at their tasks. Like Herr Colonel, each one had a gift for espionage and a keen sense they were among the lucky ones not to be out in the field.
The general’s secretary smiled without humor at Herr Colonel. She rose and, without a word, opened the door. Herr Colonel walked in and saluted.
General Hans Siegfried sat behind his desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His gray hair was cut in proper military fashion. His uniform looked impeccably pressed. Herr Colonel subtly straightened his tunic.
Siegfried didn’t look up. “Sit.”
Herr Colonel sat. The secretary closed the door.
“You have been asking questions about one of my operations.” He made the comment as a statement. He dropped the file he had been reading on his desk and folded his hands. “Why?”
Herr Colonel spoke clearly. “Herr General, my operation has been following an American banker, Frank Monroe. He arrived in Belgium last month and met with another American, James Geiger. Geiger lives in Berlin with his German wife, Elsa. He also helps with the codes based on his mathematics degree. I feared some secrets might be passed between them.”
“I know.” Siegfried’s lips appeared parched and dry.
Herr Colonel was momentarily speechless. He recovered quickly. “With Monroe dead by our hand, yet the mission continuing, I wanted to learn more about Geiger and determine if he was a person who would betray us or if it is a big misunderstanding.”
Herr General wetted his lips. “How do you know the mission is continuing?”
“There’s a book Geiger supposedly gave to Monroe. He took it to America with him. The next thing we knew, Monroe was returning to Europe with the book and a woman. When he was removed in Liverpool, our assets there were unable to locate the book. Presumably the woman, accompanied by a British intelligence officer who infiltrated our operation...”
“Your operation,” Herr General blurted.
“Yes, Herr General, my operation.” He paused when Siegfried grunted with derision. “This man, named Clark, is now missing. So is the woman.”
“Any idea who the woman is?”
“None, Herr General.”
“How do you know the British man is an agent?” Siegfried stubbed out his cigarette. He lit another.
“One of our agents, a man named Klein, obtained the information from a reliable source.” He let the words hang in the air, their meaning perfectly clear.
“I know. Klein is one of our best in Britain. He gets results. He questioned a high-ranking British intelligence officer. The man’s name was Ludlow. He was a veteran of the first war. If he gave up any information, it should be regarded as questionable. A man of his stature, knowing death was imminent at the hands of a foreign agent, would at best give up a misdirect. At worst, an outright lie.” His eyes bore into Herr Colonel. “True military minds would know that.”
Herr Colonel straightened his back. “I do know that, Herr General. That is one of the reasons I ordered my staff to create a dossier on Geiger. I wanted to see if he was leaking any secrets. It’s also the reason I had my staff scour British phone records and addresses, looking for all the Henry Clarks in the country. Turns out there were quite a lot.”
The smugness on Siegfried’s face irked Herr Colonel but he continued. “But then I thought about Clark. He’s been undercover for months. Yes, sir, I know he infiltrated our organization. We can tighten our ranks. But the point is that Henry Clark likely had no direct communication with the outside world during his time with us. Sure, he talked with other British agents, but he probably never called home.”
“Your point, Herr Colonel?” Siegfried had already smoked the new cigarette down to a nub. He jammed it into the ashtray and folded his hands.
The general wasn’t always talked to this way. Herr Colonel knew it and inwardly liked it.
“With all the Henry Clarks in the country, it is an impossible task with the time we have remaining to us. But if we scour obituaries, we might have a clue.”
Herr Colonel was proud of himself for making Siegfried speechless. He tried his best to keep the grin threatening to burst onto his face from showing itself as Herr General caught up with Herr Colonel’s line of reasoning. Finally, the superior officer nodded.
“Good thinking, Herr Colonel.”
“Thank you, Herr General.”
“Did you find any records of recent deaths of a person named Clark?”
“We did.” Now the grin broke free. “And it’s on the way to Belgium.”
“Where?”
“Dover.”
“Have you assigned any assets?”
“Yes, Herr General. They are already on the way.”
CHAPTER 24
The final resting place for Mary Clark was in Ramsgate, a half-hour’s drive up the coast. Some gravestones in Ramsgate Cemetery have been there longer than America has been a country. At first, it took Lillian’s breath away. Soon, however, she became fascinated and studied the names and dates, imagining the lives these people led.
She held back while Henry walked with his father to his mother’s gravesite. Out of earshot, she didn’t need any sound to note Henry’s slumped shoulders. They shook. Simon put his arm around his son’s shoulders and held tight.
How Lillian longed for that type of closeness with her parents. She was sure her choice to leave home and stay with Kenji Tanaka had severed ties like that. One day, she might have to find out.
After a while, Henry walked back to her. He tried his best to hide the evidence of his tears and sadness. She acted like he had succeeded.
“It’s a lovely place, this cemetery. She’ll rest well here.” Lillian angled her head up at him. “I’m sorry you weren’t here when she died.”
“King and country, right?” A sniffle escaped.
They had slept for the better part of the day. It was too short, but enough to regenerate them both. After a late lunch of beef, cheese, and bread, they had come out here. As nice as it was, Lillian was itching to get moving, get back on the mission. It was her perfect way to avoid thinking about the family relationship Henry had that she did not.
“You have a nice family. You the only child?”
“No. I have an older brother who’s already in the RAF and a younger sister. She’s away at university up in Cambridge. You?”
“Youngest of three. The other
two are my brothers. Only girl. Lots of expectations there.” She let the implications die. He didn’t pick them up. She didn’t know if he was being nice or didn’t have a clue.
“Expectations. They’re a bitch, aren’t they?”
Lillian chuckled. Maybe he did pick up on things.
Simon strolled up. Unlike his son, he didn’t bother hiding his grief. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry about your wife.” Lillian gripped Simon’s hand and squeezed. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“One in a million.” Simon stood straighter and inhaled deeply. “But she also wouldn’t want us to be all weepy. You have a job to do. How do you plan on getting over the Channel?”
“That’s what we’re going to figure out once we get to London.”
“London?” his father said. “Why you going to London?”
“We’ve got to check in with the home office. They’re the ones who will tell us how to get over the Channel. I phoned them this morning, told them where we were. They’re sending out a car.”
Lillian didn’t like the idea of a phone call to the home office. They were on the clock. James had told her to meet in Belgium by May 9. He was specific with that request.
From over the rise, a car puttered up to the church at the center of the cemetery. It was a black convertible, the top pulled down. In the back seat, leaning at a angle, was a golf bag. The clubs rattled around.
The driver all but leaped out of the car. He wore knickers, an argyle sweater vest, and a tweed driving cap. He looked exactly like Lillian would expect a golfer to look.
The driver looked around, saw the three of them, and sauntered over. He carried a bouquet of flowers and placed them at the gravesite next to which they stood. He crossed himself. “It’s a shame she had to die like that.”
“She had so much promise,” Henry responded.
Lillian frowned, then realized it was a code. This driver was their man from London.
“Tobias Monk.” The driver made no motion to acknowledge Henry. “I’ll be your driver to London.”
“Golf clubs?” Henry said.
Monk shrugged. “I got in nine holes before I came here.”
Henry arched an eyebrow at Lillian. She smirked with humor.
“My pop’s car is on the west side. Meet us there in five minutes.”
Monk nodded and departed. He started the car. The engine roared to life. He executed a large U-turn and exited the way he had arrived.
Henry put his arm around his father and the three of them walked down the hill to the west side of the cemetery. Henry told his father nothing about the mission, other than it was important. Simon understood, but Lillian, who walked a few paces behind the pair, noticed the older man’s slumped shoulders. He appeared to carry the weight of a man who hoped and prayed to see his son again, but feared the worst.
Henry pulled his own bag, stocked with old clothes from his closet, from his father’s car. He took Lillian’s bag for her.
Lillian reached out her hand, but he left it empty. Odd, she thought. Why would he do that?
Monk’s little black convertible was a four-seater. Lillian couldn’t place the model, but if Ludlow’s Armstrong Siddeley was any indication, the agent of British intelligence certainly drove in style.
Monk hopped out of the car and came around to the trunk. He opened it and placed both their bags inside. “Ready?”
Lillian nodded with her chin. “You need to put up the top.” When Henry looked at her askance, she pointed to her hair. “No scarf.”
Henry and Monk looked at each other. Monk shrugged, Henry shrugged, and Lillian rolled her eyes. “Do you need help?”
“Nope, we got it.” Both men set about pulling the cover over the passenger area of the car.
Simon took Lillian’s hand in his. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He hugged her. “Please take care of my boy.” His voice choked with emotion. He hugged her a little tighter.
Surprised, Lillian hugged him back. “We’ll take care of each other. It’s a short mission. Low key. We’ll be back within a week.”
They pulled apart. Simon looked at her and smiled.
“Ready?” Monk’s voice was entirely too cheery.
Henry and Simon hugged each other. Then, Lillian, Henry, and Monk piled into the car. Monk put the car in gear and peeled out.
“Sit back and enjoy the ride.” Monk settled back behind the wheel and started the ninety-minute ride to London.
Lillian, somewhat cramped in the back seat with the golf clubs, decided she much preferred the roominess of the Armstrong Siddeley. To compensate, she rested her back on the side of her seat. This not only gave her a view of the front, she could also see out the back.
That meant she was the first one to notice the black car and two motorcycles that started following them a few miles outside of Dover.
CHAPTER 25
“Hey,” Lillian Saxton said to the two men in the front seat, “take a look at what’s behind us.”
Henry turned in the seat to stare out the rear window. He frowned.
“I’ve seen them for the past few miles,” Monk said.
“They’re riding your tail,” Lillian commented.
“I’ll pull over, let them pass.”
Lillian and Henry exchanged a glance. Henry continued to watch as Monk, while not slowing, eased the convertible to the shoulder of the road.
The black car sped up and made to pass. The motorcycles hung back. Both Lillian and Henry kept their eyes peeled, but the fabric of the convertible top obscured Lillian’s line of sight for a few seconds. Instead she turned to watch the motorcycles. She saw the two riders pull guns from their jackets and aim for them.
“Gun!” she and Henry yelled at the same time. The next moment, she noted that the man in the passenger seat of the passing car had also pulled a gun. A shot rang out. The side window she faced shattered.
“Step on it,” Henry commanded, but Monk had already jammed his foot on the gas pedal. The convertible jumped ahead.
The black car responded in kind, matching Monk’s speed. The motorcyclists opened fire on them. Most of their bullets whizzed by, but one ripped a tear in the fabric of the convertible cover.
In her time with the Army, Lillian had been in a few car chases. She knew how to maneuver, how to veer this way and that, or jam a car into a pursuing car. She waited for Monk to deploy some countermeasures. The young man gripped the wheel with steady determination but was basically driving in a straight line along the road.
That would not do.
Wham!
The black car slammed its front bumper into the side of the convertible. The convertible skidded along the gravel on the shoulder, then Monk righted the convertible.
“Lose them,” Henry shouted.
“I’m trying,” Monk retorted.
“Try harder. Knock them off the road.”
More gunfire from the motorcycle riders.
Lillian pulled her pistol from the pocket of her jacket. She only had the thirteen bullets in the chamber. The rest of her ammunition was in her valise trapped in the trunk.
The black car eased forward, then quickly moved behind the convertible as a lorry trundled by on the opposite lane. The black car blocked the approach of the motorcycles which had to fall back to avoid being smashed. With a lurch of speed, the black car sped up and matched Monk’s driving speed.
“Head down!” Henry aimed his gun at the approaching car. He didn’t get a shot off before their assailant let loose a volley of gunfire. The rear windshield blew out in a thousand pieces.
Lillian found herself with a lapful of broken glass.
The flying bullets found a victim. One moment, Tobias Monk was driving the car on a steady pace. The next moment, a bullet blasted its way into his brain. He was dead almost instantly.
“Bloody hell!” Henry shouted.
Lillian glanced forward. The convertible maintained the same momentum for a
few moments before slowly edging across the road.
“Move him! I’ll cover.” Lillian sat up and aimed her pistol through the shattered window. She let off three quick shots. All three thudded into the side of the black car. One bullet spider-webbed the front windshield. As a result, the black car veered wide, away from the convertible.
Behind them, the motorcyclists sped up and continued their barrage.
Lillian heard the sounds of hot lead thunking into the trunk.
She risked a glance over the front seat. The convertible, with Monk’s dead foot only halfway on the gas pedal, began to lose speed. Henry couldn’t properly slide under or over Monk’s corpse and get behind the wheel.
“Hurry up!” she shouted. “They’re getting closer.”
Henry made a decision. He reached over to the door. He pulled the latch and opened the driver’s side door. With a mighty shove, he pushed Monk’s dead body out of the car. The convertible slowed even more as Henry positioned himself behind the wheel. Gripping the wheel with both hands, he slammed his foot on the gas. The convertible got its second wind and sped up.
Monk’s body, after it was tossed from the car, flopped on the pavement. It wasn’t a pretty sight, Lillian thought to herself, but the young driver performed one last act to help them. One of the two motorcyclists had no time to react to the presence of a corpse on the road. He smashed into Monk’s body. The sudden jolt of a stop sent the motorcycle driver high over the handle bars. He pinwheeled into the air and landed with sickening finality on the pavement. The machine flipped into the air and crashed almost on top of the driver.
One down. Two to go.
More bullets lashed through the convertible from the black car. It had swerved away from Lillian’s fire. The windshield she had shattered but not broken was gone. The driver and the gunner had broken it, giving them a clear line of sight to Lillian and Henry, albeit with a face full of wind.
Whenever she had been in battles or skirmishes before, a subconscious part of her noted particular features of her enemies while her conscious mind performed whatever task needed to be done at the time. Her conscious mind busied itself with how she was going to take out the motorcyclist. She’d leave the car, even though it was closer, to Henry. Her subconscious mind noted something strange about the driver of the black car. He had bandages on the right side of his face, almost as if he had been recently injured. It was an interesting fact, one she might think about later, but it meant nothing to her at the present. All that mattered was that these people were trying to kill them.
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