She realized that at this point, even if she and David were disposable to the British, the P.M. might not shoot the U-boat, in order to save the Princess’s life. She remembered the cyanide pill David had in his pocket and how matter-of-fact he’d been about needing to take it if it came to it.
But it hasn’t come to that, Maggie thought. Yet. Was she ready, if it did? Best to worry about that if and when the time comes.
“David needs a doctor,” Maggie said, shouting to make herself heard over the wind.
“Don’t worry,” Gregory said. “He’ll be fine. Believe me, it was a love tap. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my ticket out of this mess.”
“Do you mind if I see to his wounds?” Maggie asked, looking at Gregory with what she hoped was an imploring look. She did her best, considering the high wind and saltwater spray. “I have a handkerchief—I can at least clean his face.”
Gregory and Boothby locked eyes. “No,” Boothby said. “Stay where you are.”
“Oh, Boothby,” Gregory said. “What’s the harm? We’re not barbarians, after all.” He motioned to Maggie.
Gingerly, Maggie made her way to the back of the boat and sat down near David, pulling his head into her lap. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gently pressed it to David’s face. The sensation seemed to revive him, and his eyelids fluttered open.
“Maggie,” he said weakly, gazing up at her, words getting lost in the wind. “You—you look awful.”
“You don’t look so great yourself,” she countered. He tried to sit up, but the ropes and the pain were too much for him. “May I untie his hands and feet?” she asked Gregory. “The ropes are too tight.”
Boothby scowled. “No!”
“Please,” Lilibet implored, eyes filling with tears.
“Oh, Christopher,” Gregory said. “Do you really think a Princess, a slip of a girl, and a poof can do much of anything?”
“Poof?” David muttered, stirring. “And here I thought you liked me.”
“I do,” Gregory said, having the grace to look chagrined. “And I’m terribly sorry about all this. When we get to Germany, I’ll make sure you’re treated well.”
David wasn’t buying it. “You do still remember I’m Jewish, yes?”
“You might want to keep that detail to yourself.”
“Gregory and Boothby plan to turn you over to Abwehr,” Maggie explained. “You and your briefcase.”
Maggie undid the ropes tying David’s hands and feet. Carefully, he rose to sit. “Bloody hell!” he said, clutching his head with his free hand.
At that moment, without warning, a long, thin, dark shape, like a sea monster, broke through the water, causing the small shell to rock back and forth in the waves. The protruding sail was black and painted with a red and white swastika and U-246. Maggie held on to David, and they both tried to keep their balance before sitting down, hard.
“Finally!” Gregory shouted into the wind. Boothby grinned.
Two German officers emerged from the hatch. “Ihr habt’s geschafft!” one called.
“Noch ein bisschen! Werfe uns doch das Seil runter, es ist verdammt kalt!” Gregory shouted.
Maggie could understand what they were saying but found the German words and accent chilling.
They threw a rope out. Boothby maneuvered the small boat around until he could grasp it, then used it to pull them closer to the sub.
Maggie took a last look at the horizon, now beginning to turn a pearly gray, hoping against last hope for a rescue. With blinding disappointment, she turned her gaze from the horizon to her captors. She, Lilibet, and David were helped from the craft into the U-boat.
Inside, it was dim and humid and tight, with low ceilings and the stench of too many men in close quarters. The submarine’s engines made a dull roar, along with the hissing pipes. Every surface was covered with buttons, dials, pipes, handles, and gauges.
They were taken by the Nazi crewmen through narrow passageways lit by fluorescent overhead lights to the ship’s brig, a small, low-ceilinged room, with two thin bunks built into the wall. The men left them and locked the door from the outside. The bolt slid into the lock with a resounding clang. Maggie’s nerves were stretched to breaking. She never thought they’d get to this point. Where’s your goddamn cavalry, Peter? Taking tea?
Lilibet went to one of the bunks and sat down, hard. She had dark circles under her eyes and she was biting her lower lip, in an obvious attempt not to cry. Maggie sat down beside her. “Are you all right?” she asked, putting a hand on the Princess’s thin shoulder.
The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve and drew herself up. “Quite all right, thank you,” she said.
“Good girl!” Maggie exclaimed, impressed by the girl’s bravery. She couldn’t afford a hysterical child now; they all had to keep their heads. “Now, look here—we’re alive. We’re together. And we will get out of this.”
“Not exactly the Saint Crispin speech, but it’ll do,” David managed. “You have a brilliant plan to get us out of this, I assume?”
“Ha!” she retorted, the strain of the day finally getting to her. Her mind swam, contemplating escape scenarios, none of which would work. She took deep breaths, trying not to panic, willing thoughts of Aunt Edith, of Hugh, of Sarah, of Chuck, of Nigel, of everyone she loved, out of her head—focusing on what needed to be done.
“Where are we, by the way?” David asked. “Do you know?”
“We’re off the coast of Mossley, near Grimsby,” Maggie said, grateful to focus on facts. “Gregory plans to take us both to Germany with him. Use us for information.”
“And, let’s be honest here—between us, we have quite a bit of information.”
Maggie nodded. “They—well, Audrey and Poulter, actually—had a plot to assassinate the King and kidnap Lilibet. They want to put Edward and Mrs. Simpson on the throne when the Nazis invade. The King survived with a flesh wound, but …”
“It’s my fault,” Lilibet said. “I knew better than to leave the nursery. But then Audrey said there was a phone call.” She cast her eyes down. “From Philip.” Her face turned red with shame at the memory.
“It’s not your fault,” Maggie said, thinking, No, it’s mine, I was the one who knew Audrey. I’m the one who was so blinded by Louisa that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. “I don’t want to hear you say that.”
“Without being overdramatic here, Mags, I’ll kill myself before I’d let them hand me over to the Nazis,” David said.
I know, Maggie thought, remembering his cyanide pill. And I would too. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She tried to keep her tone light. “They couldn’t get your briefcase without you.”
“Gregory’s an arsehole. Er, sorry,” he said to Lilibet.
“No,” the Princess said. “I agree.”
Maggie bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically at the prim Princess. Hysterical laughter was just as useless as tears. “We need to do anything it takes to stop this sub from reaching France.”
The submarine suddenly seemed to dip and then turn. The three of them put their hands up to their ears as the pressure changed.
“Who else knows we’re here?” David asked.
“Hugh’s back at the cottage, shot, but alive, I think. Not sure how long it will take him to get back, or even if he can.” Maggie’s heart lurched as she thought of Hugh in pain. “Frain knows we’re near to Mossley. And Mr. Churchill. They’ve alerted the navy and air force.” And a fat lot of good they’ve been to us. “But out here, we can’t depend on them to save us. How much do you know about U-boats?”
“A fair amount. I know that there are any number of security measures in place that will keep us from reaching the cockpit,” he said, trying the door, which refused to budge, “even if we could get out of here.” He gestured with his briefcase-handcuffed hand. “I wish I could get rid of this.”
“We’re probably about twenty minutes from France, if that,” Maggie said, consider
ing. It was hot in the room, and steamy. She was covered in sweat and a few beads started to trickle from her hairline down her face. She struggled to think of something—anything—that could save them. Think, Maggie, think. You have to get this tin can up to the surface. Nothing’s going to do that unless there’s some sort of emergency.…
She looked heavenward, the only sound the steady, rhythmic pulse of the engines.
“We don’t have time to pray, Mags.”
“No,” Maggie said. “Look up. At the ceiling.”
David and Lilibet both did. Next to the fluorescent light was a sprinkler, attached to a long, thin pipe. “Feueralarm—” Maggie read in German.
“—fire alarm,” David finished, knowing what she had in mind. With his free hand, he fished through his trouser pockets, as Lilibet watched with wide eyes.
They were trapped now, they really were. If this didn’t work, it would be time to plan what they would do when they reached France. Maggie saw terror in David’s and Lilibet’s faces. She hoped that they didn’t see the fear in hers.
“I know, it’s a filthy habit.” David tried to smile, coming up with a box of matches, from the Langham Hotel in London.
“A wonderful habit!” Maggie cried. “ ‘How about a little fire, Scarecrow?’ ” She winked at Lilibet, forcing gaiety for the girl’s sake.
David took the thin gray sheets from the beds and placed them in the corner. “Well, ladies,” he said as he tried to light the wooden match. It was too hard with the briefcase.
“I’ll do it,” Maggie said, and she took the match and the box from him, lit the match, and threw it into the bedding, “I really hope this sets off a boat-wide sprinkler system and forces this sub to surface. Otherwise …”
The match smoldered, but then the flame caught. The fire burned brightly and the small cell was filled with smoke and heat.
If the sprinklers didn’t extinguish the flames, they’d be burned to a crisp within minutes—that is, if they didn’t suffocate from smoke inhalation. “Come on, come on,” Maggie muttered. I don’t want to die like this. Not on a sub, in a fire. I want to die at age a hundred and one, in my own bed, surrounded by grown children and fat grandbabies.… The lights went out and dim red emergency lighting came on. An alarm sounded a series of low wails.
It was a long, long moment, but eventually the ceiling sprinkler began to trickle, then splutter, then finally spray water. The fire belched smoke, then sizzled out.
Maggie, Lilibet, and David waited, in silence broken only by the keen of the alarm. Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, they felt the U-boat move. They held hands and swallowed hard as the sub seemed to rise up, up, up—their ears popping—to what they could only hope was the surface of the water.
Without warning, a crewmember in gray coveralls opened the door to the cell. His face was mottled with rage. “Was ist—”
David swung his briefcase, which hit the sailor square in the jaw. He crumpled to the floor, unable to finish his sentence. David stumbled as he recovered his balance. “Oh, that felt good.”
“Come on, Lilibet,” Maggie urged, taking the girl’s hand, all senses straining. They made their way down the dark, narrow corridor. Red lights blinked at them and steam hissed through pipes.
Lilibet tripped and fell, letting out a small yelp.
“Come on!” David said.
Lilibet looked up at Maggie, her face white. “My foot. I think it’s broken.”
Oh, Gods, what now? What more can we endure? But there was no time to lose. Just as she did at Camp Spook, Maggie hoisted Lilibet up and into a fireman’s carry. “You weigh less than Molly Stickler,” she panted, taking off in a trot as fast as she could.
“Who?” Lilibet asked.
“A girl from long ago and far away.” Maggie was grateful for her morning regime of sit-ups and push-ups and all the early-morning runs she’d taken since those muddy days at Camp Spook.
The submarine’s emergency sirens continued to wail. Maggie, carrying Lilibet, and David retraced their steps back to the ladder that led back up to the hatch. Over the intercom, they heard, “Die Gefangenen sind geflohen! Die Gefangenen sind geflohen!”
“They’re saying ‘The prisoners have escaped!’ ” Maggie gasped.
“Oh, hell,” David said. “So much for stealth.”
He climbed the narrow gray-painted ladder to the hatch and wrestled with it until it opened. They had predicted correctly. The fire safety system had caused the captain to take the boat to the surface.
Then Maggie, breathing heavily, but not slowing down, went up the ladder first, helping Lilibet. With his free hand, David helped the young Princess when she emerged. Outside, on the hull, they all drew great breaths of cold fresh air, watching the frothy whitecaps crest on the gray waves, illuminated by the rising sun. The channel was rough and the U-boat bobbed in the choppy water like a child’s bath toy.
“Do we have a plan?” Lilibet asked.
Oh, Your Highness, if only we did. “Let’s climb to the top of the sail,” Maggie said, sounding surprisingly reasonable as she felt the sweat in her hair start to freeze. At least they’d be farther from the hatch that way.
Maggie, helping a limping Lilibet, and David all scrambled over the top of the hull until they reached the sail. They climbed up yet another long, thin ladder to reach the highest peak of the sub.
Cold, damp winds gusted around them. They held on to the railing of the sail for dear life—David muttering curse words, Lilibet with her mouth set in a grim line, and Maggie, fighting panic, trying desperately to think of a next step. While she was overwhelmingly grateful for an escape from inside the submarine that had seemed impossible, being up on the sail of a Nazi sub in the middle of the gray-green North Sea didn’t seem all that much better.
The submarine could continue sailing this way, on the surface, all the way to France. Unless they wanted to swim in the freezing waters, they were as trapped on the sail as they were in the bowels of the submarine. Her eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of a British ship. Come on, Mr. Churchill, I’m running out of tricks.
She looked at David and Lilibet. David had a nasty head wound; his blood still caked in his hair and on his face. Lilibet’s face had scratches and bruising and was stained with tears. Around them, on all sides, was nothing but sky and the ocean.
Gregory emerged from the hatch. He had a desperate expression on his face. He was followed by Boothby and two armed crewmen.
“No!” Gregory cried, his voice getting lost in the freezing wind, as he approached their perch on top of the sail. He climbed toward them as Boothby and the two sailors came behind him.
“Come back inside! You’re safe with me! I never meant to hurt anyone!”
The group stared at him, as though he were an apparition. He certainly looked like one, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted.
“You don’t understand!” Gregory called. “I can’t go back to England!” His eyes leaked tears, as his voice grew frenzied. “I can’t do it!” He kept climbing. “It’s freezing cold up there in those planes, it’s dark—they shoot at you, you shoot at them. People die, but before they do, they scream—horrible high-pitched screams. Men cry. I’ve seen people with limbs burned off, with melted skin and bone.”
He reached them and raised his hands in supplication; his eyes had a cold, dead look to them. “I just want it all to stop. The nightmares and the memories and the horror—I can’t go back. Can’t even seem to drink myself to death! That’s why I made this deal with the Devil. This way I don’t have to go back!”
Gregory’s pain was palpable. Was he a villain, or just a casualty of war? Maggie felt a mixture of both horror and sympathy wash through her. She knew him—or thought she did.
“Then no more killing,” she said. “End it. You’re not your father—you don’t have to be.” Just as I don’t have to be mine, she thought, almost absently. “Don’t sell us all out to the Nazis just to save yourself. You might live, but what about your
conscience?”
But he couldn’t meet her eyes, and turned away. “Let me worry about my conscience, Maggie,” he said, calmer now.
The wind began to die down and the waves weren’t quite as violent. And she could also hear the rumbling engine of a ship. They all looked toward the direction of the sound.
Whose ship was it? German or British?
“It’s German,” Gregory said, as if reading their minds. “You quite cleverly disarmed the sub, but they’ve radioed to France for a pickup from a German patrol boat. There’s nowhere for you to run. Even if I wanted to help you now, I couldn’t. Things are in motion and have taken on a momentum of their own.”
“That’s pathetic, Gregory,” Maggie called. “Don’t be a coward. Be the hero I know you can be.”
The sound of the engine seemed closer, and Maggie felt a tingle of horror. She knew what she had to do, if the worst happened. David would have to use his cyanide tablet, and she’d have to jump overboard. The Nazis weren’t going to take them alive. And she had to believe that Lilibet would be treated well in Germany and that Frain and Churchill would somehow rescue her.
The sun was rising in the sky. Maggie could see the Nazi patrol boat coming toward them, and she put her arm around Lilibet. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning, Maggie thought absently. She looked around her. So, this is how it ends, she thought. Well, she thought, looking over at David, at least we’re fighting the good fight together.
And then, without warning, the world seemed to explode. There was a wall of noise. Bright flashes and flares of light. The stench of smoke. Time itself was pierced by a thunderous detonation. The waves roiled and crested and the sub lurched to one side and back again. Boothby and the crewmen struggled to keep their balance.
Lilibet fell against Maggie, whose back hit the guardrail, hard.
David took advantage of the swaying to grab Gregory by his coat and sideswipe him with the briefcase, which hit his face with a loud crack. Gregory staggered back, stunned. He put his hand to his cheek, and his face lit with rage. He lunged for David, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing, eyes wild.
Princess Elizabeth's Spy Page 27
