Princess Elizabeth's Spy mhm-2

by Susan Elia MacNeal

  “Ship?” Maggie asked.

  “Submarine,” he corrected. Oh, fantastic, Maggie thought.

  Boothby used a flashlight to check his watch. “It’s four now. The pickup window is open for three more hours.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Prime Minister’s rooms at Windsor Castle had been transformed into a makeshift War Room, with maps and pushpins and memos. The roar of the fire behind the andirons nearly overcame the soft and relentless tick of the mantel clock. The P.M. and King sat in large leather chairs while Frain paced.

  “We have the Princess’s code, telling us they’re going to Mossley, which is near Grimsby. We have an intercept from a Y-station, saying that someone near Grimsby—close to Mossley—radioed a German U-boat. We have a German U-boat moving into position off the coast of Mossley. It’s obvious they’re trying to get the princess out of Britain. However, the U-boat can’t get too close to shore—she’ll need at least five miles. Which means that either a few men from the U-boat will form a landing party and try to get to shore in one of the U-boat’s rubber dinghies. Or they have a boat hidden away on shore and will use that to meet the U-boat.”

  The King sat very still. “What are the weather reports?”

  “High winds and rough seas, your Majesty,” Frain answered. “They need to do it at night, under the cover of darkness. If they decide the conditions are too dangerous, they may try to establish another rendezvous, in a few days. But they must know that putting it off would increase their chances of being found.”

  “After Dunkirk, the Royal Navy seized everything that could float!” Churchill barked.

  “Yes, sir,” Frain replied. “But it’s possible that someone hid away a fishing skiff or other small craft, for just this very occasion.”

  The telephone rang, a shrill sound. Frain dove for it. “Yes?” he said, then listened intently. “Thank you, Admiral Kirk.”

  He put a hand over the receiver. “Kirk, from the Admiralty,” he told them. “They’ve pinpointed the U-boat. The U-two-forty-six is moving closer into shore, near Mossley.”

  “Wonderful!” the King said, his face not as pale as it had been.

  “Not exactly,” Frain said. “They could be anywhere near Mossley. And the weather isn’t helping.”

  “Put every man on it,” Churchill growled. “Have them sift through every grain of sand and drop of water—until we find the princess!”

  Frain spoke into the receiver again. “Move two of our submarines into the area and see if you can get an exact location on U-two-forty-six. Move two of the Royal navy’s corvettes in, as well. If we can’t get a lock on them by dawn, I’ll have the air force do a patrol.”

  “I’m assuming, sir,” Kirk said on the other end of the line, “that the hostage is valuable?”

  “Yes,” Frain replied. “Extremely valuable. Tell all your boys to keep that in mind.”

  Maggie was gripped with fear and pain, but adrenaline kept her sharp. Jaw clenched against the cold and wind, she scanned the sky and sea in the moonlight, looking for anything—British ship or plane, Nazi U-boat. Who would reach them first? Mathematics were true and cruel. You have a fifty-fifty chance, Hope. Probability equals the number of desirable outcomes divided by the number of possible outcomes. A coin flip. And that’s only theoretical—a big wave might take you out first—better make that one of the possible outcomes. Probability of survival dips even lower, then …

  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.

  “Magster,” 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 and dials and pipes and 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 prince
ss’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, Magster, 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. He is an arsehole.”

  Maggie bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically at the prim Princess swearing. 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 went 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, considering. It was hot in the room, hot 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, Magster.”

  “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 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 filed with smoke and heat.

  If the sprinklers didn’t extinguish the fames, 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 only could 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 wails. 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 white caps crest on the grey waves. 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. Here 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 towards them as Boothby and the two sailors came behind him.