His Majesty's Hope(18)

Then Noreen handed Maggie a scrap of silk with writing on it. Maggie’s codes. For her to use each time she communicated, and then tear off and destroy. “And what happens if you don’t have the silk and you need to radio us?”

“Then I have to use a poem instead,” Maggie answered. “A poem I’ve memorized.”

“If the enemy knows you’ve destroyed this code, it will be in their power to make you tell them your poem.” Noreen’s eyes were grave. “Remember it’s what would allow the Germans to transmit to England and endanger the lives of all who come after you. That’s why you have the pill.” Then she smiled. “Now, here’s your ‘poem’—we chose it especially for you.”

Maggie was expecting something from Shakespeare, Milton, or even the King James Bible—but not what Noreen passed her. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Maggie smiled, delighted to see the words again. As she’d been taught, she picked five words at random: equal, rights, life, liberty, and happiness. Noreen copied the words down, then created Maggie’s code. And so the five words became:

e q u a l r i g h t s l i f e l i b e r t y h a p p



which corresponded to the code alphabet of

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z



“You’re our honorary Yank,” Noreen said. “So we wanted something appropriate.” She pointed to Maggie’s skirt. “There’s a secret pocket in the hem.”

Maggie found it and tucked the scrap of silk away.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” From a shelf, Noreen pulled a bag full of black yarn and long knitting needles. She drew out a scarf in progress. “Margareta is a knitter.”

“All right …” Maggie said, not seeing the point but willing to play along.

“Do you know why?”

Maggie’s forehead creased. “Knitting socks for German soldiers?”

“Yes, many German women do that in their spare time. But,” Noreen said, holding the half-done scarf in one hand, “this knitting might save your life. Do you see the pattern?”

Maggie squinted. It was hard to see any sort of a pattern in pearl stitches against flat stockinet in black yarn; it all looked like mistakes. “Not a great knitting job.”

“Look closer,” Noreen said.

Maggie did. “It’s code,” she said, realizing. Ah, brilliant! “Morse code.”

“In an emergency, if you can’t get to a radio, knit a message into your scarf, then go to Hasenheideplatz, located just outside your contact’s flat. There will be an older woman there, every morning, sitting on a bench and working on her knitting—Berlin’s answer to Madame Defarge. She’ll see the code you’ve knit in and copy it, to get it back to us. Likewise, she may provide information for you. When you’re done, rip the coded stitching out.” Noreen looked hard at Maggie. “You do knit, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied. “I do. Not well, and I can’t turn heels, but enough to knit some code, certainly.” It was one of the few traditionally feminine crafts that Aunt Edith had taught her. Knitting had a structural logic based on geometry and proportion that had always appealed to her. She accepted the needles and ball of yarn from Noreen, and tucked them into her handbag.

There was a sharp rap at the door. “The car’s here, ladies,” a woman called.

Maggie and Noreen made their way downstairs. A glossy black Riley had pulled up in front of the door and was idling. The driver, a FANY in her brown uniform, exited the car. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she said as she walked around to open the trunk.

“Thank you,” Maggie said, handing over her valise. “You are coming with me?” she said to Noreen in what she hoped was a strong and confident voice.

“Absolutely,” Noreen answered, opening the car door. “Come on, hop in.”


It was getting dark by the time they reached the Whitley airport in Reading, the night air chill after the warm summer day. The car went through security and then out to the airfield.

They pulled into the parking lot. Maggie and Noreen exited the car and entered the building. “Why don’t you use the loo? It’s a long way to Berlin.” Noreen touched Maggie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry—they won’t leave without you.”

Maggie found the ladies’ W.C. Her face in the mirror was gray. What am I doing? she wondered. But it was too late to go back now.