Mr.Churchill's Secretary(77)

He hung up the phone and headed for the door. “Well, Mr. Sterling, what are you waiting for? First we need to find Miss Hope and Mr. Greene and just pray they haven’t done anything else stupid. Then we’ll find Professor Hope and take him into protective custody.”

John looked at him, speechless.

Snodgrass was already walking down the hallway at a fast clip. “Come along, Mr. Sterling.”

“Who the hell are you?” Edmund Hope asked, face tense.

The white-haired man stepped toward them. “Name’s Malcolm Pierce. How do you do? Professor Hope, I presume,” he said in a civilized voice, as though they were at high tea.

Maggie found her voice. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored her. “There are a number of people who’d be quite interested in what you’re working on, Professor Hope. We know you know there’s a spy at Bletchley. And we know you’re the decoy to catch him. So by kidnapping you, we keep our agent safe and also gain a treasure trove of information on England’s capacity to break German code.”

“I’m not telling anyone anything,” Edmund said.

“You will if you want your precious daughter to stay alive,” Pierce said, walking closer to Maggie. Cold sweat dripped down her back, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Now, this is what is going to happen,” he said in a soothing voice, pulling a coil of rope from his jacket pocket. “Slowly and quietly we’re going to leave. There’s a car waiting in front. Professor Hope, you will drive, whilst I keep your daughter company in the backseat. You will do exactly as I say. Do you understand?” He handed the rope to Edmund.

Edmund swallowed. “Dearest Margaret, I’m so sorry,” he said as he tied her hands together with rope.

“That should keep you out of trouble, Miss Hope,” Pierce said. The narrow cord was rough and cut into her flesh. “Very good,” Pierce said, as Edmund tied the last knot.

“Now, let’s be on our way, shall we?”

“Bedienhandlung die Zuversicht,” Maggie said suddenly, realizing.

“What?” Both Edmund and Pierce looked shocked

“Bedienhandlung die Zuversicht,” she said slowly, piecing it together. “Operation Hope. This is what the code in the advert meant by Operation Hope, isn’t it? Kidnap Edmund Hope, one of England’s best code breakers. Before he can identify the German spy.”

“What code?” Edmund said. “What advert?”

“There was an advert in the paper,” Maggie explained. “Ladies’ fashion. But there was Morse code embedded in the stitching of the dresses.”

Pierce finally found his voice. “So you figured it out. But it’s too late now.” Then, “Does anyone else know?”

“No,” she whispered. “No, just me. No one believed me.”

Pierce smiled, dimples flashing. “Good.”

Not if John puts it all together, too, Maggie thought. And quickly.

In his office at MI-5, Peter Frain slammed down the telephone receiver. He was seething.

“Goddamn it!” he thundered. He shouted to his secretary, a stout woman with large, capable hands. “Get me Mark Standish and Hugh Thompson. Now!”

“Yes, Mr. Frain. Right away, Mr. Frain,” she called back, dialing their extension.

“And get me a copy of last Friday’s newspaper! At once!”

The secretary finished her call and then bustled about, trying to find a copy of the paper. Minutes later, Standish and Thompson appeared, eyes wary.

Frain paced back and forth on the Persian carpet in front of his desk. He turned to face the younger men.

“There’s been an attempt on the Prime Minister’s life,” he said. “IRA agent Claire Kelly is in custody, being held at the War Rooms. Richard Snodgrass interceded in time. He and one of his associates are going to Bletchley. But it now looks as though there’s going to be another attack somewhere. So for the love of God and England and all that is holy—what else have you two idiots neglected to share? Anything to do with a Paul?”

Hugh pushed back his sandy hair. “Someone named Paul, sir? I’ll check, but not that I can think—”

“Don’t think! Go! Put it all in a file,” Frain yelled after him, getting his coat and hat. “I’m on my way to Downing Street.” Under his breath, he muttered, “The head rolling shall commence when I return.”

“Where is she?”

Snodgrass and John were at the University Arms hotel, having driven the last few miles on a flat tire. They’d convinced the man at the desk to give them a key, then bolted upstairs.