The man looked to his clipboard and noted the position, then moved the red pin symbolizing U-246 toward land.
“Looks like she’s moving in closer to shore, sir.”
Two people on the run with a kidnapped girl, a radio transmission from the coast, a U-boat moving into position. It could mean only one thing—a pickup and rescue of two spies. And whoever the girl was. But there was only one girl, in all of Great Britain, who would be that important.…
“Get me Peter Frain, MI-Five on the line,” Kirk barked. “And hurry!”
Maggie and Hugh, breathing heavily, knocked at the door of the cottage. Maggie’s lungs were burning, but she couldn’t even think about her body, she was so focused on Lilibet’s safety.
There was no answer.
Inside, Audrey froze. Lilibet tried to scream through her gag.
Maggie and Hugh tried the door. It was locked.
Hugh pulled out his gun and handed it to Maggie. As she covered him, he kicked open the door. Even in the throes of the chase, Maggie was surprised and not a little impressed—she’d never seen Hugh in action before. But there was no time for that.
As the rickety door flew open, Hugh and Maggie entered the cottage, taking in the gagged and bound Princess, with Audrey standing beside her. An unconscious David, hands tied, was lying on the sofa.
“David?” Maggie gasped before she pointed the gun at Audrey. What’s he doing here? “Hands up,” she managed to get out. “On your knees.” Oh, what I wouldn’t give to pull the trigger, Maggie thought, surveying the petite Frenchwoman. What I wouldn’t give …
As Audrey obeyed, Hugh went to the Princess. “We’ll get you out of here in no time, Your Highness,” he said, working at the knots.
“Ahem.” Maggie and the others turned to see Gregory and Poulter standing in the doorway, dripping water.
Gregory was just as shocked to see Maggie, holding a gun no less, as she was to see him. It was with a mix of admiration and shame that he ordered, “Put your gun down on the floor. No one’s going anywhere. At least, not until I say so.”
“Gregory?” It has to be some sort of hallucination, Maggie thought. It can’t be Gregory. He can’t be wrapped up in this mess too—can he?
At the Y-station in Beeston Regis, Leaper went to his office and sat down at his desk, still shaking his head. “Spies!” he muttered, going through his inbox. “Indeed! That’s what comes of having these young girls about, with their movie-star daydreams and their—”
He suddenly remembered the courier delivery and picked up the MI-5 memo about the alert. He read it, feeling the blood drain from his head. As he put his head between his legs in order not to faint, he called out his door, “Miss Manley!” Then, louder, “Mary Manley! Get in here with that U-boat transmission right away!”
As Poulter tied up Maggie and Hugh, she wondered, How did I get so much so wrong? Why did I waste so much time worrying about the wrong people? When it was Gregory, she realized, feeling sick. As much as she thought, she found no easy answers—except that she’d let her own prejudices blind her and lead her astray. Then she started to add up what she’d observed: Gregory’s increased drinking, his erratic behavior, a few of his more cryptic sayings, that he didn’t wear his RAF uniform to dinner.…
She looked over at Lilibet, who was pale, with shadows under her eyes and the beginning of a mottled bruise on her cheek where she’d been slapped. “It’s all right,” she said to the girl. “Everything’s going to be all right.” Her heart nearly broke when she was able to get a better look at David, his hands and feet tied with heavy rope, a gag in his mouth. Trickles of blood from a head wound had run down his face and were now scabbing over. Never had she felt more powerless. Think, Maggie. Keep your head and you’ll get them out of this.
“What time is it?” Audrey asked.
Poulter checked his watch. “Almost three-thirty. We need to hurry.” He jerked his chin at Maggie and Hugh. “What are we going to do about them?”
“Actually,” Gregory said, “the question is, what are we going to do about you?” He and Boothby exchanged a look. Without preamble, Boothby shot Poulter through the heart, and then, before Audrey could scream, he shot her through the forehead. They each slumped to the floor. Then he took aim at Hugh.
“Nooooo!” Maggie screamed.
“Give me the gun,” Gregory said.
“What are you doing?” Boothby snapped.
“Give me the goddamned gun!”
Boothby handed it over and Gregory shot Hugh in the thigh, wounding but not killing him.