Susan MacNeal - Princess Elizabeth's Spy

“Tell me the rest first,” Maggie said with a tight smile, picking her way over rocks that made way to coarse wet sand. She stumbled then righted herself.

Gregory was breathing hard. “Clever girl.”

“If you knew about Enigma,” Maggie continued, “then why did you even need the decrypt? Surely your connections in Germany would have believed you?”

They’d reached the boat, and Boothby overheard this. He began to chuckle, and Gregory joined in. “Oh, Maggie. You may know many things, but you don’t know Germans—their pride, their arrogance. They believe they’ve written the ultimate, the unbreakable code. Quite simply, they would not believe anyone could possibly break it without proof. Absolute proof.” Boothby dumped David’s body into the boat.

“So without the decrypt, you had no proof,” Maggie said. “And then David, with his briefcase of top-secret documents, came to Windsor. And you kidnapped him, along with his briefcase.”

“He had it handcuffed to him. And I didn’t have the heart to cut off his hand.” He smiled. “I think he’ll thank me for it, someday. You see, in Germany, my contact will pay me—us, that is—dearly for the information you have. Whatever David has in his briefcase must be worth a small fortune.”

“And Boothby?”

“Boothby—do you want to tell her?”

Boothby gave a barking laugh. “My name isn’t really Christopher Boothby,” he said in his perfect English, “it’s Krzysztof Borkowsky. I’m Polish. I was one of the Poles that Chamberlain and Britain betrayed when he traded us for ‘peace in our time.’ “ He spat. “A peace paid for with the blood of Poles.”

“How did you get to England?”

“When Poland handed over its machine, I was recruited to Bletchley, to translate for some of the Poles that came over with it.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Pretending to like the British and work for them at Bletchley seemed like a small price to pay. But when I met Victoria and then Lily and Gregory, it was a perfect plan—to double-cross the bloody British.”

“Ah.” Christopher was the spy at Bletchley that her father had been trying to find! Two misses! Maggie thought. Thanks a lot, Dad.

She turned back to Gregory. “And what’s your relation to Audrey and Pouter?”

“Pouter was my manservant for years and another of our little group. You see, we are quite democratic. He began sleeping with Audrey, who was working for someone named Commandant Hess. Poulter shot the King, while he and Audrey arranged the kidnapping of the Princess with Commandant Hess in Berlin. The plan is to put the Duke and Duchess of Windsor on the throne when Germany invades. How is the King, by the way?”

“He’s fine,” Maggie said grimly.

“Pity.”

Boothby, who’d maneuvered David’s body into the boat, snapped, “Less talking, Gregory.”

“She knows what happened to Lily’s decrypt!”

Boothby whistled. “The lost one?”

“My dear girl,” Gregory said, ignoring Boothby. “You can come with us, or I’ll have to kill you.” In a jovial tone he said, “Set sail with us—what do you say?” He looked at her and she realized that he didn’t actually want to kill her. And yet he would if he had to.

Maggie knew the risks of getting into a boat with these two, but she had no intention of letting them take the Princess or David anywhere without her.

“Fine,” she said, feigning more bravado than she felt. “I’ll go.” Lilibet and Maggie stepped into the craft and took their seats, Maggie’s heart beating wildly. The goddamned Royal Navy’s supposed to be here, she thought. The Coast Guard. The police, even. Where the hell is everyone?

Boothby and Gregory pushed the boat into a few feet of water, then jumped in themselves. The boat rocked violently, then steadied.

“And, off we go,” Gregory said. “Just like old times.” He took a seat opposite Maggie as Boothby started the motor. “Keep an eye on her, would you?” he said to Boothby.

He turned his attention to the motor, which chocked a bit when he pulled the cord, then started to purr. The tiny craft set out through the wind and roiling white-tipped waves, out to sea. As they pulled away from the shore Maggie could see the headlights of cars on the shore and tiny black figures running toward them. Here! We’re here! She wanted to scream into the wind. But they were still too far away to catch up.

“What about Lily’s baby?” she asked. She hadn’t forgotten that a baby had been murdered as well. “Was it yours?”

“I knew about the baby,” he said. “She told me, right before she was murdered. But it wasn’t mine. I, alas, can’t have children.”

“Whose was it, then?” Maggie called.

“Christopher’s.”

Maggie wasn’t expecting this. “Christopher’s?”

Boothby nodded his assent. His face was unreadable.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Gregory said. “Lily, Victoria, Christopher and I—we—we shared many things.”

“I see,” Maggie said. She managed a quick glance at Lilibet. Maggie hoped the girl didn’t know what he meant.

“Would you take off her gag, at least?” Maggie asked. “It’s not as if anyone can hear us out here.”

Gregory pulled out his flask from his inside jacket pocket. He took a long pull, emptied it, then tossed it over the side. “Go ahead,” he said to Boothby, who went over to the Princess and undid the knots that tied the gag. As it loosened, she spit the moldy bread out of her mouth.

“Thanks, Maggie,” she managed.

“‘Elizabeth and Leicester, beating oars.’” Gregory quoted, finishing off the bottle and throwing it in a long arc over the water. He winked at Lilibet. “I suppose that would make me Leicester.”

“I hardly think Elliot was thinking of us all ‘supine on the floor of the narrow canoe,’ ” Maggie said. The wind was stronger now and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. She looked at David. In the darkness, she could see his eyes were still closed.

“So now it’s your turn,” Gregory said. “Where was the decrypt?”

Maggie gave a grim smile. “In the frontispiece of Lily’s Le Fantôme de l’Opéra. ”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Because I was the one who found it,” Maggie shot back, pride wounded.

“It was Lily’s nickname for me—after I was burned so badly on one side of my face. It was our little joke, her calling me Le Fantôme. ” Then, “This is it,” he said to Boothby, who cut the engine and turned on a kerosene lantern.

“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.”