Susan MacNeal - Princess Elizabeth's Spy

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 princess’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.