Princess Elizabeth's Spy (25 page)

“The decrypt?” Gregory staggered a little and looked stunned. “How the hell do
you
know about that?”

“Tell me what I want to know—and I’ll tell you what happened to it.”

Gregory looked shocked, then smiled. “Victoria stole the decrypt because Lily
asked
her to. But Victoria, unfortunately, had fallen in obsessively in love with Lily. And when Lily made it clear she wouldn’t be with her exclusively, Victoria threatened to expose Lily as a traitor.”

“So Lily killed her,” Maggie said, understanding. “And then Lily herself was killed, not long after, by Mr. Tooke.”

“Actually,” Gregory said. “Boothby killed Victoria. He was concerned Victoria might make good on her threats and jeopardize our little operation. He took the decrypt from Victoria’s hotel room at Claridge’s and gave it to Lily. She said she’d hidden it—where
did
she hide it? And how did
you
find it?” They were approaching the boat.

“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.”

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.”

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.

“Where are we, by the way?” David asked. “Do you know?”

“We’re off the coast of Mossley, near Grimsby,” Maggie said, grateful to focus on facts. “Gregory plans to take us both to Germany with him. Use us for information.”

“And, let’s be honest here—between us, we have quite a bit of information.”

Maggie nodded. “They—well, Audrey and Poulter, actually—had a plot to assassinate the King and kidnap Lilibet. They want to put Edward and Mrs. Simpson on the throne when the Nazis invade. The King survived with a flesh wound, but …”

“It’s my fault,” Lilibet said. “I knew better than to leave the nursery. But then Audrey said there was a phone call.” She cast her eyes down. “From Philip.” Her face turned red with shame at the memory.

“It’s
not
your fault,” Maggie said, thinking,
No, it’s mine, I was the one who knew Audrey. I’m the one who was so blinded by Louisa that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.
“I don’t want to hear you say that.”

“Without being overdramatic here, Magster, I’ll kill myself before I’d let them hand me over to the Nazis,” David said.

I know,
Maggie thought, remembering his cyanide pill.
And I would too.
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She tried to keep her tone light. “They couldn’t get your briefcase without you.”

“Gregory’s an arsehole. Er, sorry,” he said to Lilibet.

“No,” the Princess said. “I agree. He
is
an arsehole.”

Maggie bit her lip to keep from laughing hysterically at the prim Princess swearing. Hysterical laughter was just as useless as tears. “We need to do anything it takes to stop this sub from reaching France.”

The submarine suddenly seemed to dip and then turn. The three of them put their hands up to their ears as the pressure changed.

“Who else knows we’re here?” David asked.

“Hugh’s back at the cottage, shot, but alive, I think. Not sure how long it will take him to get back, or even if he can.” Maggie’s heart lurched as she thought of Hugh in pain. “Frain knows we went to Mossley. And Mr. Churchill. They’ve alerted the Navy and Air Force.”
And a fat lot of good they’ve been to us.
“But out here, we can’t depend on them to save us. How much do you know about U-Boats?”

“A fair amount. I know that there are any number of security measures in place that will keep us from reaching the cockpit,” he said, trying the door, which refused to budge, “even if we could get out of here.” He gestured with his briefcase-handcuffed hand. “I wish I could get rid of this.”

“We’re probably about twenty minutes from France, if that,” Maggie said, considering. It was hot in the room, hot and steamy. She was covered in sweat and a few beads started to trickle from her hairline down her face. She struggled to think of something—anything—that could save them.
Think, Maggie, think. You have to get this tin can up to the surface. Nothing’s going to do that unless there’s some sort of emergency.… 

She looked heavenward, the only sound the steady, rhythmic pulse of the engines.

“We don’t have time to pray, Magster.”

“No,” Maggie said. “Look up. At the ceiling.”

David and Lilibet both did. Next to the fluorescent light was a sprinkler, attached to a long, thin pipe.
“Feueralarm—”
Maggie read in German.

“—fire alarm,” David finished, knowing what she had in mind. With his free hand, he fished through his trouser pockets, as Lilibet watched with wide eyes.

They were trapped now, they really were. If this didn’t work, it would be time to plan what they would do when they reached France. Maggie saw terror in David and Lilibet’s faces. She hoped that they didn’t see the fear in hers.

“I know, it’s a filthy habit.” David tried to smile, coming up with a box of matches, from the Langham Hotel in London.

“A
wonderful
habit!” Maggie cried. “ ‘How about a little fire, Scarecrow?’ “ She winked at Lilibet, forcing gaiety for the girl’s sake.

David took the thin gray sheets from the beds and placed them in the corner. “Well, ladies,” he said as he tried to light the wooden match. It was too hard with the briefcase.

“I’ll do it,” Maggie said, and she took the match and the box from him, lit the match, and threw it into the bedding, “I really hope this sets off a boat-wide sprinkler system and forces this sub to surface. Otherwise …”

The match smoldered, but then the flame caught. The fire burned brightly and the small cell was filed with smoke and heat.

If the sprinklers didn’t extinguish the fames, they’d be burned to a crisp within minutes—that is, if they didn’t suffocate from smoke inhalation. “Come on, come on,” Maggie muttered.
I don’t want to die like this. Not on a sub, in a fire. I want to die at age a hundred and one, in my own bed, surrounded by grown children and fat grandbabies.… 
The lights went out and dim red emergency lighting came on. An alarm sounded a series of low wails.

It was a long, long moment, but eventually the ceiling sprinkler began to trickle, then splutter, then finally spray water. The fire belched smoke, then sizzled out.

Maggie, Lilibet, and David waited, in silence broken only by the keen of the alarm. Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, they felt the U-boat move. They held hands and swallowed hard as the sub seemed to rise up, up, up—their ears popping—to what they only could hope was the surface of the water.

Without warning, a crewmember in gray coveralls opened the door to the cell. His face was mottled with rage.
“Was ist—”

David swung his briefcase, which hit the sailor square in the jaw. He crumpled to the floor, unable to finish his sentence. David stumbled as he recovered his balance. “Oh, that felt good.”