“Winslow’s injured and can’t swim, and Bauer’s unconscious. We need help and now.”
“You—cuff him. You two—can you swim? How about a rope? This is a stinking shipyard. Where on earth’s a rope when you need one?”
Several men ran down the stairs and splashed their way over. Marines.
The FBI, the Marines, and Mr. Kaplan as well. Mary broke out in strange, shaking, loud laughter. She couldn’t stop. When God answered a prayer, he answered it abundantly.
Tuesday, November 25, 1941
A podium. An audience. A clatter of photographers and journalists. Why did that frighten Mary more than a flooding dry dock?
In front of that dry dock, Mary sat on a chair to the side of the podium, waiting for the press conference. She clutched Quintessa’s gloved hand. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“It’s the least I could do.” Quintessa shuddered. “When you didn’t come home last night, I panicked, and then the call from the hospital ... oh, Mary, you could have died.”
“I didn’t. God was with us.”
“You were willing to sacrifice your life for those men.” Quintessa’s voice dropped low.
“I couldn’t let them die.” She had to shake off the attention. “Speaking of sacrifice, you’re the one who took a day off work so close to Christmas just to be with me.”
“Mr. Garrett understood. I was overdue. It wasn’t a sacrifice.” She bit her lip, and her eyes looked dark, even in the frosty sunshine. “You’d sacrifice anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
Mary already had. Although giving up a man who didn’t love her hardly qualified as a sacrifice. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve been such a good friend to me, all my life. I’d do anything for you, but I know you’d do the same for me.”
Quintessa glanced away, the same quiet distance she’d shown the past few weeks, so unlike her.
Mr. Pennington came to the microphone with Agents Sheffield and Hayes, and Rear Adm. William Tarrant, commandant of the Boston Navy Yard.
Mary gripped her purse in her lap.Please, Lord. Don’t let them call me tothe stage.
However, the prayer felt futile. Mary huddled inside her red coat and shivered as Mr. Pennington introduced Agent Sheffield.
The FBI agent went to the microphone, looking as small and pale and rumpled and un-agent-like as ever. “I am pleased to announce that the sabotage case here at Boston Navy Yard is closed. Last night we arrested Mr. Frank Fiske, a leadingman here.”
Flashbulbs popped, and journalists scribbled notes.
“Mr. Fiske has pleaded guilty to multiple charges—placing gasoline in a champagne bottle at a launching ceremony, hiding a bomb on the destroyer USSAtwood, planting a crate of bomb-making equipment in the basement of Mr. Weldon Winslow, altering blueprints so as to sabotage ship construction, framing individuals, flooding this dry dock with the intent to destroy two ships under construction, and the attempted murders of Mr. Weldon Winslow, Mr. Heinrich Bauer, and Miss Mary Stirling.”
Hands shot up among the journalists. “Agent Sheffield—”
“Our investigation was long and complex.” The agent plowed ahead with his statement as he had with the investigation. “We are indebted to everyone at the Navy Yard, from the commandant on down, for their complete cooperation and access.”
“What about—”
“We are especially indebted to Miss Mary Stirling.” The agent motioned her up to the podium.
Prayer request denied, but how could she complain after the Lord sent the FBI, the Marines, and Mr. Kaplan too? Mary stood, her legs still wobbly after last night’s ordeal, and she coaxed her feet forward.
Good practice for the Christmas pageant, not even two weeks away. Then she’d be free to escape Boston and the attention and the humiliation of a broken heart. Rejoicing for Jim and Quintessa would be easier from a distance. Why should she torture herself watching them fall in love?
Agent Sheffield put his arm around Mary’s shoulder and pulled her behind the podium. “Over the past few months, this little lady has made herself both indispensable and annoying.”
The journalists laughed and snapped pictures.
Mary forced herself to smile. After all, she wasn’t up there due to improper pride, putting herself above others. No, this was appropriate pride in a job well done with the Lord’s guidance and help.
Agent Sheffield squeezed her shoulder. “Miss Stirling aided us with her keen sense of observation, attention to detail, and even a dose of womanly intuition. Her insight and analysis led her here last night, and her courageous deeds saved the lives of two men. We are indebted to her.”
