Friday, October 24, 1941
Mary leaned in to Mr. Pennington’s office. “I’m off to see Agent Sheffield. I’ll be right back.”
Her boss shook his white head. “I do wish you’d stop. Your grandfather will have me tarred and feathered if anything happens to you.”
“Thank you for your concern, but nothing will happen. I only take notes.” She waved and departed. No need to tell Mr. Pennington how daring she’d been lately, even sitting behind suspects in the cafeteria to record conversations. Inadmissible evidence, Agent Sheffield told her, but still valuable information.
Mary’s heels clicked down the hallway. The FBI agent’s sudden appreciation for her skills should have served as vindication but instead only reminded her of the role she’d played in Ira Kaplan’s arrest. That guilt motivated her to find the real saboteur.
She descended the stairs. Things were heating up. At first the errors in the shipyard looked like sloppy work, but now it looked like a deliberate attempt to slow production.
Rumors of sabotage abounded in Massachusetts lately. Down in Fall River two weeks before, a fire had broken out at the Firestone plant, destroying thirty thousand tons of crude rubber, 12 percent of the American stockpile. No one knew how it started, but everyone had a theory.
Mary paused at the base of the stairs and gripped the banister. If only she could discuss things with Jim. Never again. She had to release him, and how it hurt.
Why had she kissed him? That complicated matters. Now he knew she cared. Now he’d feel sorry for her when he chose Quintessa. How cruel it would be to force him to choose. No, she couldn’t have that. She had to assure him that she wanted him and Quintessa together.
She hauled a breath into her burning lungs. If she loved Jim, if she loved Quintessa, she could do this.
Mary straightened her shoulders and entered the FBI agents’ office. Frank Fiske leaned over Agent Sheffield’s desk, examining a blueprint.
The agent smiled at Mary. “Ah, Miss Stirling. This week’s report?”
Mary’s smile stiffened. She didn’t care to have anyone other than the FBI agents and Mr. Pennington know about her notes, and now Mr. Fiske gave her a curious look.
“Perfect timing.” Agent Sheffield took her report, skimmed it, and set it down. “I have another job for you. I already have permission from Mr. Pennington.”
“Oh?” The excitement of being included in the investigation mixed with her frustration at being singled out. She respected Mr. Fiske but kept him on her suspect list. After all, he had motive, means, and opportunity, and she wouldn’t be impartial if she excluded him.
“A job?” the leadingman asked.
Agent Sheffield rolled up the blueprint on his desk. “You want me to talk to Weldon Winslow. Miss Stirling took thorough and accurate notes when Mr. Kaplan was arrested, and I’d like to employ her stenography skills again. I’ll see you later, Mr. Fiske.”
Agent Hayes unfolded his long form from his desk chair, gave Mary a silent nod, and held open the office door for her.
After the leadingman headed back to the docks, Mary followed the two agents next door to Building 38. “May I ask what this is about?”
Once inside, Agent Sheffield climbed the stairs. “I don’t want to confuse you with technical details, but Fiske’s crew has had problems.”
“I heard. The holes were drilled too large for the bolts, so several entire sections had to be scrapped. Then they assembled another section using too-small bolts, which weakened the structure.”
The agent stood on the landing and raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes.”
Mary raised her sweetest smile. “A girl picks up some technical know-how in four years at a shipyard.”
He continued on his way. “Mr. Fiske checked again. Everything had been constructed according to the blueprints.”
In the hallway, Mary fell in beside the gentlemen. “So the blueprints are the origin of the errors?” The blueprints came from Mr. Winslow’s office.
Thoughts careened in her mind. Mr. Winslow, with his desire to aid Britain, had motive, but he hardly seemed the radical bomb-building type. Did he have the mechanical expertise to build and install a bomb? She’d never once seen him on the docks.
The agents marched down the aisle in the drafting room, and all the draftsmen stopped and stared. The scrutiny made Mary’s skin crawl. She wasn’t trying to display herself, yet everyone was looking at her.
Agent Sheffield knocked on Mr. Winslow’s door and entered the office.
Mr. Winslow’s eyes widened, then he stood and offered his hand. “Agent Sheffield, Agent Hayes. To what do I owe the pleasure? And Miss Stirling. Always a pleasure.”
Mary shook his slight, soft hand, noting his clean, manicured nails. Did the man even know how to use a hammer or a wrench? How could they think him guilty of sabotage?
