“Good show, men.” Mr. Collingwood crossed the deck toward Lachlan, his hazel eyes alight. “How reassuring it must be for our men in the anchorage to know they can sleep at peace tonight, with the door tightly locked against the enemy. Lieutenant Mackenzie, earlier today you told me what these defenses can do. Would you please share that story?”
Lachlan didn’t care to be interviewed, but it couldn’t be helped. “In the Great War, a German U-boat tried entering this harbor. She was detected by our defenses. Our men on shore activated a controlled minefield and sank the boat.”
“Good show indeed. We have many defenses here at our great northern naval base, isn’t that right?”
“Quite right.” Lachlan had to speak carefully since the Germans could pick up BBC broadcasts across the Channel. But informing the enemy that Scapa was well defended might discourage future attacks.
Mr. Collingwood swept his gaze across the harbor. “Many of those defenses have not been disclosed to this correspondent, nor should they be, and many I have seen I’m not at liberty to discuss on the air. But be assured, dear listeners. Your boys here are protected by the best our Navy, our Army, and our Air Force can provide. This is Hugh Collingwood, broadcasting from our northern base.”
After he signaled to his engineer to stop recording, Mr. Collingwood returned his bright smile to Lachlan. “Was that all right? Did you hear anything that should be cut?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Remember, your commander will review my recordings before I send them to London, and we’ll snip out anything that shouldn’t be broadcast.”
Commander Blake hadn’t given Lachlan any guidelines about what Mr. Collingwood was allowed to broadcast, nor had he mentioned that he’d review the recordings. Did he hope to catch a breach in security to blame on Lachlan?
His mouth drew taut. He was determined Blake would find nothing amiss.
As the vessel rounded the island of Flotta and turned for the pier at Lyness, the breeze picked up.
Mr. Collingwood clamped his fedora over his light brown hair and pointed with his microphone across the harbor. “Say, Lieutenant, any chance I could visit those tall steel towers? I’ve seen them around the country, and no one will tell me what they are.”
“Neither will I.”
Mr. Collingwood chuckled. “I understand, but they do intrigue me. They look rather like radio transmission towers.”
Too close to the truth. The radio direction finding towers at Netherbutton transmitted and received radio waves to locate enemy aircraft. Since RDF was a closely guarded secret, Lachlan gave Mr. Collingwood a bland smile.
Another chuckle from the reporter. “I quite understand. I won’t pry.”
“Even if you did, I’d say nothing.”
“Good chap.” The reporter took his microphone to his recording engineer, Rob Ferguson.
Arthur joined Lachlan at the rails. Although they served in different commands, Lachlan and his new friend were both billeted at Rysa Lodge.
“Thank you for bringing Mr. Collingwood,” Arthur said. “Jolly good sport, and great for morale.”
Indeed, the men were grinning and chatting as they secured their equipment, energized by Mr. Collingwood’s enthusiasm for their work and his interest in their lives.
A conversational skill Lachlan lacked.
“How was your weekend at home?” Arthur rested his forearms on the railing. “Are your parents well?”
Were they? Mother had been as jumpy as a new lamb, and Lachlan had overheard a snippet of a conversation about “when to tell Lachlan.” When he’d asked if something was wrong, his parents answered no—rather too quickly. What if one of them was gravely ill and they were afraid to tell him?
Lachlan refused to pass his worries along to his friend or to lie to him. “They asked when you were coming to visit Creag na Mara again.”
“It may be a while. I’ve been well occupied.” Arthur’s lopsided grin turned north across the harbor toward the town of Kirkwall. “I told you I met a young lady. Did I mention she has a friend who wants to meet you? Pretty little thing, lively and vivacious.”
Lachlan jerked his head to the side, toward the wee islands bristling with gun batteries and to the clouds now tinted purple and pink.
“Nonsense,” Arthur said. “I’ll hear no protests.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. “I’ll come, but women of the lively and vivacious sort find me dull.”
“More nonsense. She’ll swoon.” Arthur pointed to his upper lip. “That scar makes you look rather dashing and dangerous.”
