“You did?” Cilla sank into a worn leather chair. “Thank goodness.”
“Aye, thank goodness.” Lachlan sat in another leather chair on the far side of the room, beside a case full of dusty old books.
Yardley turned off the wireless. “The police sent out his description. At the bus station in Thurso, a man meeting that description bought a ticket to Wick, and he didn’t understand English money. They delayed the bus until the police arrived.”
A huge weight released from Cilla’s mind and chest.
“I interrogated him for hours.” Yardley sat in a wooden chair at the round table in the center of the room. “Along with his Abwehr wireless set, we found the text of a message—bothplain text and enciphered. Jericho confirmed that he transmitted it last night.”
“Oh no.” Cilla hugged herself.
“We anticipated that.”
“Can you turn him?” Cilla said. “Convince him to send another—”
“It’s too late. He already sent a message, and he refused to disclose his security key. Without that, we can’t even pretend to run his case.”
Cilla gripped the wool of her jumper. “He’ll be executed.”
Yardley inclined his head. “He’s on his way to Camp 020. They may convince him to cooperate, but not in time for your message tonight. We have a critical situation.”
“We know.” Lachlan rested his forearms on his knees. “We’ve been working on it.”
Yardley arched one eyebrow. “So I saw.”
Cilla clucked her tongue. “All afternoon we worked on it.”
That eyebrow remained arched. “You don’t know the contents of Jericho’s message or the information I want you to send.”
“No,” Cilla said, “but we need to explain why I got into a car with an English naval officer and why Neil knew nothing about the sabotage and didn’t have a scarlet thread. Anything else we need to cover?”
“Would Cilla know of Jericho’s arrest?” Lachlan asked.
“Not yet. Surely the story will be around town tomorrow, but it won’t be in the local newspapers until this Wednesday’s issue of theCaithness Courier. Neil will not be mentioned. All credit for the capture will go to the bus station.”
“Good.” Lachlan jutted out his lower jaw. “I dinnae want any suspicion on Neil.”
After Cilla gave him a warm smile, she grabbed the notepad from the table. “This is the story Lachlan and I created. Yesterday I waited at the railway station all day, but Jericho never came.I had to leave at five thirty for a date with Samson. I didn’t dare miss the date, or Samson would have been jealous. He picked me up by car in Thurso, and we drove to Castletown for supper.”
Lachlan leaned back in his chair. “That explains why Cilla was seen getting into a motorcar with a naval officer—you, Commander.”
Yardley nodded with his forehead stretched high. He approved.
Cilla stood so she could walk around. “This morning, I was returning to the station in case Jericho tried again, when I ran into Maggie and Fergus. Fergus was upset. Last night he went to the Claymore and Heath and talked to Neil.”
“We’ll give Neil another name,” Lachlan said as Cilla passed his chair. “Bruce perhaps.”
Cilla circled behind Yardley’s chair. “Bruce told Fergus a stranger asked if Bruce was in Free Caledonia. The stranger said he was Cilla’s friend, sent to help Free Caledonia commit sabotage. Bruce knew he was a spy. He called the police, and the spy fled.”
Yardley kept nodding.
Cilla tapped the paper. “Bruce is new to Free Caledonia, and Fergus and the others don’t trust him. They think he was planted by the police, so they never told him about the sabotage or about Jericho. And they certainly didn’t give him a red ribbon.”
Lachlan drew back his feet as Cilla passed.
“Last night at the pub, Fergus drummed up a fight with Bruce.” Cilla swung a fist through the air. “He pretended to be furious with Bruce for suspecting him of sabotage, and he booted him out of Free Caledonia.”
“Very good,” Yardley said. “Quite plausible.”
