Yardley showed Lachlan a chair and pointed to a paper on the desk. “Before we start, everything you see and hear today is covered by the Official Secrets Act. Please sign this copy to indicate your understanding.”
Still standing, Lachlan gaped at the man. What on earth was going on?
Yardley sat behind the desk. “You are bound by the act whether or not you sign. Outside these premises, you may not discuss anything I say—not with family, not with friends, not even with Commander Blake or other naval personnel. Entirely hush-hush. Sign, please.”
“Aye, sir.” His voice sounded gravelly, and he lowered himself to the chair and signed the act. Curiosity drove him. And duty.
“Allow me to introduce myself more fully.” Yardley set his cap on his desk and smoothed wavy dark brown hair parted in the middle. “I serve with naval intelligence, and I do have some experience with RDF, but I’m currently assigned to MI5, the Security Service.”
“Counterintelligence,” Lachlan murmured. Whilst MI6 planted British spies in enemy lands, MI5 protected Britain from enemy spies. “I—I’m a naval officer, not—”
“And now you will participate in naval intelligence. MI5 runs the Double Cross program. When Germany sends spies to our shores, we turn them to work for us as double agents whenever possible. We provide intelligence for the agent to send to Germany. I selected you to provide information on security at Scapa Flow, sailings of convoys and the Home Fleet and—”
“Sir! I could never—”
“You will.” Yardley’s gaze turned to stone. “All messages sent by the agents in the Double Cross program are approved by the Twenty Committee.”
“The Twenty—”
“We abbreviate Double Cross with twoXs, which is also the Roman numeral for twenty. The Twenty Committee is composed of men from MI5, the War Office, the Admiralty, the Air Ministry, and civil authorities. The committee decides on the content of all messages sent by our agents, and nothing is sent that will bring harm to our nation.”
Lachlan shook his head, over and over, but he failed to shake the words into logic. “Sir, my duty is to protect Scapa Flow, the ships, and the men. That requires concealing information from the enemy. You’re asking me to reveal it directly to them. I cannae.”
“You will.”
“I refuse.” Lachlan stared the man down. “You’re asking me to violate my duty, my loyalty, my integrity.”
“Am I?” Yardley shrugged and flipped up his palms. “I believe I’m asking you to fulfill your duty and act on your loyalty and—”
“Ludicrous.” Lachlan’s hands clenched the arms of the chair. “I apologize for my impertinence, sir, but this is ludicrous.”
“Is it? Think on this, Mackenzie.” Yardley leaned forward with a probing gaze. “What differentiates us from our enemy? We are dutiful. So are the Germans. We are loyal. So are the Germans.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Indeed not.” He jabbed one finger at Lachlan like a spear. “Duty for duty’s sake is meaningless, as is loyalty for loyalty’s sake. What virtues does that duty defend? To which values are we loyal? Those virtues and values—those are what we’re truly fighting for.”
Lachlan huffed. He’d been concerned about fifth columnists in the area working for the Nazi cause, but he’d never dreamed an actual spy would be permitted to send secrets to Germany. “I fail to see how sending vital information to the Nazis—”
“Double Cross is a long game, Mackenzie. Like chess or cricket. At first, we send true but harmless information to build German trust in the agent. In return, the Abwehr asks questions of the agent—and those questions reveal much about German plans and goals. That, in itself, is priceless. But in the long run, we hope to someday feed false information to the Abwehr, to deceive them about our own plans and goals. That can only occur after trust is established.”
How much worse could this get? “You want me to lie? You have the wrong man indeed.”
“On the contrary, you are the only man.” Yardley went to the office door, opened it, and leaned outside. “St. Clair, bring her in.”
Yardley stepped back and gave Lachlan an amused smile. “Now you will meet the double agent you’ll work with.”
Lachlan slowly rose from his seat. The agent? Her? A woman? Not ... surely not ...
A dark-haired woman in the blue uniform of the Women’s Royal Naval Service entered, followed by a blond woman in a bright green suit—Cilla van der Zee.
She was alive. The air spilled out of his lungs. Thank goodness, she was alive.
Miss van der Zee gasped at the sight of him and gripped the doorjamb, her face stark.
Why was Lachlan relieved? She was a spy. A Nazi spy. Hewhipped his gaze to Yardley. “Why is she here, sir? She’s a spy. She should be—”
“Hanging from a rope?” Yardley leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Yes, she should be, but she’s more useful to us alive.”
