Cilla smoothed her hair, her thoughts, and the jacket of her red suit. This was the first time she’d had guests, although these guests didn’t promise to be good company.
Yardley had given the lieutenant a week to cool down before his first meeting with Cilla. Now she was determined to win him over.
The commander entered the lightroom first.
Cilla spread her arms and smile wide. “Welcome to my crystal cage.”
Yardley smirked. He didn’t like her, but she seemed to amuse him.
Mackenzie emerged, gave her the darkest of looks, and went to the window. His face transformed, lightened, the first pleasant expression she’d seen on that not-unpleasant face.
“Have you been up here before, Mackenzie?” Yardley asked.
“Aye.” His mouth softened, revealing a pale scar slashing across his upper lip. “The principal lightkeeper’s son was a friend of mine. It’s been a long time.”
Common ground could serve as a foundation for the unlikeliest of friendships, so Cilla released a happy sigh. “It’s a gorgeous view, even on a dreary day.”
That look returned, darker than ever. Did the man ever smile?
Yardley gestured to the tiny table he’d set up for her logbook and the two chairs she’d hauled upstairs. “Have a seat. It’s time for you two to work together.”
“I dinnae see why this is necessary.” Mackenzie tugged down the jacket of his dark blue naval officer’s uniform. “I could give you my report, and you could—”
“No. You’re both clever.” Yardley held out a chair for Cilla. “This case will run better if you work together.”
Cilla edged between the table and the Fresnel lens, took her seat, and held out her book with an expectant smile. “Would you like to see my log, Lieutenant?”
Standing beside Cilla, Yardley gestured to the empty chair. “Compare her log to your report.”
Four slow steps, and Mackenzie lowered himself to sitting. A moderately tall man. Well built. Strong jaw. And appallingly serious. Just as well, because he hated her.
Mackenzie pulled her logbook closer with one finger, as if it were contaminated, and he opened a leather portfolio and held it up out of her view.
For a few minutes, his brown-eyed gaze flicked between her book and his. In the dull gray light, his hair looked more brown than red. Every hair in place.
Finally he closed his portfolio. “She’s kept a detailed log, but she’s misidentified many types of ships. I’ll correct those.”
“You will not,” Yardley said.
Mackenzie’s lower lip pushed up. “I thought you wanted to send the Germans accurate reports of ship movements.”
“Accurate asshewould observe them.” Yardley tapped the table in front of Cilla. “If she calls a destroyer a cruiser, it’s the fault of her Abwehr training. Too perfect a report would be suspect.”
Cilla rested her chin in her hand. “My Abwehr training was limited and flawed, especially about English customs. If I were actually on the German side, I would have given them tips to improve. I did not.”
Neither man reacted. Mackenzie tapped her log with one thick finger. “This information isn’t too dangerous. Numbers of incoming and outgoing ships, and from this vantage point, she can observe only the western end of Pentland Firth.”
Yardley nodded. “I’ll run your timetables of expected ship movements past MI5’s Admiralty liaison for approval. Cilla will send wireless transmissions every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday night, according to her Abwehr orders. When we’re preparing her messages, I’ll compare her log to the approved list. Only those entries will be transmitted.”
Tension released in Cilla’s neck. The Admiralty wouldn’t allow her messages to endanger British ships or lives. She had to cling to that.
Mackenzie sat back in his chair, as if he’d had the same concerns, the same relief. “She cannae detect the ships’ destinations, thank goodness.”
A grunt, and Yardley’s mouth thinned. “That’s your role, remember? You’ll report on convoy destinations, base defensesand conditions—information she cannot observe or know in any way except through you. You and Cilla will craft more detailed messages for her to send by post in secret ink. Your information, approved by MI5 and the Admiralty, in her words.”
Cilla drummed her fingers on her cheek. “How can I explain to Hauptmann Kraus how I know such things?”
“Indeed.” Yardley turned that smirk of his to Mackenzie. “Every fact she sends needs to come from a legitimate, believable source—a real or fictional person who supplies her with that information in a natural way.”
