“I never pretend.”
He didn’t even know how to pretend, the poor man. Cilla would have to help him. “Imagine I was your girlfriend, yes. But imagine I was a Wren in your command, privy to all the same information you are, so you wouldn’t be violating regulations.”
The knots smoothed, but he didn’t meet her eye. “Several of our boom defense vessels were out of commission last week, but they’re all back on duty. Security was never compromised.”
“Oh dear,” Cilla said as if she really were his Wren girlfriend.“That must have been worrying for you. Why were they out of commission?”
Two knots reappeared.
“Continue,” Yardley said.
A muscle twitched near Mackenzie’s nose. “One of the vessels had engine troubles, so we checked the whole fleet.”
“Tell her how you know this,” Yardley said. “It needs to sound realistic for her report.”
“My friend Arth—my friend. He serves with the Boom Defense Office.”
“I see.” Above the men’s heads, sunlight glinted off the Fresnel lens in every color imaginable. “This sounds important, as if I’d unearthed something telling about the readiness of the naval base. But it’s already been fixed, so it’s of no use to the Germans.”
“Chicken feed.” Yardley pointed lower on the page. “Tell her what you reported here about the civilian labor shortage in the Orkneys.”
Mackenzie released a quiet grunt. “Sir, I included that in my report only because you ordered me to be thorough, but telling the Germans would be unwise.”
“I disagree. It only affects future development of defenses, not our current status.”
It didn’t sit right, and Cilla wrinkled her nose. “I agree with the lieutenant. The existence of a labor shortage makes Britain sound weak, as if all the men are in the Forces with none to spare.”
Mackenzie met her gaze, his eyebrows high and something new in his eyes—appreciation. “Aye.”
“But why is there a labor shortage in the Orkneys?” Yardley said.
Mackenzie gestured toward the dark band of land across the waters. “The population is too small for large projects. My family’s company had the same problem finding labor to salvage the scuttled German fleet.”
Cilla nodded. “It must be challenging to convince workers to come someplace so remote. Can you imagine a Londoner leaving the theaters and restaurants of the big city for this?”
“Aye. Even if they want to come, they need to obtain a pass. Very difficult.”
“How’s that?” Cilla asked. “Is it more difficult to obtain than the pass I needed to come to Caithness?”
“Aye. Only Orcadians and members of the Forces can travel freely to the Orkneys.” Mackenzie looked her full in the eye, no knots in his forehead, no red cheeks, no fire. “Everyone else needs to apply for a pass—in London—and wait several months. The screening is stringent.”
Cilla gasped and leaned forward. “Why, that’s wonderful. You have a labor shortage because security is so tight. Do you see?”
Slowly, Mackenzie’s jaw opened. Apparently, so did his mind. “Aye. No fifth columnists or saboteurs or separatists could obtain a pass.”
“The labor shortage is a sign of strength, not weakness.” Cilla unfurled her smile. “Shall we include it? May I?”
“Aye.” Mackenzie’s voice came out foggy.
Cilla scribbled her ideas onto the notepad. “This will also let the Germans know they dare not send spies to the Orkneys. They’d need to forge yet another pass, and sadly, I’ll be unable to find an example for them.”
“Write this up for your letter,” Yardley said. “We’ll post it Monday.”
“Yes, sir.” But Mackenzie’s words niggled in her brain. “Lieutenant, you mentioned separatists.”
“Aye.” The familiar frown appeared, the lower lip pushing up.
Cilla tapped her pen against her chin. “Kraus has been asking about Scottish separatists again. My original questionnaire mentioned them, but after that, he only asked about ships and planes and defenses. But now, ever since Germany invaded theSoviet Union, he’s more interested in the domestic situation—food prices and rationing—”
