All of Cilla’s acting ability went into not smacking that possessive hand. And into raising an innocent smile. “I didn’t realize you spoke English.”
“Enough.”
“More importantly, he’s smart and ruthless.” Pride sparked in Hilde’s voice.
Ruthless, yes. Cilla had seen for herself. But smart? The man would have been arrested five seconds after landing on British soil. What good was a spy so indiscreet that he told his girlfriend and her sister about his recruitment—and identified his recruiter?
Dr. Schultz’s gaze landed on Cilla and slid away, uninterested.
The first speaker came to the podium, greeted by raucous applause. How could Cilla pay attention when ideas careened in her mind, new and reckless and liberating?
Dr. Schultz pushed away from the wall and strolled out of the hall.
That idea careened to her feet, and she stood. She leaned down and whispered in her sister’s ear. “I’m going to powder my nose.”
“Now? The meeting’s started.”
“I’ll be back.” She dashed out of the hall, driven by the pulsing rhythm of recklessness.
In the moonless night in the blacked-out city, Cilla strained to make out Dr. Schultz’s figure.
There! A flicker of motion, a shuffle of footsteps on damp pavement.
Cilla trotted up behind him and then in front of him, and she extended her hand. “Good evening. My name is Cilla van der Zee. Arno Bakker told me you’re recruiting spies to go to England.”
Dr. Schultz grunted. “What! He shouldn’t have—”
“One of many reasons he is the wrong person.” Cilla lifted a smile and wiggled her outstretched hand. “I, however, am the perfect person.”
Dr. Schultz stepped to the side to pass her. “If you’ll excuse me, miss.”
“Miss van der Zee.” Cilla blocked his path and extended her hand and smile again. “I speak fluent English. I have family in England. I visited each summer, and I was educated in a prestigious English boarding school. I know England and have friends in high places. I am the perfect candidate.”
Dr. Schultz paused, then shook her hand. “You certainly don’t lack confidence.”
“I don’t.” Her smile grew. “By the way, one of my boyfriends was a wireless enthusiast. Rather a bore, but he taught me Morse code and how to transmit and receive.”
“Indeed?” Interest stretched out his voice.
Cilla had found her freedom. The Germans themselves would transport her to England, where she could disappear from their sight and start a new life.
To escape the Nazis, she would become a Nazi spy.
2
Pentland Firth, Scotland
Friday, February 28, 1941
Nothing made Lt. Lachlan Mackenzie’s heart beat stronger than the sea air of Pentland Firth and the green moors and rugged cliffs of Caithness. The sight of home.
Beside him at the rails of the ferrySt. Ninian, Lt. Arthur Goodwin held tight to his naval officer’s cap and pointed to the Scottish shore receding behind them. “Is that your family home?”
“Aye, by that wee cove.” Some of Lachlan’s friends in the Royal Navy considered his new position at Scapa Flow a demotion, removing him from the war at sea, but working with defenses at the base for the Home Fleet suited his experience and temperament. Best of all, he’d be near to his parents.
“I shall have to thank them again for their abundant hospitality.” Arthur’s crooked smile revealed his slightly crooked goal—another invitation to Creag na Mara.
An invitation Lachlan would gladly extend. He’d met Arthur yesterday on the long train ride from London to Thurso, and his parents had welcomed him to the country home.
