“Aye.” He could barely keep up with her rapid thoughts, and he sat in his chair.
“We may want to pursue the Free Caledonia story later.” A new gleam entered Yardley’s eyes. “MI5 has made a bold decision—to allow our double agents to commit sabotage.”
“Sabotage?” Lachlan spat out the repulsive word.
Cilla fiddled with a button at the neck of her jumper. “I could never do that.”
“The Abwehr has ordered some of our agents to do so. They may give you similar orders.”
“Wait a minute.” Lachlan shoved back his chair and sprang to his feet again. “Commander, you promised my work would bring no harm.”
Yardley released an impatient sigh. “We’d destroy facilitiesof minor account only. The press would believe it was true sabotage and report accordingly. The articles would reach Germany via Lisbon, and our agents would be validated in German eyes.”
Lachlan flung his hand toward Scapa Flow and banged a triangular pane of glass. “You plan to commit sabotage at Scapa Flow? Everyone will think the enemy did it. My command is responsible for security, and we’ll be blamed. I willnae—”
“Not at Scapa.” Yardley raised both hands in a calming motion. “Cilla has no access.”
Lachlan refused to be calmed. “Aye, so you’ll commit sabotage at Dunnet Head? It’s vital for defense. Or in town? I have family here—friends. I willnae.”
“Nothing vital will be harmed.”
Lachlan raked both hands into his hair and slammed his eyes shut. “I cannae do this anymore. I’m lying to my commander. I’m passing secrets directly to the enemy.”
“Indirectly,” Yardley said.
Lachlan speared the officer with his gaze. “I am not innocent. I know where the information is going. I’m no better than a spy myself. And sabotage? I cannae. I refuse.”
“Have you forgotten, Mackenzie?” Yardley crossed his arms in a casual manner. “You cannot quit. You know what that would mean.”
Lachlan’s hands and his heart drifted down. “Aye. My naval career would be ruined.”
“Quite.”
Conviction rose from the ruins. “I’d rather have black marks on my record than on my conscience.”
“Very noble, but we’ll bring in someone else to do this work,” Yardley said with a sardonic smile. “You would sacrifice your career for nothing.”
“Stop doing this to him.” With a scrape of chair legs, Cilla stood. She glared—not at Lachlan, but at Yardley.
“Pardon?” Yardley said.
Her face warped. “Stop forcing him to violate his conscience.”
Lachlan gaped at her. She was defending him?
“That’s why I’m here—in Scotland.” Cilla pressed her hand to her chest, and her voice rose, high and shaky. “Because the Nazis told me to do things I couldn’t—to cheer when they persecuted the Jews and beat my friend to death. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I took the only way out—I didn’t think it out well, did I?—but it was the only escape I could see. But Lachlan? What escape does he have? It isn’t fair. He’s only in this mess because of me. Why should he be punished for my foolishness?”
Yardley let out a scoffing sound. “He’s hardly being punished.”
“I refuse to participate anymore.” Cilla hefted her chin high. “If I quit, Lachlan’s released, yes?”
Another scoffing sound. “You definitely can’t quit.”
A strange, hopping, panicky feeling gripped Lachlan’s chest. “He’s right. They’ll execute—”
“No, they won’t.” She shook back her hair. “Not after four months of faithful service.”
“Is that true?” Lachlan asked Yardley.
