Proven herself ... trustworthy?
A vise clamped around his throat, and he coughed.
Cilla turned from the window with a shaky smile. “You see, the snapped line truly is a gift.”
“Aye,” Lachlan choked out.
“Here’s my idea.” Cilla rushed back to the table, an odd light in her eyes. “I’ll say a Wren told me about the snapped line on Thursday morning, and when I went into town, Maggie told me Fergus was responsible. On Friday night, I went to the Claymore and Heath—that’s the pub in Thurso where Neil meets with his friends in Free Caledonia. I praised Fergus and asked if he wanted help. He sounded doubtful, but I said I know people who can send supplies. Maybe even explosives.”
The thought of explosives in the hands of Neil’s friends stirred Lachlan’s gut in an unpleasant fashion, but this was all pretend.
Yardley clasped his hands together on top of the table. “Germany wants to provoke an insurrection in Scotland. We plan to convince them Free Caledonia is the solution. We’ll say the group is radical and violent and ready to act—if only they had the means.”
“Ammunition,” Lachlan said. “Explosives.”
“And funds, which they will drop by parachute and MI5 will collect. Funds which will, ironically, help pay for the Double Cross program.”
“Aye.” It swam together in Lachlan’s head. “Depleting German stocks, using precious aviation fuel, diverting the Luftwaffe from bombing and minelaying.”
“We could shoot down their planes,” Cilla said.
Yardley murmured his disapproval. “It would look like a trap. They’d know you turned.”
Cilla shrugged. “All right. We can use their explosives to blow up something useless, and the press will rant about the dastardly saboteurs in our midst.”
The papers would be seen in Lisbon by Abwehr agents. “The Germans will think Cilla is a brilliant spy.”
“I am.” She struck a charming pose. “Now we need to write a short message to transmit tonight, plus a longer letter to send by post.”
Lachlan held up both hands to slow her down. “This will look abrupt. On Monday, they threaten to extract you if you dinnae commit sabotage, and on Wednesday—”
“Perhaps.” Yardley stood and motioned for Cilla to take her usual seat. “But it’s based on a real event. Their reconnaissance aircraft may have observed the aerial isn’t turning as usual.”
“Also, I’ve mentioned Free Caledonia in previous letters and said Maggie’s boyfriend is involved.” Cilla sat and leaned toward Lachlan, light dancing in her eyes. “Help me get to know Fergus. Tell me more about Neil and his friends.”
“In a nutshell?” Lachlan lifted half a smile. “Politics, pubs, and poetry.”
“ThreePs!”
“Aye.” He chuckled.
Cilla steepled her hands together and grinned at the ceiling. “Maggie is nineteen, Fergus is twenty-eight. Her parents don’t think much of him, but she’s mad about him.”
“Handsome, is he?” Lachlan said.
“Very. He has a strong jaw, fiery red hair, and eyes of the richest brown.” Her mouth twitched.
Yardley snickered as he sauntered around the Fresnel lens.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Having fun at my expense again, aye?”
“Always.” With her palms pressed tight, she clapped her fingertips together, over and over. “He actually has green eyes and reddish-blond hair. He wears it long, like a romantic poet.”
“He only reads the Scottish poets, of course.”
“Of course. He quotes them constantly.”
“But he’s a bad poet himself.”
