“Some of our agents have simply disappeared. We are certain the English captured them and are trying to turn them. Their silence speaks to their honor.”
Someday, Kraus would attribute Cilla’s silence to honor, and she murmured her approval.
“Other agents have been caught and failed to succumb to torture,” Kraus said. “They were hanged.”
She smiled at his fatherly concern. “I won’t get caught.”
His stubby eyelashes fluttered. “For me, your life is my greatest concern. But Germany has a far greater concern, that the English would torture you and turn you to spy for them.”
She opened her mouth to repeat that she wouldn’t get caught, but Kraus needed more reassurance. “That’s why you gave me a security key.”
Kraus glanced into an open office and held up one finger until they’d passed. “Some are concerned you might be swayed, given your time in England.”
“Nonsense.” Time to play her role with verve. “My time in England taught me to despise the English. They always treated me as inferior because I was Dutch. Germany must win this war, and I’m honored to do my share.” Perhaps she should have given the “Heil, Hitler” salute and clicked her heels, but her acting had limits.
Kraus’s frown stretched deeper.
Cilla clucked her tongue. “Oh, Herr Hauptmann, you’re sweet, but you know me. You know I’ve learned my skills. Please don’t worry about me.”
He raised small eyes of pale blue, sad but determined. “We cannot allow our agents to be turned by the enemy.”
“Of course not. That’s why you train us so well.” Actually, the training had a great many holes, particularly regarding English customs, but their ignorance served the Allied cause.
Kraus’s steps slowed, and he frowned at his shoes. “You have family in the Netherlands. Your parents. A sister.”
A chill tickled its way up Cilla’s arms. “Yes.”
“Some in the Abwehr wouldn’t hesitate to ... if you turned, your family would be sent to a concentration camp. Don’t cross us, Fräulein van der Zee.”
Her throat thickened, and she shoved out her words. “I won’t.”
“We have a large network of agents in England.”
Her smile wobbled more than she liked. “Yes, you gave me names to contact in an emergency.”
“They will have your name too.” His forehead puckered. “The Abwehr can send them to check on you if we have anysuspicions that you’re spying for the enemy. Any at all. They will not hesitate to eliminate a traitor.”
The chill—her arms trembled, and she crossed them over her stomach. All the more reason not to get caught by either side. “I would never betray you, Herr Hauptmann.”
Yet she planned to do just that.
4
Scapa Flow
Monday, April 7, 1941
Chill air brushed Lachlan’s cheeks in an invigorating way as he stood on the deck of the boom defense vessel in Hoxa Sound, the main inlet to Scapa Flow.
In the brilliant orange of the setting sun, Arthur Goodwin gestured to the men under his command. “We’ve already closed the boom that prevents surface ships from entering the anchorage, as we do each evening. Now our crew is preparing to close the gate in the antisubmarine net, which will seal off the sound for the night.”
“Excellent.” Speaking into the microphone in his hand, BBC correspondent Hugh Collingwood swung to the side. “Let’s listen to the sounds as this vessel tows an arc of floating booms into position. From these booms hang curtains of giant steel nets. Good afternoon, men. Would you please tell our listeners about your duties?”
Lachlan let the reporter pass with the lengths of cord connecting him to his recording machine.
Mr. Collingwood had arrived in the morning to spend a week broadcasting from Scapa Flow. Lieutenant CommanderBlake had ordered Lachlan to shepherd the reporter because he didn’t care to do so himself, once again testing Lachlan with the command’s least pleasant duties.
At least Mr. Collingwood was a pleasant guest.
