The golden light caused the woman’s strawberry-blonde hair to glint as she pointed off into the horizon. The white geometric designs of her sweater also reflected in the morning sun, making her easy for Rose to identify. Miss Astrid Flett.
She was flanked on either side by men wearing deerstalkers and plaid mackinaw jackets—not the kind worn by loggers in North America but the sporty version donned by wealthy hunters. Each fellow had binoculars pressed against his eyes as they studied Scapa Flow. Their attention seemed riveted to the German dreadnoughts and cruisers and also the British guardships. The masts and smokestacks of the vessels had transformed the harbor into something resembling a burned-out forest made of metal and vestiges of wood.
Every day that treaty discussions continue in Versailles is a day closer to the end of hope.The spy’s words on Daytona Beach flooded back into Rose’s mind. Could the plan truly center on the German Imperial Fleet, as she and Myrtle had conjectured? Had Rose just found the secret agents?
Yet instead of feeling a flush of success, she felt ... oddly bereft. Even though she’d suspected the crofters were hidingsomething, she hadn’t really believed them capable of spying—or at least she hadn’twantedthem to be. She liked them all—these tough people who worked together to make a harsh life possible.
But Rose couldn’t allow her nascent feelings for the islanders to interfere with her mission. Peace was too important.
Her body tensed like it did before a motor trial ... or before a mad dash over a bomb-pitted road. Moving even more stealthily than before, Rose inched toward Astrid and the strangers. She crept on her belly now, heedless of how she was likely ruining her red wool jacket. She wished only that she’d worn her beaver coat instead of the vibrant hue.
The trio did not notice her approach. They were too focused on the Flow. The cries of the birds, the crash of the waves, and the rush of the wind all helped to obscure Rose’s steady advance. She doubted that she made for a good scout—she was much more suited to being the getaway driver. But the environment of Hamarray was ideal for lurking.
“They’re still south.” Astrid’s higher-pitched voice floated to Rose first.
South? Who was south? Other spies? Germany lay in that direction, and so did the Netherlands, where the kaiser was holed up in exile.
“I swear I saw one.” An American accent, crisp and clear. Wasitfamiliar? Rose had thought the voices of her attackers would be emblazoned upon her memory. But she strained now to recall the exact pitch, the right tone. She detected no hint of an underlying German inflection.
“It was diving down.” The second man’s voice sounded like he was from the States, too, but Rose couldn’t quite place the region. Andwhat was diving down? Could there be a U-boat still out there that the Allies knew nothing about? It wouldn’t be that hard to hide something that could slink through the water undetected. Or would it? She really should study naval maneuvers more.
“I saw its very distinctive markings.” The first man sounded like a stubborn child.
Was that in reference to a submarine paint scheme? Did they even have unique identifiers? Rose thought she’d read an article about one of them having an Iron Cross on its conning tower, but she couldn’t be certain.
“The tirricks haven’t returned yet, Mr.Herman.” Astrid’s voice sounded a bit too chipper, as if the men were straining her patience but she didn’t wish to show it. What did Astrid mean bytirricks? Could it be a code word?
“I amveryfamiliar with them.” Mr.Herman puffed out his cheeks, causing the flaps on his hat to bulge out. “They are common enough, and I’ve seen plenty of them in the skies.”
Were they talking about airships? Airplanes? That made less sense than a U-boat. Surely the Allies would know the whereabouts of those, especially the massive dirigibles.
“It was most likely a fulmar, who stay here year round.”
“I doubt that. My knowledge of gulls is unparalleled. We have arctic terns in North America too.”
Wait. Were they talking aboutbirds? Birds!
“What’s that?” The second man pointed to the sea. “Is it a great skua floating in the water?”
“That is the head of a seal, Mr.Miller,” Astrid explained brightly.
“I really think it could be a great skua. I must spot one on this trip. Ineedthat bird for my life list.”
Thunderation!Theyweretalking about feathered creatures. Feeling rather silly and more than a little relieved, Rose climbed to her feet. She needed to stop seeing spies behind every clump of vegetation.
“It could be a great skua.” Mr.Herman championed his comrade bird-watcher.
“Great skuas do not typically float about in the water in that manner.” Astrid’s voice kept getting lighter and lighter. Pretty soon it would just float away.
Curious now about the debate, Rose stowed her pistol in her coat and lifted Myrtle’s binoculars toward the brownish blob bobbing like a cork in the blue water below. “I don’t think a bird—even agreatone—would possess eyes that size either.”
All three bird-watchers swung in her direction. Astrid, who already had pale-white skin, lost what little color she possessed. The men appeared even more startled by Rose’s appearance.
“Who are you?” Mr.Herman asked. His rather prodigious mustache seemed to bristle in irritation.
“My word, if it isn’t Miss Rose Van Etten.” Mr.Miller adjusted his hat and smoothed his coat like a soldier at muster.
Alarm crackled back to life within Rose. The spies on Daytona Beach had known her name too. Had this man been following her? Why hadn’t she listened to her original instinct that these fellows were dangerous?
