“You sound like my sister.”
“Is that a good thing?”
That made her laugh. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
She thought about that. “Does flying ever scare you?”
“Sometimes. Not usually.” He studied the sand beneath them, and his steps slowed. “But when you’re under fire, everything’s scary. I’m glad they can’t fire on you in the ATA.”
They stopped walking. It had been a beautiful day, but she wasn’t ready for the sun to set so quickly, and she shivered in the chill. Reading her, he took off his coat and set it on her shoulders. Shadows darkened his face, hiding the dimple in his cheek, and she resisted the urge to touch it.
“Well, ‘can’t’ isn’t exactly right,” she said. “If they see us, they assume we’re you, I suppose. I’ve been all right, but I have some friends who have narrowly avoided the ack-acks when they’ve flown over France.”
He chuckled at the expression. “The ack-acks?”
“Antiaircraft guns. You know them, I’m sure.”
“I do, unfortunately. I just haven’t heard that term.”
At some point, he’d taken her hand. Every part of her felt warm now. Above, a dim scattering of stars flickered into view. This was the moment, she knew. He’d been waiting for just the right one, as had she. And here it was.
“I wish I were your wingman, Dash Wilson. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”
Ingrid Bergman, she thought. Those beautiful grey eyes, twinkling under the lights, then filling with disbelieving tears as the man she loved sent her away. The way Bogart had looked at her, determined to sacrifice everything in his heart so he could keep her safe. Until now, Dash had never truly believed that delicious tension, that kind of romance could exist outside ofCasablanca, beneath the lights and cameras. And yet, here it was.
So when Master Corporal Pete Clark moved just that little bit closer, she did, too. He kissed her softly, whispering her name with a kind of wonder, and her arms went around his neck, drawing him in for more. He took her breath away, this man. She’d never felt quite so light before, like she would float if she only kicked off the ground. His hands circled her waist, his breath caressed her face, and she wanted more of everything. She knew. She already knew.
forty-nineDOT— May 1944 —Camp X
Operation Fortitude, Dot had decided, was similar in many ways to the dozens of murder mysteries she had read in the past. She revelled in the opportunity to be the one planting false clues and leaving tidbits of misleading evidence. As long as the people listening weren’t as smart as Miss Marple, she felt safe in what she was doing. The trick was to be sharper than any of them. Dot believed she was.
This morning’s transmission was different from what she usually sent. She loved tapping it in.
.. -.... - . -. - .- .-. -....- .- -. ..-. .-. .- --..
INVENTAR-ANFRAGE
Inventory request.Immediately following, she listed items of warm clothing, including hats, gloves, and winter boots. She added skis, snowshoes, and instruction manuals for engine maintenance in extremely cold weather. The enemy would wonder at her requests, but then they would add them to their growing list of information about the impending Allied attack on Norway through Scotland.
Or rather, their growing list ofmisinformation.
Hours later, after her shift on Hydra ended, Dot reported to Gerald. He had put in place daily meetings with her ever since he’d introduced her to Operation Fortitude.
“The Germans have communicated that they know of more than eighty Allied divisions ready to attack at Calais,” she told him, consulting her notes.
“Excellent. You should soon be hearing about the fifty imaginary divisions we will be sending from America. They’re all headed to Calais.”
“Quite a force, sir. Enemy won’t stand a chance.”
“Right you are,” he said with a knowing smile. “I need your help with something, if you have an hour.”
“Of course.”
“Frances is out sick today, and she was supposed to be paired with Gus this morning. He is debriefing a captured German officer.” He wrinkled his nose. “Major Karl Böhm. Quite a monster. Would you mind taking notes on their meeting? It will be conducted in English this time.”
She hesitated. How long had it been since she’d spoken with Gus? For the last eight months he had been in and out of Camp X, traveling to Europe more and more. She’d barely seen him other than a few times passing in the corridors. She wasn’t sure how it would feel to sit in the same room with him, but she was positive it would be uncomfortable. All she had to do was take notes, she reminded herself. Nothing personal. She could handle that.
