Page 105 of Beloved Sacrifice

“You must understand that the Admiralty was terribly divided during the war. There were some who sided with the Third Reich. People looking for someone to blame because their lives weren’t going well, and Hitler said it was the Jews’ fault, and they were happy to accept that. That’s a story that happened before Hitler and has happened since. Only the scale was different.

“The Admirals threw out anyone who thought like that, but there were enough of them that they took a lot of power with them. The Admiralty was weakened. Some people faked loyalty to the Nazis and pretended to be thrown out, in order to rise up within the party and feed information back to the Isle.”

Marek looked up, trying to catch their reaction to the piece of information she’d just let slip. Neither one seemed startled by it, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Early in the war, when it looked like we’d all be speaking German, members from all the different territories sent their children away. It was a desperate move. They were trying to save their children, and save the Admiralty. If the allies had lost the war, that might have been the end of us.

“The territories with neutral countries organized ships and overland caravans. The children went to north Asia, Africa, and South America.

“There had been at least a few successful trips. There must have been. But then there was one that went all to hell. It was a big ship, Spanish I think, carrying children from Germany, France, and England. The parents sent the children with guards, and all the portable wealth they could.

“It was taken by the Nazis. The children were never found. Probably at the bottom of the ocean. Later, while being used by the Germans to transport supplies, it was sunk by the Americans.”

Marek looked up. That story, that it had been first taken by the Germans, explained why no one had thought to look for the children, or art, in the U.S.

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

“Marek, this is one of the darkest tragedies, particularly in our territory. If you know anything about this, you need to call it in.”

Marek grimaced, then told a small lie. “Knight is with us.”

“Hmph.” Her voice returned to that of opinionated, cantankerous old lady. “Which one?”

“Tristan.”

“Come, boy, that hardly tells me anything.”

“Tall, blond.”

“Bah. The knights are too hard to keep track of.”

Rose was frowning in confusion, but Weston was grinning. That meant he probably knew more about the Admiralty’s internal structures than he should.

“Thank you, Grandmother.”

“You should be.”

She hung up.

“I love her,” Rose said in a breathless voice. “I want to be her.”

Weston quirked a brow at Rose, then said, “What she said confirms what we’ve guessed.”

“That brings me to the question, why are we going to Boston?”

The flight attendant appeared with food. Rose went back to her seat as he pulled out the large tables between the seats, then set up elegant place settings, including second glasses of Prosecco and bottles of sparking water. Then he returned with wide bowls of creamy risotto with truffles, crusty bread in ceramic baskets, and crystal cups of fig, sweet potato, spinach, and honey salad.

They ate for a moment, murmuring quiet responses to the flight attendant’s questions. When he once more disappeared, they resumed their conversation between bites.

“We’re going to Boston because all the records about the Bluebird, along with the diaries, are there. Maybe someone mentioned the children. Not directly, I would have noticed that. But there might be, must be, something.”

“We can’t get them,” Rose told Weston. “Juliette knows about the tunnels. She has people keeping an eye on them. That’s why Christian was down there. They were going to map them. His wife is some relation to the original architects.”

Weston took a bite. “I got down there unseen to get you out.”

“And after you did that, they will have realized there are holes in their security.”

Weston set his jaw. “We have to try.”

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