Page 104 of The Number of Love
Then all the zeros scattered away like autumn leaves in a windstorm, and only the one remained. It folded, folded again. And one of those stray zeroes settled back into place.40.
Her eyes sprang open. Not a number the Lord had ever spoken to her before. But it had only one meaning in her mind. She looked to Drake and said the number aloud.
He was pushing to his feet. “The OB?”
“Room 40.”
Together they hurried back into the night.
32
The munitions factory had shut down for the evening. Das Gespenst had watched the workers go, laughing together in twos and threes, not seeming to give any thought to the fact that they’d spent their day producing bullets, shells, and explosives that would continue killing off the generation.
It was possible this very factory had produced the bullet that Elton had loaded into his pistol that day in Spain before he boarded the train. Not guaranteed, of course. But possible.
It didn’t matter if it was this exact factory anyway. What mattered was that when the zeppelins or Gothas flew overhead in a few short hours and dropped their loads, a blow would be struck to the enemy. He doubted he could trust whatever codebook Elton and De Wilde would get for him, but he’d have succeeded in at least one part of his directive—locating targets for the Luftstreitkräfte. He’d no doubt havesomethingto hand over to the High Command in terms of codes, whether it be useful or not.
And he would succeed in his own mission as well. Elton would pay.
Das Gespenst shifted the limp figure beside him. If she remained unconscious as long as she had earlier, he had an hour to sneak her inside. Bind her again. Gag her this time, since there was a night guardsman patrolling the grounds. He, too, would likely die this night. Collateral damage, like Williams. Though, unlike Yurei, theguard no doubt wouldn’t be begging for the sweet relief of death. But that was none of his concern.
He patted Dorothea’s motionless hand. She’d slept through the short ride in the little boat he’d procured to get her from one pier to the other. She’d slept as he’d eased her into the cab he’d already hired to be waiting for them. Perhaps she’d sleep until the bombs fell. That would be a kindness. Yes, he would see that she did. He’d slip a little more laudanum between her lips. Because she reminded him of Ilse, and because Heinrich wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer unduly when it was her brother who must pay.
He would come, once he and Margot De Wilde found his note. He would come with a codebook in hand, because he loved his sister. As Das Gespenst had loved his brother.Hehad come, hadn’t he, the moment Heinrich had called? He’d left the spot where he’d been sent to rendezvous with him and the sugar, to escort it on its final journey to England, and he’d rushed to the little town outside Madrid that Heinrich had stumbled to from the train, clinging to Elton’s discarded hat as if doing so would grant him vengeance. He’d hurried him back to the safe house they’d set up. He’d done all he could—all he could to save him.
But no tourniquet was enough to stop that much blood. Nothing could. His hands still felt red from it.
He’d had to watch the very life drain from his brother’s thigh. Watch the light go out of his eyes. He’d had to dig his grave himself, carry him to it. Send word home to their mother, to Ilse, that Heinrich was gone. Their hero had fallen.
Berlin had been no help. None. They’d give Heinrich a medal for his service, he was certain, but there had been no aid. No other agent sent to assist him. Nothing. Just instruction to move on to his next assignment.
Those blighted codes. And this factory. He’d had to map out where it was for them, send them the instructions that would enable the Luftstreitkräfte to find it from the air. And he had. He’d done his duty, and he’d sent the telegram that afternoon as he’d been instructed.
But he’d have his own revenge too. For Heinrich. Because the hero couldn’t fall without consequence.
A small beam of light passed by the windows of the ground floor of the factory—the sign he’d been waiting for. By the time he carried Dorothea over to the small side entrance, the guard would be long gone, making his rounds on the other side of the building.
Tossing a coin to the front seat of the cab for the driver to find when he awoke from his own drug-induced sleep—assuming the explosion of the factory didn’t take him out—Das Gespenst slid toward the door. Opened it, climbed out, and reached for Dorothea.
He only coughed once, which pleased him. His lips curved up just a bit. Perhaps Margot De Wilde’s prayers for him were working.
Margot unbuttoned her coat, shrugged out of it, and tossed it on her chair even as Drake slid the satchel with the false codebook to the floor under it. “What’s come in since I left?” She didn’t stop at her usual station but rather hurried to where the pneumatic tubes delivered all the newly intercepted telegrams, Drake a step behind.
De Grey looked up from his spot with an exaggerated frown. “I thought you’d been excused from the night shift since you were here all last night.”
“I was. Just couldn’t stay away. Has there been anything in the new code?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Though DID dropped off the recovered codebook not long ago. Excellent work on that, Elton. I hope he promised you a prize.”
Drake breathed a laugh. “It never came up.”
“What are you looking for?” Culbreth looked up from his work, eyes dazed enough to prove he’d been hard at it. “The new one, did you say? I think I ... yes, hold on. I saw something. Half an hour ago, perhaps. Haven’t had a chance yet to—”
“That’s all right, I can take it.” With a smile for her friend, she snatched at the paper he pulled from a stack of them and spun for the codebook.
“What can I do to help?” Drake pulled her chair out for her.
“I don’t know yet. Give me a moment.” She set everything up as she always did. The cypher, the message, scrap paper, a sheet to write the decrypt on, a pen. “Analysis, perhaps. You’ve been doing enough of that.”
