Chapter Seventeen

I returned home and sought out Uncle Mick in his workshop.

He was sitting at the worktable tinkering with a walnut-and-brass lockbox, but he looked up when I came in. "Ah, there you are. I've been expecting you."

"Then you already know what I'm going to say," I said, pulling up a stool at the table.

Uncle Mick's workshop was probably my favorite place in the entire world. It was filled with all the wonders associated with the trade. As a child I had marveled at the tools and gadgets and devices that covered every surface, at the wall of assorted keys that tinkled with music when I ran my fingers across them. Even as an adult, I still felt some of that same awe when I entered Uncle Mick's inner sanctum.

The very air in the place smelled like metal and mystery. That's the thing about locks: they hold both riddles and the solving of them; all one needs is a key.

"The major told me about the job. I'm worried for you," I told him, absently toying with a padlock sitting on my side of the table. "You're in with these people, but you don't know what the job is or where it is, so how can Major Ramsey help you?"

"You act like I haven't been part of this world since before you were born," he said. "These aren't the first cutthroats I've dealt with."

"I know," I said, feeling for the second time this afternoon that I was receiving a setdown I deserved.

"Don't look so glum, Ellie girl," he said. "Your old Uncle Mick will come through."

I nodded, my throat tight with the effort of holding back tears.

"Now, hand me that file, will you? We can get this finished up before Nacy calls us in to eat."

A chill twilight descended over the city as we made our way to meet the major's contact. He had picked me up after dinner and told me we would be meeting the man at a pub. It was less conspicuous than the contact coming directly to his office upon arriving in London.

The car pulled in front of the house, and the major got out to open the door for me as I approached.

I settled into the seat, glad we didn't have to walk in the cold, and we set off. We undertook the drive in silence. The major was clearly not feeling communicative, but I was lost in my own thoughts at the moment and wasn't particularly concerned about his. Although I did notice he was holding himself stiffly, as though the pain his sister and I had noticed in him this afternoon still had him in its grip.

The pub, the Pale Lantern, was located in Kensington. It wasn't one I recognized, but I knew the type well enough. It would be warm and cozy inside, and the food would be good. The thought was comforting.

Jakub parked the car down the street, and we walked to it through the whipping wind. I determined not to complain about the heat of summer when it came—if it came.

The major opened the door for me, and we went into the pub together through the narrow entrance hall. It was warm and slightly smoky from the fireplace. It was wonderful to be out of the wind.

We took a narrow, creaky flight of stairs to the main sitting area. I was glad to see a fire was cracking merrily in the fireplace because my coat was once again proving insufficient for the bitter weather we were having.

The major led me to a table in the corner, and I glanced around, noting with approval the cozy ambience of the place. The tables were dark wood, the walls were papered in a dark floral, and the windows were pretty stained glass. I looked closer and found the designs were of various types of flowers.

I found myself hoping that the windows would make it through the war. I felt a sudden pang of sadness at all the stained glass the city had already lost, all the beauty that had been destroyed. It was a trivial thing, perhaps, but that's how grief is, isn't it? It sneaks up on you in small ways when you least expect it.

"May I take your coat?" the major asked, pulling me from my glum thoughts.

"No, I'll keep it for now, thank you." We were near enough to the fireplace for me to feel the heat, but I wasn't ready to shed the extra layer of warmth just yet. As I pulled off my worn blue wool gloves, I noticed there was a small hole in the index finger of the right-hand one.

"You need a new pair," the major said, looking down at my hands.

"Yes, I keep meaning to get around to buying some," I said, slightly embarrassed he had noticed the state of them. I shoved them into my coat pockets.

He removed his own greatcoat and took a seat across from me.

A moment later, the barmaid came to our table. "What'll you have?"

"A pot of tea, please," I said. The thought of something a bit stronger was tempting after the day we'd had, but I was cold, and nothing sounded better than tea at the moment. Tea always had a way of soothing me.

"Scotch," the major said. I looked at him, surprised. I'd never seen him have a drink before. And then I noticed the tightness of his jaw and the ashen complexion of his skin. He was hurting badly.

"Are you all right?" I asked when the barmaid had gone.

"Fine," he said. He didn't look at me as he said the word but instead reached into his pocket to remove a piece of paper, which he set on the table.

I hesitated for just a moment. The line between professional and personal was so hazy, especially now that Jocelyn Abbot was in the picture.

I wasn't sure how far I should press the issue. But we were at least friends, weren't we? Or something like it. And so I went ahead and said it. "You've been pushing yourself too hard, and you're not fully healed. You need to be resting."

"I'm fine," he said again.

"Major…"

He looked up then, his eyes meeting mine. They were dark tonight, a dusky gray-blue. "I appreciate your concern, Miss McDonnell, but you know as well as I do that the sort of work we're doing isn't going to wait for me to rest."

He was right, of course. Time was of the essence in nearly every aspect of this war, and we were on a deadline for this job.

All the same, he'd almost been killed three months ago, shot full of holes that still made me shudder when I thought too long about them. After something like that, a person needs time to heal. I was concerned that this new mission was going to harm him. That he was driving himself too hard.

"Is there anything…"

I paused as the major's gaze went toward the movement at the staircase, and I turned to see a young man walking toward us. He was dressed in an army uniform, his cap tucked under his arm.

He was tall and thin and surprisingly young. I had expected someone closer to the major's age. This man looked younger than me. He had an open, friendly countenance that felt at odds with this sort of work. Perhaps it was an asset. I had learned over the past few months never to underestimate anyone.

"Hello," he said cheerily as he reached us. "Dreadful night, isn't it?"

"Miss McDonnell, this is Captain Archibald Blandings," Major Ramsey said. "Blandings, Miss Electra McDonnell."

"How do you do, Miss McDonnell." He took my hand in his, and it was warm, despite the weather.

"Captain Blandings."

"Archie, please," he said, taking his seat.

"Then you must call me Ellie."

He smiled. "All right."

The barmaid returned then with a tray holding my tea-things and the major's scotch. She set our drinks down before us and looked at Captain Blandings.

He ran a hand through strawberry-blond hair that managed to be slightly untidy despite its shortness. "A pint of bitter, I think. It's hard to come by in Lisbon."

I stirred the sugar into my tea, but I noticed the quick way the major downed his drink, the empty glass clinking on the table as he set it back down. I hoped it would help, but I knew a long night's sleep would be more beneficial. Unfortunately, I doubted he would get it.

"What's the lay of the land, sir?" Archie asked.

"I've told Miss McDonnell that you've been in Lisbon. She is apprised of the relevant information. You may speak freely in front of her."

"Yes, sir," Archie said. His light brown eyes, the color of caramel, came back to me, and I saw him reassessing me, taking note of the major's trust in me. He was a clever young man; that much was clear. I liked him very much already. Perhaps he would be able to shoulder some of the weight currently on the major's shoulders.

The barmaid returned with his pint, and he took a long, appreciative drink. I sipped my tea, the warmth of it seeping into me. I slipped out of my coat, letting it rest on the chair behind me.

"I was working at the consulate there when the war broke out," Archie said as he set the glass back down. "I've been in Portugal for the last three years."

"Do you like it there?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "The weather suits me much more than these bitter climes. I guarantee you it's much nicer in Lisbon at the moment."

As if to prove his point, the wind whistled outside the window, rattling the pane near our table. Archie smiled at me.

"Captain Blandings has been instrumental in building up a network of informants in Lisbon," Major Ramsey said, bringing an end to the small talk. "Locals who have an ear to the ground and can collect information unobtrusively."

"Spies," I said.

He nodded. "It's useful to make friends with the locals, as I don't exactly blend in myself," he said with a lopsided smile. "But I have managed to make myself comfortable there, and, as I give off rather a harmless air most of the time, people don't seem to regard me as much of a threat."

I wondered if it was my turn to reassess him. Something in the light way he spoke the words made me think he was more dangerous than he seemed on the surface.

"And so I've made a good many friends in the country. It's useful to have prewar friendships once a war starts. You can't trust everyone, of course, but I've rather a good instinct for that kind of thing."

Major Ramsey quickly related what we had learned so far about the thieves in London and their apparent search for an object brought back from Lisbon. "They've indicated it may be a map that was in a stolen attaché case. Have you heard anything about that?"

"Yes, there's been some chatter about a missing map," he said. "As far as I can ascertain, it has something to do with an undiscovered tungsten mine. The Germans are importing a lot of their tungsten from Portugal. They use it for armaments among other things. There are deals in place with the Portuguese government to provide them with a certain amount of tungsten, but the Germans are nothing if not opportunistic. If they knew the existence of a tungsten mine that they could access without having to go through the usual channels, it would be worth a great deal to them."

"A good enough deal to go to all this trouble?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," Archie said. "The Germans are eager to acquire as much as they can. And they've been known to kill for less."

I felt a little wave of queasiness at the words, remembering what I had seen in that room at the Valencia.

These people were certainly willing to kill. They had killed at least once in pursuit of whatever they were looking for, and they were growing increasingly desperate.

"I had a man in Lisbon who was feeding us a good deal of information," Archie went on. "He went by the name of Santos. He told me there were rumors about a hidden tungsten deposit the Germans were trying to get their hands on. There was a detailed map of the area where it was located, but it was being kept under wraps. He was going to find out more. The next thing I knew, I heard about the theft of the attaché case. My immediate suspicion was that Santos was the one who stole it, but I've lost contact with him. It's possible he handed it off to someone and has gone to ground. Lisbon is rather dangerous for informants now, and he may have found it expedient to go into hiding. Especially if there is something big happening."

"Or he's dead," Major Ramsey said.

Archie nodded. "I've never known him to be out of contact this long. It's possible the Germans found out Santos took the map and killed him and are now searching for the person to whom he handed it off. Obviously, he didn't tell them who it was, even under torture, as they're still searching."

"The Gestapo have been known to be overly enthusiastic with their interrogations," the major said. "If they caught and tortured him, they may have killed him inadvertently before he told them what they wanted to know."

I felt a chill at the casual way these men discussed death and torture. I knew, of course, that such things were done by the Germans, but it was a stark reminder that the sort of work we were doing was dangerous—that it had been deadly more than once.

"This is the list of everyone who left Lisbon on that flight," Major Ramsey said, handing Archie the folded sheet of paper he had taken from his pocket.

Archie unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over the list.

"Do you recognize anyone?" Major Ramsey asked.

"A few of them," Archie said. "Nico Lazaro, of course."

"Who is the map going to?" I asked, the thought occurring to me suddenly. "They must be delivering it to someone. Can't we go directly to the proper authorities and see if it's been delivered?"

Archie looked at the major and then back at me with a chagrined expression. "That's a bit of a problem as well. You see, if Santos took it he likely did not do so on the grounds of patriotic fervor. He would have done so to make a profit. I believe the map was probably stolen to be sold to the highest bidder. Someone hopes to profit from this, and I doubt they will be eager to admit the map is in their possession until they have secured a buyer."

"So," I said, "to put it in a nutshell: the Germans want it, but we don't want them to have it. Whoever does have it may be inclined to give it to someone else we don't want to have it. So the best thing we can do is get it for ourselves."

"That sums it up rather nicely," Archie said. "Of course, if I could get it back and bring it with me to Lisbon, it would go a long way toward securing many of my connections there."

"Germaine Arnaud said she thought that Anna Gillard was the one in possession of it," I said. "But she's dead. Major Ramsey found a burnt piece of paper in the ashtray that mentioned Lazaro. Is it him? And, if so, where did Anna Gillard fit into all of this?"

Major Ramsey looked at Archie Blandings. "Who do you suppose is most likely in possession of the map?"

To my surprise, Archie grinned. "Lazaro is a good possibility. It's the sort of thing he'd enjoy doing. The money would be good. He has a lot of connections in Lisbon. Santos even mentioned him once or twice. It's possible he induced Santos to hand the map off to him."

"I spoke to him about the robbery," the major said. "He was evasive, as one might expect."

"Perhaps we could just ask him about it," I said, knowing even as I said the words it was unlikely. "Can we trust him?"

"Not a bit," Archie answered cheerfully.

Then it was as we had assumed. We would not be able to take him into our confidence where the map was concerned.

"He does seem a bit of a slippery fellow," I said.

He looked at me. "You've met him?"

I nodded. "Briefly."

"And? Did he invite you to one of his parties?"

I was surprised. "Why, yes. He did, as a matter of fact."

Archie shook his head. "I'd advise you to go on your guard. His parties have been known to get rather… exuberant."

"She won't be going to his party," the major said.

Archie drained the remainder of his glass. "If that's everything, sir, I'd best be on my way. I have another contact to meet before I can retire for the evening."

Major Ramsey nodded. "Thank you. I'll be in touch, Blandings."

"May I keep this list?" he asked.

"Yes. It's a copy."

Archie slipped it into his pocket, stood up, and pulled on his coat. "I'll make a few inquiries. I'll ring you up tomorrow."

"Good."

Archie turned to me. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ellie."

I watched him leave. He had impressed me very favorably. I hadn't been sure what to expect, but it hadn't been someone with such an innocent, affable face.

"He's very young," I said to the major when Archie had gone.

"He looks younger than he is, but he is young," Major Ramsey said. "Most of the people fighting this war are."

I nodded, thinking of my cousin Toby. I tried not to think too often of what it must have been like for him out on the battlefield. I had seen Toby under pressure. I knew that he never lost his good nature and sense of humor. But to think of him with shells raining down around him always gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt the same way when I thought of him being in a German prison camp, perhaps starving. I didn't know what outcome to hope for where Toby was concerned. Since I couldn't bear to think of it, I pushed the thoughts aside.

"Do you want another drink?" the major asked.

I shook my head. I had finished my little pot of tea and enjoyed it immensely.

"All right, come along. I'll take you home."

"You don't need to. I can walk." The sooner he got home and rested, the better.

"You're not walking in this cold," he said, rising. I stood, too, and he picked up my discarded coat from the chair and held it up for me to put on.

I didn't feel like arguing with him. I was tired, and I didn't relish the idea of walking home in the blowing snow.

He didn't put on his greatcoat as we prepared to leave, just draped it over his arm. He must have been hurting too bad to pull it back on. I was worried about him. He was going to make himself dangerously ill if he wasn't careful, but he was too stubborn to admit it. I sighed and added it to my list of worries.

We went back down the stairs and out into the chill night air. It felt as though the temperature had dropped several degrees since we had come inside.

I shivered, pulled my gloves out of my pockets, and put them on.

"You need to wear a warmer coat," he said as we walked down the street toward the car.

"Yes," I agreed. I didn't feel like admitting that I didn't have another coat. I would get one when I had the time, along with new gloves. It was not high on my list of priorities just now.

We were passing an alleyway between two buildings when a dark figure slipped out and into our path. In the moonlight, I could see the glint of the knife in his hand.