Caitrin shrugged a reluctant acceptance but seemed not at all convinced.
“Our country’s treasure is now safe in Canada, but there is one other thing that is still in grave danger: the Crown Jewels. They are the priceless icons of our race, and with the nation worried about an imminent German invasion, if they were to be destroyed—bombs are dropping closer daily—or, worse, captured and paraded in Berlin, I believe the country would lose heart and capitulate.”
“They’re going to be sent to Canada too?” Caitrin asked.
“Yes, but now the Germans have learned what we did to move the gold, they will be looking for us to repeat the operation. If we use the same heavily guarded routine again, they will attack the shipment on its way to the docks, and at sea the alerted U-boats will be waiting.”
“So what are we going to do with them?” Caitrin asked.
“Lord Hector—”
“Please just call me Hector, Sir,” Hector said, half-turned to Caitrin, and winced what might have been considered a smile. “Or Hecky, if you must.”
Caitrin patted his hand in a temporary truce, gifted him a nose-wrinkling smile in return, and whispered, “Hecky.”
“Catty.” Hector returned his version of her nose-wrinkle smile and whispered, “I beg your pardon, Prime Minister, but I was under the impression this was to be a solo operation.”
“You were given the wrong impression. No, it is not.”
“Sir, forgive me, I don’t wish to be troublesome, but I was trained to operate alone and have never worked with—”
“A woman?” Caitrin finished his sentence for him.
“Yes, a woman, but also as part of a team. I really must protest.”
“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much,” Caitrin said with stiletto grace.
“I do not! And I am just not trained to work as part of a team.”
“Well, you are now, and I shall explain to you exactly why,” Churchill said and soldiered bravely on. “There are no doubt spies watching the Tower, who if they see a strong military presence will assume the Jewels are being moved. Once out of the vaults and in the open they are prey to a German fifth column, or perhaps even a surprise bombing attack. Therefore they need to be removed without fuss. Lord . . . Hecky has driven a horse box down from his family estate in the North. He—with you, Miss Colline—will go to the Tower, where the Jewels will be safely loaded and covered with hay bales. Once ready, you will be nothing more out of the ordinary than an anonymous rural couple driving home, perhaps from a stable or a gymkhana. The Jewels will have vanished into the safely anonymous bosom of England.”
“They won’t fit,” Caitrin said. “You’ll need a bigger box.”
“I am well aware of the magnitude of the Crown Jewels collection,” Churchill said, his feathers ruffled by her fearless candor. “But the general public, and certainly the Germans, think only of crowns and orbs and scepters, when they think of the Jewels at all. That is what you will be carrying. The rest of the collection—gold plate, goblets and caddinets, and such—will be scattered and hidden in places around England.”
“Surely there are vaults here where everything could be safely stored?” Caitrin said.
“There are indeed,” Churchill answered. This young woman is relentless. “But someone will necessarily know the location, and if the Germans do invade, Admiral Canaris’s Abwehr, Heydrich’s SD, or Himmler’s Gestapo will be thorough with its investigations. Sooner or later, they will force out the information.”
“They are a most unpleasant people,” Hector said.
“There’s some good old spiffing English understatement for you,” Caitrin said.
Churchill growled to bring their attention back to him.
“You will keep to side roads as much as possible, drive only in daylight because of the blackout, and spend each night at a country estate until you reach Scotland.”
“Why a country estate?” Caitrin asked, as Churchill knew she would. He wanted to say Because they are the backbone of the nation but did not, to avoid an instant Welsh socialist insurrection. Instead, he slid a sheet of paper across the desktop toward them and said, “Because they are usually secluded, somewhat removed from towns, and strangers would easily be noticed at a distance. That makes them safe and secure. This is a list of the homes.”
“I know some of these,” Hector said as he scanned the list.
“Of course you do,” Caitrin said. Hector ignored her.
“In eight days, HMS Talisman, our fastest long-distance submarine, will arrive at Greenock, leave the following day with the Jewels, and speed alone across the Atlantic. It is too small to carry the bullion but can easily handle the Jewels. You have plenty of time to get there.”
“When do we go to the Tower?” Caitrin asked.
“Today is Saturday. They will be ready by Tuesday, three days from now, and that gives you five days to reach Greenock.”
“Seems straightforward enough,” Hector said.
“I wish it were so,” Churchill said. “There is one problem.” As he settled back in his chair, for the first time Caitrin was aware of the weight bearing down on him. He was not a young man and looked weary. The lives and futures of millions of people, and countries even, depended on the decisions he made.
“Not only do we have the Wehrmacht massed at the French coast waiting to invade, we also have enemies within.”
His remark silenced the room. Off in the distance somewhere a telephone rang, and high above an aeroplane’s engines grumbled as it struggled for altitude.
Churchill lit a cigar. “There are fools like Lindbergh and Joe Kennedy who prophesy our downfall, and inevitably the impossible, buzzing-mosquito Mitford sisters, but at least they are out in the open where we can watch them.” He turned his attention to Caitrin and asked her, “Do you perchance speak German, Miss Colline?”
“I can count to ten.”
“So you would not know what Die Brücke means?”
“No.” She turned her head toward Hector.
“The Bridge,” Hector answered.
“Yes, and many of the English aristocracy are sympathetic to the Nazis.”
