“When we thought all was lost, Sir, a certain Miss Shilling saved the day.”
“Explain, young man.”
“Beatrice Shilling designed this to fit inside the carburetor and prevent fuel cutoff,” the pilot said and held up a small brass ring on the tip of his index finger. “Officially it’s known as the Royal Aircraft Establishment Restrictor.”
Churchill’s face softened as he played straight man. “And what is it called unofficially?”
“Ah, it’s called Miss Shilling’s Orifice, Sir,” the pilot said, but not without blushing.
“And what does our clever Miss Shilling think about that? Or have you not asked her?”
An aide hurried up and gave Churchill a note before the pilot could reply. He read it and with a broad smile swung toward Thompson. “At last we have a breakthrough on Operation Cat, Thompson. A Flight Lieutenant Dafydd Colline called from the Scottish wilds to say he knows exactly where his sister is.”
* * *
Dafydd Colline’s morning schedule was supposed to include instructing an especially leaden-brained student pilot in the intricacies of high-speed, low-level flying. He was not looking forward to it with any enthusiasm because in a previous flight the student revealed a marked inability to differentiate sky from ground. Neither did it appear to matter much to him. But it seemed like a heavenly gambol through a host of golden daffodils compared to where he was now standing—in 10 Downing Street, London, facing the prime minister of Great Britain and the entire British Empire: the Right Honorable, and somewhat irascible, cigar-smoke-wreathed Winston Churchill.
“You are Flight Lieutenant Colline?” Churchill growled.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You are the brother of Caitrin Colline?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You two are close?”
“Very close. She saved my life when I was born.”
“Explain. No, don’t; there’s no time. You know exactly where she is?”
“More or less.”
“More or less. What is that supposed to mean?”
Dafydd raised a hand and, without looking around, pointed behind him. “Prime Minister, would you ask the gentleman in the corner to move so I can see him? I’m unhappy having someone staring at the back of my head.”
Churchill held back a smile. This young man was without a doubt Caitrin Colline’s brother. He had the same confidence and clarity. This was a family to be reckoned with. A good bloodline. He nodded at Thompson, who shifted his seat so he could be seen.
“Thank you, Sir. It means I know where I last saw her, about a week ago.”
“Where?”
“On the island of Barra in the Outer Hebrides.”
“Now, explain to me how you and your sister found yourselves on the island of Barra. And why.”
“I was on a scarecrow flight. That’s—”
“I know what a scarecrow flight is. And a damn silly idea it is too.”
“We landed on the beach in Barra, and she cycled off to Castlebay.”
“Why?”
“I do not know, Sir.”
“She told you nothing about her reason for going to Barra?”
“No, Sir, nothing, only that it was of great importance.”
“What did she have with her?”
“Just a bicycle. Oh, and a Walther PPK, twenty feet of parachute cord, and four elastic bands. And some sandwiches.”
“Hmm.” Churchill released a great cloud of cigar smoke, and his fingertips drummed a nervous tattoo on the desk. “Young man, you are seriously trying to tell me that your sister, with whom you are very close, told you absolutely nothing about what she was doing? Or why she wanted to go there?”
“Only that she insisted the country, our country, had been betrayed and intended to catch the men who did it. That’s all. No details.”
“And you weren’t at all curious?”
“I certainly was, but I respect my sister’s integrity. And also, I know from experience that pursuing the matter with her would be pointless.”
We are going to win this damn war if the country has more people like this young man. “If I remember correctly, I believe your sister is not an enlisted member of the Royal Air Force. Is that correct?”
“No, Sir, she is not.”
“No, I thought not.” Churchill peered up at him over his glasses. “And taking a civilian in an RAF aircraft on an unauthorized flight, particularly in wartime, is an offense for which I could have you court-martialed. Possibly even shot. Do you understand?”
