Churchill waved a hand toward the far coast. “Tell me what they have. What’s out there?”
“The latest reconnaissance has spotted two hundred and seventy barges at Ostend, one hundred at Flushing, and there are more arriving every day.”
“What is the estimated final total?”
“Sir, we believe eventually as many as one thousand six hundred invasion vessels carrying one hundred thousand German troops. That would be just the first assault wave.”
“A little like Dunkirk in an odd way, only they will meet the force of the Royal Air Force and our Navy. Might not be a second wave after that. Thank you, Commander,” Churchill said and turned to Thompson. “What’s your knowledge of history like, Thompson?”
“I’m afraid it’s regrettably spotty and shallow, Sir.”
“That’s because they teach it badly in school and make it dull and dusty. History is not a line that fades away behind your grandfather. It’s alive and all around us, and we are in the middle of it. Remove me or you, and it pokes a hole in the fabric of history.”
“I think removing you more than me, Sir.”
“No, Thompson, that is not true,” Churchill said and gave him one of his impish smiles. “Where should I be without you to protect me?” He pulled a sheet of paper from his overcoat pocket and unfolded it to read. “They tell me our freighter Celtic Twilight does not exist, because neither the Royal Navy nor Coastal Command can find her. They assure me they have scoured the Irish Sea, the Western Approaches, and south to the Bay of Biscay, but without luck. However, a lowly clerk in the Admiralty found her.”
“Where?”
“The original Celtic Twilight was a wooden fishing smack out of Kinsale. The freighter Celtic Twilight, which stole the name, has vanished, taking along with it our Welsh warrior Caitrin Colline.”
“That’s disappointing, Sir.”
“It’s much more than that. Caitrin Colline is making her own history, but I fear for her life, and I do not want her to be a martyr for her country.”
* * *
Caitrin’s right hand was tied to a steam pipe, and her left foot to the base of a bed on which she was sitting in a junior officer’s cabin. It was cramped, with only the bed, a shelf below a mirror for a table, and a chair. James Gordon sat in the chair, facing her—relaxed, legs crossed, and pistol resting on his knee. The muzzle was pointed at her.
“I owe you a debt of gratitude, Caitrin. After encountering you and your fury, two of my men swear they will join the Band of Hope the moment they reach dry land, two more promise to always watch where they’re walking and will never go into dark places again without a torch, and then there’s Tiny Herman.” James shook his head and sighed dramatically. “Tiny recognized you from the cemetery in Greenock, grabbed your hair, and was intending to heave you overboard. It didn’t work out quite as Tiny wished, however, because you didn’t react as he expected, and it will take months for his voice to settle a few octaves. It seems unlikely he will ever walk again without a limp, or even reproduce.”
“Pity, that.”
“Yes. Is it really that bad, though, the Tiny not reproducing thing? Did you just make the world a safer place?”
Caitrin stared through him. She had been stopped, but only for the moment. There would be other moments. Her disdain for people like James intensified. With their airless diction and privileged attitude, they were cocooned in their own insular existence. Their lives ran along well-maintained grooves. They looked alike, spoke alike, wore the same clothes, went to the same schools, hunts, and affairs. Nothing changed or challenged them. They mirrored each other in their ignorance of the real world. But a different time was coming, and a new world was being born.
The cabin door opened, and the atmosphere instantly shifted as Hector entered. He saw her restraints and said, “James, do we really need to tie her up like an animal?”
“I should say so. Armed with just four elastic bands, a piece of string, and a slice of haggis, she annihilated five of my men.”
“I’m so sorry, Caitrin,” Hector said and cut her free. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood leaning in a corner with his arms crossed. He did not look at her, but her eyes never left his face, even as James spoke.
“Caitrin, we need to make a few matters clearer,” James said. “First, I must say how much I applaud your pluck. It’s truly remarkable, especially for a—”
“A woman?”
“I meant for someone working alone. But you are either mistaken or misinformed. We are not the enemy, certainly not your enemy. The English and German nations are much alike, we come from the same root stock, which is why Die Brücke exists. I will be the first to admit Hitler is an odious little man, but then so is Churchill. Hitler at least wants to raise up and protect his people against the socialists and communists of Russia, while Churchill wants only to be a great hero and maintain the British Empire. He earned the name Butcher of Gallipoli, where his hubris led to three hundred thousand Empire casualties, with over fifty thousand deaths. He would have every English city obliterated and thousands of Englishmen, and women, slaughtered just so he can be glorious. The Germans do not want this carnage.”
“They could always prove that by not invading other countries or bombing ours.”
“Caitrin, it’s actually quite simple. If Churchill agrees to an armistice, the bombing stops immediately, there will be no invasion, and the Crown Jewels go home. Russia with its godless communists, along with the international Jewish bankers, is the enemy. They are our enemy too. Die Brücke connects two great nations who wish only to live in peace and maintain their way of life.”
“And everything goes back to the way it was?” she said, breaking her gaze on Hector to stare at him.
“Of course, why not?”
“Because I am not at all mistaken or misinformed, and your going back is going backwards.” Caitrin’s chin tilted as she turned away from James and focused on Hector. “Do you also believe this nonsense?”
Hector glanced at the ceiling, looked at her for the first time, and said, “Is that my jacket on the bed?”
“Take it,” she spat back.
Hector snatched up his jacket, turned his back on her, and left.
33
Just after sunrise, the Joana was steaming five miles off Portugal’s Cabo da Roca, Europe’s westernmost point, when a main engine-bearing bolt sheared to leave her without power and rolling in a long swell. James Gordon doubled the watch on Caitrin’s cabin, because it had no lock and he did not want her taking the slightest opportunity to create mayhem. He met on the bridge with Hector and Dieter Brandt, a taciturn man from Hamburg and the ship’s skipper.
“I have radioed for a tug,” Brandt said. “It will take them a few hours to get here.” His mouth creased into a tight smile. “I told them our position was closer to the coast than it actually is, so they will respond a little faster. Nobody wants to be blamed for a shipwreck.”
“Good man,” James said.
“I’m also lowering the Portuguese flags. We’ll be Swedish until we berth, because I don’t want them asking questions about our nonexistent Portuguese registration. Salazar’s Estado Novo is neutral, but only as much as it suits him. He does not love Hitler and hates communists but is determined to stay out of the war. Worried about losing the Portuguese colonies if he makes a bad choice and ends up on the wrong side.”
“How much longer will this delay extend our journey?”
“Not much. We’re close to Lisbon, and assuming the tug gets underway soon, I would say a day at most.”
