AN: So this happened. It's the result of about eighteen plot bunnies that I forced into a single story. I'm still not sure how it ended up in present tense...
Spoilers: This story describes the events leading up to, surrounding and directly following "Normandy".
Rating: M, with warnings for war, espionage and Jack the Ripper.
Disclaimer: I can dream!
Characters/Pairing: Helen/James is the current canon, but also Nikola, Nigel, John, George S. Patton, Dwight Eisenhower, and the other characters from the episode.
Summary: In the months leading up to the Normandy invasion, Helen deals with war, espionage, old friends and new enemies.
Applied Barometrics: In which we will study the parts of the machine, the better to understand how it operates as a whole.
Studies in Betrayal: An Evening at the Opera with Jack the Ripper
You have always appreciated the nuance of Tristan and Isolde, though you find that in your old age the romance has grown maudlin. Children know nothing of what it is to lose, what it is to be denied that which they most want. You have kept that close to your heart for longer than the actors on stage have been alive. You know how much it hurts to love.
You know how much it hurts to have a knife in your chest too, though you have always managed to escape and heal when it happens. You know the feel of the blade, cutting skin and slicing muscle. You know the sensation of broken bone. You have given and received in kind, and you burn from the scars in your wake.
Tonight there will be no scars, you have decided. Only a sharp blade and a quick escape.
The opera house is familiar territory to you, though you haven't attended a play in a long time. Berlin was yours for the taking, once, back when the lights were bright in the darkness and arms opened to accept you into the community England denied you time and again. That's all gone now, crushed under the heels of those whom you now serve, but you think about it every once in a while. It reminds you of why you are here.
His box is the nicest, but it doesn't have the best view. That suits your purpose. What cannot see cannot be seen, and you're not so fast at your job that you don't appreciate every advantage you can get.
The knife is in your hand, the relic of a happier time when friends gave you such things as gifts and never considered the end to which you might put them. You sharpened the blade only this afternoon, in full view of the officers set to watch you. You have nothing to hide from them, after all, only your purpose.
They seemed distracted tonight. You watched them try to conceal it from you, and they thought they had, but they don't know that you learned to read people from a master. Their excitement was palpable, lightning in the air as they spoke. You know how that goes, for you shared it with four others once, when you held a secret to your chest that could have changed the entire world. You're not upset that they don't tell you. You'll only have to figure it out later.
You're in your rooms now, not a prisoner by virtue of the fact that they couldn't keep you if they tried, but not precisely trusted either. Tonight, you do not care. Tonight, you have business at the opera, and the show must go on.
When it's time, you appear in the box, the knife in your hand. The music swells around you, songs of love and longing and loss. You block them out. Remembering them will get you nothing tonight, even if it is in their name that you act.
The knife goes in. His blood is the same as any you have ever split. You hope he knows that.
The next day, there is a parade. When Hitler passes by where you stand, sitting straight and proud in the open back of the automobile, you raise your hand and shout with the others.
Inside, you begin another plan.
The war offices in Portsmouth are unreasonably cramped, given the task he has been assigned. James knows it will only get worse. Right now, he only shares the too small workroom with Nigel and Helen. If everything goes to plan and they can convince Nikola to return, James has no doubt that the remaining free space will be taken up entirely by the incoherent sketches and multi-lingual notes Nikola insists on spreading around him. As it stands, there are several desks, a chalk board, and nothing even remotely resembling enough daylight. It's blackout curtains all the time, this close to the Channel.
And if the three of them are more occupants than the room could deal with, there are also the aides to consider. Eisenhower had insisted that they be Americans, and Helen had allowed it without consulting James, and they're all stuck with West Point's fresh-faced finest. He honestly doesn't care who takes his notes and fetches his tea, but the first time his lieutenant has the audacity to wink at him, it's all he can do not to take the fellow by the shoulders and shake him until he grows some common sense.
"You know he did that because he thinks you're sweet on Helen, right?" Nigel says after James had dismissed the aide and returned to his work. "It's his way of saying he thinks you have a shot with her."
"A shot?" James says, because he's been sleeping with Helen for longer than the aide has been alive. "I should hope so."
"I just meant that he doesn't mean any harm," Nigel says. "And he's not propositioning you either, so don't get nervous."
"Nigel!" James says it rather sharply. They are in the business of espionage, after all, and goodness only knows how many other people Eisenhower has set to watching them.
"Oh, no one's going to complain right now," Nigel says. "They need you too much."
"That's not particularly reassuring," James says. "Because they won't need me forever."
"That's why you've got Helen, mate," Nigel says. James coughs. "Not like that, and you know it. She'll keep you safe, is all I meant."
"I think we've pretty much exhausted this line of conversation," James says.
"Quite," Nigel agrees. "That's the last box, anyway. Then we're all moved in."
James does his very best not to roll his eyes at that. They'd managed to spend the first years of the fighting working out of the Sanctuary, as they had during the last Great War. Now, planning was underway for an invasion of Europe, and they had been sent for like common soldiers. He understands it, of course, and if he were in charge he probably would have done the same thing, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. Moving meant moving the machine too, and he's not so comfortable with it yet that he trusts himself out and about when there's a war on.
But Churchill had asked, and Helen had acquiesced on all their behalves, and James had packed everything he could think about possibly needing into the boxes which were around the office now in various states of unpacking. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair, really looking at his surroundings.
"You said that's the last box?" he asks.
"The last one on the manifest, " Nigel says. "They've all got checks beside them. These Americans are very efficient."
"Not efficient enough!" James is on his feet now, and rummaging through the offending carton.
"What is it?" Nigel comes to join him. "Is something mislabelled?"
"Worse," James says. "Something is missing.
Two weeks earlier…
"Portsmouth is hardly the end of the world, James," Helen says, pacing back and forth across the floor in his study. Before the war, she'd have been perched on the window, looking down at the garden, but that's not an option anymore, even though the Blitz has stopped.
"I never said that it was," James says. "I merely pointed out that all of our things are here, and it makes little sense to move our entire operation just so they don't have to send us telegrams anymore."
"You know it's not secure, James." Helen's protests are met with silence, because there's really nothing he can say in his defense. "That's why they need us there. We'll simply have to pack up everything."
"You've already told him we'll do it." James hasn't got his reputation for nothing.
"Yes." Helen sits down. "I have. They want you, your designs, your mind, your spy network and anything you might invent, and they want you in Portsmouth."
"And you're to keep me safe from the Nazis while I'm there?"
"Something like that, yes." She smiles at him. "Does it bother you, darling?"
"Of course not," he says. "There's no one better suited for the job. Nigel will join us?"
"He will," Helen says. "That way I'll have some say in where he's sent."
"What of Nikola?" James is pushing it now, he knows, but at the same time, he doesn't really care.
Helen slumps a little in her seat. "I have no idea where he is."
"You're lying again." It's hard when they're both engaged in espionage, and Lord knows there are things he's kept from her, but Nikola Tesla's location is not one of them, and if she knows anything, she is damned well going to tell him.
"There are rumours." She looks down at her hands. "Vampires in the woods on the Eastern Front. The Germans are terrified."
"Did you send him there?"
"I didn't stop him, and I knew his intentions."
"Well, we need him here now," James says. "If I don't get to choose where I am fighting this war from, neither does he."
"It's his family, James," Helen says.
"And what are we?" James asks. "Does he honestly think he's doing better becoming some children's nightmare than he could do working with me?"
"You just want a secure communications device so you don't have to go to Portsmouth."
"That is true," James admits, "but he should still be here. Have you written him yet?"
Helen pauses before she answers. James has written, of course, and he's pretty sure Nigel has sent Nikola some sort of communication as well. They have their ways, after all. If Helen hasn't written, she'll have to have a good reason.
"If I ask him, he'll come," she says at length. "He'll come, and they'll put him under lock and key, and he'll hate it."
"He won't hate you," James points out.
"I know that," she says. "It almost makes it worse."
"Send for him, Helen," James says. "We need him."
She sighs, and then reaches into the desk for a letter that's already written. He's not surprised. She seals the envelope with wax, pressing the Roman numeral for five into the hot liquid just before it dries. He wonders which of their abnormal allies she will task with this, and then decides he doesn't want to know. If he doesn't know, he can't pass the information to Whitehall, and he knows that Helen keeps some of her abnormals secret for their own protection.
"What about the basement?" he says as softly as he can. He takes her hand and squeezes it. She presses her other hand to the machine that sits on his chest.
"It will be fine," she says, but her eyes are hard.
He knows what's kept down there, in a box built by Nikola and locked by Nigel. It's been waiting since 1888, and it's been safe so far, but Helen does not like to leave it.
"It will be fine," she says again, and this time he nearly believes her.
"Then I suppose we should pack," he says.
It isn't that simple, of course. Eisenhower and Churchill both send over men to help, conceivably to carry heavy objects, but really to keep an eye on them. Helen absolutely detests that kind of scrutiny, and the fact that she's willing to bear it indicates how she feels about her contributions to the war effort. James is fairly certain that none of the men who push her around realize that she will take it out of their hides when the fighting is done. He rather hopes they're all still around so that he can watch.
Nigel makes endless lists, cataloguing what goes into each box. When it comes to his plans for the weather machine, something he's only mentioned to Helen in passing, James puts it into a carton without a second thought, noting only that the carton itself is packed into a truck alongside the others.
"James, when you've a moment," Nigel says from the corner of what used to be James's laboratory and is now mostly an empty room. "There are some chaps for you to meet."
Three uniformed men stand with Nigel. Griffin had the easiest time acclimating to the Americans, presumably thanks to his endeavours during prohibition. He's been pardoned for that, of course. Helen arranged for it with FDR before agreeing to ask Nigel if he wanted to serve as an intelligence officer again, and the American President was smart enough to take her offer. James is glad of Nigel's involvement, particularly because it means he rarely has to deal with anyone besides Helen himself.
"Yes," he says, once he's across the room.
"These are all lieutenants who have been assigned to us," Nigel says, indicating the three men.
"Assigned to us for what?" James asks.
"Whatever you need, sir," one of them says. He's so young that James can barely stand to look at him. "General Eisenhower wants to make sure that you have people on hand for errands, requisitions, that sort of thing. People who understand the system."
"The system?" James has found over the years that asking frivolous questions is the best way to get a person to reveal more information than he is supposed to.
"Yes, sir," says the lieutenant. He smiles and James fights down the urge to laugh in his face. "We're assigned for the duration. And I must say, sir, that it's an honour."
The other two are nodding earnestly, and James can tell that Nigel is fighting off a grin as well, so he merely nods and says something inane like "Excellent, you can start by finishing the loading process," before retreating to the privacy of his study. Nigel arrives a few moments after, and by that time, James has already poured two drinks.
"Helen is going to be thrilled," he says, passing Nigel a glass.
"It doesn't matter," Nigel says. "We'll foist all three of them off on Nikola as soon as he gets here. He always loves having an entourage."
"I'm not sure they're his type," James says.
"I'm not sure I care," Nigel says. "So long as he gets them out from under my feet. He'll probably terrorize them for a week and then they'll request reassignment."
"I don't know," James says. "The one that spoke seems very determined."
"We've managed with worse." Nigel sips at his drink politely, but it's clear he misses the days when a man could simply shoot whiskey and be guaranteed another glass.
"They move us, they spy on us, they give us annoying flunkies…" James trails off. "Helen is going to own their souls by the time we're done."
"I know," Nigel laughs. "It's one of the reasons I plan to survive."
"I'll drink to that," James says, and lifts his glass.
Lieutenant Hallman stands with his back to the wall and pretends very hard that he is not actually there at all. It's not a requirement, his presence at this meeting is authorized, and he's not even convinced that those in the conversation would be less forthcoming if they remembered he was there, but it is good practice. Half of his job entails following Magnus and Watson around, ensuring they are always where they need to be. The other half of his job involves reporting everything he picks up back at the Nazi high command. Someday, a little stealth might come in handy, so he practices.
His first objective is to ensure that Professor Tesla is returned to England, and the gilded cage that undoubtedly awaits him there. Hallman has chosen a circuitous route to achieve that end, but he hopes that command will be impressed with his initiative. It was easy not to volunteer for the truck, easy to make sure he travelled with Magnus and the other by train. And it was easy to lift the box off the truck bed when no one was looking and leave it for a dead drop once it was outside of the Sanctuary.
Eisenhower wants Watson close by, and that means Magnus and Griffin as well. It couldn't have been more convenient to Hallman if Ike had asked for his opinion. The Reich hadn't been able to get anyone into the Sanctuary, and they'd been trying since the early 30s, once they realized how much time Dr. Watson was spending in Berlin. Nothing had worked. Whatever Helen Magnus did, she inspired absolute loyalty, and none of their human or abnormal allies had got anywhere close to anything important before they turned.
And so Hallman came to the front line of espionage, an American who is qualified enough to be assigned as an aide, and at Eisenhower's wish, no less. It's so perfect, Hallman had been afraid it was a trap, but he's been in and out of the Sanctuary for a week before today, and though Watson doesn't trust him, it's the distrust of an old man who doesn't like to be ordered around.
When the box is placed in his hands, the one that holds the schematics for a machine he doesn't fully understand, he smiles at the abnormal who hands it to him, though on the inside he's put off by the thing's appearance. The most important thing in his job is to smile, no matter what. The second is to know when to disappear. Once the truck is loaded and the box deposited, he could disappear if he wanted to, but there is Tesla to retrieve, and that involves being on the train, so he boards, and then he finds himself in a carriage with his targets.
They're a bit arrogant, which is to be expected, and don't censor themselves at all in the presence of their aides. It's reassuring.
"Have you sent for him, then?" Griffin says. Hallman wonders what an invisible man looks like when he's bleeding. If all goes well, he'll find out.
"I have," says Magnus. She is difficult to read and Hallman knows better than to try to play her. If there is a weakness in them, it is not in her. He will have to break the others.
"How long do you think it will take him?" asks Watson, the real danger. If there is anyone who might figure him out, it's the man rumoured to have inspired Sherlock Holmes.
"My courier will take three days, assuming she doesn't run into trouble," Magnus says. "And then he'll have to actually get the message. After that, I would say three days, if he decides to come."
"He'll come," Griffin says.
"I know," Magnus replies.
Professor Tesla. The man who is behind the vampires rumoured to be terrorizing the Serbian woods, if he is a man at all. Since his death supposedly occurred more than half a year ago, Hallman has his doubts. It took him less than ten minutes to decide that securing Professor Tesla's return would be the single greatest thing he could do for the Reich, and not because it will stop him from killing soldiers on the Eastern Front. Watson and Magnus will talk to one another. Griffin doesn't know anything worth sharing. But Tesla, if the rumours are true, Tesla will talk to anyone who stands still and doesn't interrupt him.
"I don't like to be removed from my contacts at this time," Watson is saying as Hallman returns his attention to the conversation.
"We'll have to shift our focus, is all," Griffin says. "Maybe I'll start being useful."
"Nigel," Magnus says, and Hallman notes the fondness in her tone. She might be sleeping with Watson, but that doesn't mean all her affections are focused on him.
"I don't mind," Griffin says with an easy smile. "It makes me harder to tie down."
Watson shifts uncomfortably on the bench, the outline of the machine that keeps him alive pressing clear lines into his jacket. Hallman would love to get his hands on those plans, be able to deal a death blow and have it look like a mechanical malfunction, but by now he's starting to believe that the plans exist only in Watson's not inconsequential mind.
"How will he get from Norway to Portsmouth?" Watson asks.
"I have no idea," Magnus admits. "But he's sure to be in a truly foul mood when he gets here."
"In need of a hug and some hot tea?" Griffin teases. Watson laughs outright, and Magnus cracks a smile.
Hallman doesn't smile. He's doing his best to pretend he's not there. But it's still the best news he's heard all day. Professor Tesla is coming back to England, and he's going to want a friend when he gets here.
Nikola sinks his teeth into the neck of the young German soldier and wonders if he is ever going to get the taste of terrified Nazi out of his mouth. Autumn has come to Jasenovac, but nothing has changed. The trees around the camp are all dead or cut down for fuel and fence posts. There are no leaves to mark the changing seasons. There is only the chill in the air that heralds another winter the camp's prisoners may not survive.
Nikola is not strong enough to breach the camp on his own, well, not breach it and then stay alive long enough to do anything meaningful. He's not sure exactly what it would take to kill him, but he's very sure that he never wants to find out. He settles to terrorizing the wasteland around the camp, and is darkly pleased when he hears the stories that start to circulate once he begins his attacks.
Still, there is an emptiness to this existence. He is careful not to drink too much of the blood he spills. He doesn't want to turn into a savage, and he can feel the savagery inside him every time he breaks skin. He just wants them to stop. And that is not going to happen unless he scares them so badly that they go running back to Germany and take their anti-Serb sentiments with them.
When Helen had put him in the lifeboat and sent him into his fake death, he had never hesitated on the road that led him here. He had thought he would be able to handle it. The blood. The death. The despair. But it's not enough and it's too much, and he doesn't know what else he can do, if he wants to survive doing it.
And he wants to survive. He wants to see how long his lifespan is, not waste it in this man-made desolation. He is here because he can think of nothing else to do, no other way to help, but what he wants, more than anything, is to be rescued.
James has sent for him, and Nigel as well. James wants help inventing a method of communication the Nazis can't detect. Nigel just wants him to be safe and sane. Nikola has ignored them both. He won't take patronizing from either of them. He's had an offer from John as well, very early on in his bloody campaign, an offer to ally with him. He's ignored it since it arrived, but with the weather turning cool, he's forced to admit that the two of them, especially the two of them, could get the job done. The next time John extends a helping hand, Nikola will take it.
He reaches the house where he's stashed what few remnants of civilization he still clings to. There are three bottles of wine that he keeps not drinking on the grounds that he hasn't earned them yet, a good suit in a plastic bag in case he ever wishes to return anywhere that such attire would be required, and a wooden box, where he keeps what little correspondence he receives. The pale corner of a piece of paper is protruding from the box. He has mail.
The predator in him is immediately on high alert, scanning for signs of where the intruder came from, what the intruder is. Whatever bore the message is long gone, of course, but if Nikola can figure out who brought it, he'll be a step closer to figuring out who sent it, and if he can do that before he's opened the note, then maybe he hasn't lost whatever brain function he has to the rage of a man whose ethnicity is being systematically butchered.
There's a line of salt on the window ledge that hadn't been there when he left on his last raid. If he had a magnifying glass, he'd be able to see the tiny footprints, but he doesn't, and so all he can see is the line left by a frightened Cornish Pixie who stopped to kiss the glass for luck before flying back to England. Helen, then.
Nikola smiles and reaches for the catch on the box. She hasn't sent him anything since he kissed her on the deck of the ship she commandeered to guarantee his safe escape from England. And now she is sending him a letter to bring him back.
Her letter is honest, which he appreciates. She does not sugar coat the situation to which he will be submitting himself when he agrees to her request. She does him the courtesy of wording it like it's not an obligation to her, not a sign of his affections, but they all know how this game is played. Helen says 'jump' and they are all in the air before they look to see where they'll be landing when they come down.
At the bottom of the box is the last of his medication, that which renders him safe for civilized company. He hates her a little bit for taking him away from this, this immediate and pointless revenge. Perhaps it's for the best he never matched up with Johnny. He's turning badly enough on his own. He's walking into a cage, but at least he knows it, and Helen knows it too. And if James really does need him, that means the war is going so badly that staying here and picking off Germans one at a time is meaningless anyway.
Nikola swallows his pills and calls to mind the last time he saw a deer or a rabbit so he has something to wash the medication down with. He can't keep the grimace off his face, but he did make Helen a promise, and it serves his purpose right now to keep it. If he runs, he can be in Norway in three days, and then there's nothing but the ocean between him and England.
The bag is waterproof. He can change when he gets there.
"What do you mean 'something is missing?'" Nigel asks. "How can it be missing? It can't have just fallen off the back of the truck. We'd have noticed."
"Would we?" James says. "Would we have noticed? From where we were on the train?"
"It might have been sent up to quarters," Nigel says, but James can tell he's reaching the same conclusions that James already reached.
"We'll check," James say. "Have one of the aides do it."
"No," Nigel says, hardening. "I'll do it myself."
It's easy to forget Nigel sometimes. James knows he does it on purpose, fading into the background and pretending to take a backseat to the greater minds in the room. It's been his greatest weapon since before they injected themselves with the Source Blood, and now that Nigel can actually become invisible, the weapon is all the more potent. But the chemist is no slouch, even when held up against Helen, James and Nikola, and he is good at a great many things at which they are not.
"I'll send for Helen," James says, and begins to write a note.
It's bad enough that they are compromised already, but the loss of the weather machine could be catastrophic. If the Germans get their hands on it, not only will they know an invasion plan is in the works, they'll also have a way to deflect any ships crossing the Channel using the same means James would have used to ensure their safety.
Not to mention it's a terrible start to their stay in Portsmouth. They've not been in their office for two hours yet, and already there is a leak somewhere. James curses under his breath, frustrated with his own stupidity for not insisting that one of them accompany the truck, for not insisting that one of them oversee all the packing, for not insisting that they all stay in London, and hang secure communications. It's his fault, it's everyone's fault, and that's just stupid.
Helen pushes the door open and comes into the office. She's carrying a tea tray, they haven't eaten since breakfast, and when she sees that Nigel is out, she sets the tray down on the table without a word. She crosses the room and, still without speaking, kisses James full on the mouth. His eyes widen in surprise, and over her shoulder he sees the aide, the keen one, he's really going to have to learn their names, start to follow her into the room and then backtrack, pulling the door shut behind him. At least he doesn't wink.
Helen senses his distraction and pulls back. His grin is apologetic, and he takes her hands, pressing kisses against her knuckles, and just savouring this last moment of sanity completely to himself.
"What is it?" she asks, and the moment is over.
"It's the weather machine," he says. "The plans are gone."
"Doctor Watson, let me be sure I've understood correctly," Eisenhower says. "You built a machine that can control the weather? And it works?"
"You misunderstand me, General," James says. "I haven't built it. I've designed it. But yes, if completed to my specifications, it will work."
"Why?" Eisenhower demands. "Why in the name of all that's holy would you even try something like that?"
"Unless I have very much missed my guess, you are planning to invade Europe," James says. "In which case, you will need to cross the Channel. And let me tell you, as an Englishman to a visitor, the weather in the Channel will scuttle any attempt you make, unless there is a way to control it."
"Do I even want to know what else you have invented?" Eisenhower asks.
James feels the weight of the machine against his chest, remembers hours of fast talking and tries very hard not to think of Nikola's Death Ray.
"No, sir," he says. "You do not."
"All right, what's the worst case scenario?" Eisenhower asks.
"The Germans will build the machine based on James's specifications, wait for us to launch and then unleash a storm of Biblical proportions on our fleet," Helen says.
"That is unacceptable," Eisenhower says. "Can you build another one here in Portsmouth, Dr. Watson? From memory? And then counteract whatever the Germans do with their model?"
"Sir, we weren't even sure what one weather machine could do, in terms of long range fallout," James says. "I really don't think the answer is to build a hypothetical second."
"Why can't we just go get them?" Nigel says.
"Just go get them?" James repeats, slightly scandalized.
"Well obviously it's more complicated than that," Nigel admits, "but why don't we just wait for Nikola to get here, and then the three of us will go find the plans."
"Absolutely not!" Eisenhower slams his fist into the table, rattling the cups in their saucers, but Helen is unperturbed.
"I agree," she says. When Nigel starts to protest, she holds up a hand to block him. "Nigel, General, at some point we will be going into the field to get the plans, behind the lines if necessary, but not until we have real intelligence as to their location."
"They could have it built by then," Nigel says.
"Then I'll go with you," James says.
It hangs in the air for a few moments before Nigel takes it.
"Can you?" he asks, his tone as light as he can make it.
"I'll have some time to make modifications," James says. "Assuming it doesn't detract from my work for the war effort, of course. And if I'm with you, I can break it in such a way that they'll never be able to repair it."
"Helen?" says Eisenhower.
"I don't like it, Ike," she says, leaning back in her chair. "But right now it's the best we've got."
"Will Professor Tesla require assistance making landfall?" the General asks.
Nigel snorts. "No, but you should probably have him met and escorted here, or he'll get distracted at Bletchley Park and you'll wind up with a code only him and Turing can crack but no way to transmit it."
"Where's he going to land?"
"I have no idea," Helen admits. "He hasn't replied."
"You're just assuming he's coming?" Eisenhower asks.
"He's coming," James says.
"This will probably be the last time I meet with all three of you alone," Eisenhower says. "After this, it'll have to go through channels. That's why we gave you aides."
"Charming," Helen says.
"It's nothing personal," he says. "It's just how the White House would like things done."
"You don't want to be at our beck and call." James fixes the American with his best glare. Eisenhower only flinches a bit.
"I don't, actually," Eisenhower recovers. "Any more than Churchill does."
"We're happy to contribute," Helen says. "It's our war too."
"You're going to fleece us when this is over, aren't you?" Eisenhower says it with a wry tone, but James knows he believes it.
"Why General Eisenhower," Helen protests, at once so much a Victorian lady that James resists the urge to pinch himself to make sure he's awake.
"Stop, Dr. Magnus," Eisenhower says. He's on his feet now and James is willing to call it a strategic retreat. "Save it for the politicians."
"Oh, I will," she says.
"Ma'am, Sirs." Eisenhower salutes, and then turns smartly on his heel and marches from the room, trailed by his aides.
Their own aides are lined up behind them. James has forgotten their names again, and he keeps forgetting they are even present most of the time. That will be harder once they start work in their office. There's so little space to be had that James is pretty sure they won't be able to lose a paperclip, much less ignore three whole people.
"All right," Helen says, all business, and James brings his attention back to the table. "Gentlemen, we have been given a task we are not fond of, but we shall do it. I know we are all accustomed to doing things our own way, in our own time, but that will not be the case for now."
"We know all that, Helen," Nigel says.
Helen turns to look at him, and her eyes flicker over her shoulder, back to where the aides are standing, and James understands. They will play the part. They will be reluctant patriots, annoyed to be taken from the work they had been doing and made to perform in a new location and answer to masters other than themselves. That is how Helen will fight the Americans. She will give them exactly what they expect.
Codes within codes, a game within a game. It's been a long time since James has tried anything this complex, not since he finished with his efforts to smuggle abnormals out of Germany. They don't know who is watching, so they will pretend that everyone is. The four of them, once Nikola arrives, are the only ones to be trusted with anything personal, with anything vital. That is how they will ensure that once the battle is fought and won that they can walk away and not owe any more than they already do.
Helen did her government's work once, and it had cost a man his life. She would cost more men more lives this time, but she will do it on her own terms, even if no one realizes that until it's too late.
"She knows, Nigel," James says. He locks eyes with Helen and nods because he cannot take her hand across Nigel's lap. "She's just telling us where we stand."
Helen nods back, and they return to their office to get to work.
To be continued...