I don't own Scarecrow & Mrs. King & I'm not making any money off this.
Thanks for reading my story. Please let me know what you think.
Chapter 2
Jenny looked around, trying to get her bearings.
She was laying in simple metal-framed bed in an ornately adorned room in the palace. A prim, matronly senior intelligence officer was standing at the door to her room. She rubbed the sand out of her eyes and squinted at the woman. Definitely one of those lackeys that were always running around bearing bad news.
"What day is it officer….?"
"Sergeant Grey, ma'am. It is the 21st of August, ma'am." She said in a sneering, slightly annoyed tone.
Two blissful days since her American prince had asked her to spend the rest of her days with him. They'd flown by so fast.
Sergeant Grey cleared her voice. "I have a message for you Major," she said, in the same disrespectful tone. Jenny nodded for her to continue.
Grey took out a crumpled piece of paper and read dryly "Major Hobbs, you are requested and required to attend a meeting of the BICP at 1000 hours in the Servant's Dining Hall." She stared blankly at Lydia, who sleepily nodded her head. The woman closed the door without a word.
'What a killjoy!' she thought. 'Doesn't she know the war's over?' Some people seemed to be on self-imposed happy rations all the time. Wouldn't want to say a kind word unless it helps the war effort, don't you know.
She got ready and walked down to the dining hall, showing her identification to the various guards as she went past. "Good morning Vladimir!" she cheerfully remarked to the friendly Ukrainian guard as she passed the doorway to the Soviet quarters.
"Good morning, solnyshko*" Vladimir said, his voice unusually solemn. Something was on his mind. She was about to ask what was wrong, when one of the great clocks in the hall starting banging out its mournful tune.
It was 10 o' clock.
She sprinted through the corridor and down the stairs and quietly opened the door to the Servant's Hall, the conference room and headquarters of the British Intelligence Contingent at Potsdam. Here there were elite members of Signals Intelligence in charge of foreign intelligence, the Security Service, overseeing internal intelligence, the cloak-and-dagger Special Operations Executive, and some special representatives from other agencies.
In the diverse crowd she could pick out Poles, Czechs, Frenchmen (and women), Norwegians, Arabs, Indians, even an Ethiopian. She knew Australians, South Africans, Canadians, Rhodesians, and many others from across the Empire and the world were gathered here to contribute their unique skills and knowledge.
Sergeant Grey glared at her from across the room and checked her off on her attendance list, but before she could stomp across the room and reprimand her, a man walked through the door behind Jenny.
Everyone's mouth was slightly agape. It was none other than Clement Atlee, the newly elected Prime Minister.
Everyone in the room had seen Atlee as they did their duties at the conference, but being addressed by the Prime Minister himself was quite another thing. He walked to the center of the room and spoke. "I apologize that this meeting is so informal and that I cannot entirely bring you good news." He paused and gazed at all the earnest, curious faces staring intently at him.
"First, I want to thank each of you for your extraordinary service. Through your excellent work you have saved the Peoples of the British Commonwealth from perhaps the worst tyranny the world has ever seen. It was through your work that we have, finally, vindicated those who have fought, bled, and died through a noble, final peace."
He smiled gently. A cheer arose, but quickly died down as Atlee held his hand up. His face turned grim.
"I also am afraid I have to deliver some news of a less pleasant nature."
He let out a small sigh.
"I regret to inform you that there is one formerly in our midst whom we fear has violated the solemn trust placed in them by their country, and by their Allies. I am glad to say it is no one in the British intelligence service."
There was a sigh of relief around the room.
An American covert intelligence officer, one Colonel Matthew L. Stetson, working for the Office of Strategic Services, was recently identified by sources both in American intelligence and in the Security Service as having been in the employ of the Government of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, leaking sensitive information to Soviet intelligence officials. This morning at 7, Soviet officials confirmed that Mr. Stetson formally defected to Soviet military officials. and that he had embarked on a train to Moscow at approximately 2:00 this morning, local time."
Jenny's head spun.
How could this be happening? Was this a dream? A nightmare?
*Solnysko is a pet name in Russian meaning "Sunshine." Vladimir is, in fact, an ethnic Ukrainian, but, like many Ukrainians then and now, his first language is Russian.
Thanks for reading! Please Let me know what you think. I'll have more soon!
