Seiche Wave: A wave of some magnitude in a contained body of water.
Studies in Betrayal: Like a Lodestone to the North
He has always been the wild card in your plan, the murderer you cannot control. You've made arrangements, though. And you're not overly concerned. A bullet will still hit him, and if you fire on him, he might be wise enough to stay away. You've already given your perfect eyesight to the Reich. You are not afraid to risk your personal safety to the same end.
That doesn't mean you're stupid, though. You take precautions. You filter through every piece of paper your American-made spy steals for you, combing through the information until you find the note that suits your need. Apparently you are not the only one to be concerned about John Druitt. James Watson shares your fear, and he wrote something down as a speculation that you are more than willing to field test.
You suspected Druitt from the outset. You have more than one disillusioned Englishman on your payroll, and you will use them to win the war, but he was different. He wasn't content to pass you information, he wanted in. He wanted the uniform. There is something not quite right about that.
You cannot fault his ferocity. The years have made him an excellent killer, and if you could trust his loyalty, he would be your most able lieutenant, but you had doubts long before that night at the opera, and killing Hitler just confirmed what you had always suspected. John Druitt is not on your side.
He might be the next best thing, though. He might hate Helen Magnus and James Watson enough to destroy their country just to watch them burn along with it. You're not sure that's precisely it either, of course, but it's your best guess. You don't doubt he'll do his best to bring the two of them to Carentan, either to help them or to kill them himself. You don't stop him.
Your work with abnormals has provided interesting side benefits, beyond the weaponization of the being that cost you your eyes. Those who could speak the tongues of men, those whose abomination made them a true mockery of mankind, those whom you tortured, spoke of Helen Magnus as though she were a kind of saint, and they spoke of James Watson as a saviour, rescuing them from a country that tried to end their existence. That alone would make you want them, but there is more.
Some of the creatures have long lifespans. Some have lived for half a century, or more. And the oldest of these speak of Helen Magnus and James Watson, and of when a Queen ruled England. They are older than they look. They have lived longer than they should. And they do not appear to have paid any price for it, unlike Druitt who is mad and will be put down the moment he is no longer useful. Tesla is beyond your reach and all signs indicate that Griffin would be next to useless anyway, but Watson and Magnus have the answers you seek, and you are going to ask them questions, even if you have to destroy a hundred insignificant French villages to do it.
And it starts with lodestone, and the unknowing betrayal of an old friend.
James stands next to the window, the shade open to the pale light of the dawn, looking down at the Channel. The morning light is faint, and if he does not miss his guess, will soon be swallowed by the clouds that wreath the sky. He should close the window, but aside from the clouds, the sky is clear, and it's been a while since he's looked outside.
"Do you think they've built it?" Helen says. She's sitting on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. This style is too short to braid effectively, and James can honestly say that makes him a little bit happy, but she's never consulted him on the matter, so he says nothing.
"It rains a lot in Portsmouth," he says in reply, not turning to look at her. The brush makes a quiet noise against her hair, and he likes it because it means the rest of the house is at peace, if only for a moment.
"Eisenhower is going to send them, you know," she says, "whether the sky is clear or not."
"I know," he says. "And it's not the sky I'm worried about."
The beaches of Normandy are easy enough to land on in fair weather. In the dark and if the sea swells, it is an entirely different matter.
"They are doing everything they can, James," she says. "They're destroying radio listening posts from Calais up the coast of Norway. Patton has been given an entire army that doesn't exist. Fortitude isn't written on a single document, and I don't even remember the last time I heard someone say it aloud when they weren't completely secure."
"I made half of those recommendations myself," James says. He lets the blackout curtain fall back against the window pane and turns towards her. "I just hate the waiting."
"Yes, because you have nothing to do to keep yourself busy," she says fondly.
He smiles, and crosses to her. He takes her hands and kisses her palms and doesn't stop her when she takes his face between her hands and pulls his lips to hers. One of her hands slides across his cheek and then down to rest on the top of the machine that whirs and ticks against his chest. He straightens and pulls away from her.
"James," she says, and he knows that she is only glad he is alive, though she knows how much he hates his infirmity.
"I will be ready," he says. "When we go, I will be ready."
"Nikola has found the time to help you?" Helen asks.
"Yes," James says. "We finished the plans while you were in Southampton. It's merely a matter of construction now."
He begins to dress and she watches patiently until he gets to the cravat. What had before been a stylistic holdover of his youth has become another way of concealing himself from the world. The carefully knotted fabric hides the tubing when his shirt is done up, and conceals the shape that protrudes from his chest. Eventually, he knows, even more tubing will be required. He will wear a cravat every day for the rest of his life.
Helen takes over halfway through the knot, her hands moving surely over the fabric, and then smoothing down his chest. She has never minded the machine, and he is glad of that. It makes it easier to be comfortable in his own skin.
"Well then," she says. "Nigel and I will do our best to stay out of your way."
"Leave us one of the aides," he says. "The other two can tail you all day."
"You do know they have names, right?" she asks. "Names that you have been told and have probably remembered."
"I do know," he tells her, because lying to Helen Magnus is not something he ever plans to do. There are things he won't tell her, but he will never, ever lie. "I choose not to use them."
"I understand, darling," she says, because she does. "It will be over soon."
"It might not happen at all if your Patton can't keep his temper under control."
"He's not my Patton," she says, but she's laughing, because she knows he is. She's owned them all since they made her move here. The smart ones have figured it out. "I have to go and dress."
Helen walks into her room and dresses quickly. She could wear a skirt, like the American and British army women do, but she decided a long time ago that she would wear trousers when she can, and so she does. Her hair is completely frivolous; she should either cut it off or consign it to a severe style, but she finds herself reluctant to do either. If she could chase sphinx cubs with Victorian curls, not to mention a corset, she is certain she can deal with shoulder length hair. There aren't too many frivolities nowadays, at any rate, and she has always been good at taking what she can get.
This war has been different. She spent most of the last one in the trenches performing surgery. Her agreement with the government was still new, and they didn't really appreciate what she and her people were capable of. Nigel ended that. He had volunteered as a spy, and when they realized how he was getting his information, the government had become aware of the full power they had in their hands. After the armistice was signed, she had come upon James staring at a map of Europe in a way that was all too familiar now, and when he told her the fighting wasn't over, she believed him and started to prepare.
This time, her abnormals are on the front lines, gathering information and supporting the war effort as best they can. There are a few beings she didn't tell the government about, mostly those who would be useful as adults but are too young to risk right now. And she, James and Nigel found themselves involved in the planning and execution of strategy. To be honest, it is something of a rush, and it certainly beats life in the trenches, but she finds herself wishing more and more often that she'd told the government to go hang itself when they offered her money. After the war is done, she is going to change how things are done.
She is not entirely sure how, yet, but she has amassed any number of favours over the past few years, and when she cashes in for what she's owed, even after taking a deduction for how she got Nikola off the hook for his Death Ray, she'll have more than enough pull to be completely independent, and still remain absolutely necessary to government operations.
She's the last to arrive at breakfast, and the toast is cold when she gets there. Nikola makes some entirely too predictable joke that she doesn't dignify with a response. The aides have stopped flinching every time one of them snipes at the others, and Helen knows it's because Nikola tells them stories when Helen and James are out of the room. They've wagered a lot on Nikola's seeming innocence, and she hopes that it won't destroy their schemes or what's left of his sanity.
"Good morning, Nigel," she says. "How was France?"
"Cold," he says. "And very wet."
"That's unseasonable," Nikola says. He manages to make it sound like an insult, but James doesn't rise to the bait.
"See anything you like?" Helen asks.
"Not a soul," Nigel says. "I was in and out, and no one was around to remark on my quality evasion skills."
"That's too bad," Nikola says. "I'm sure you'll do better next time."
"If we ever go back to France," Helen says. "I've got a meeting with Patton again today, and all he ever wants to talk about is the hunting trip my father and I went on to Norway half a century ago. It's tedious and I don't care for skiing."
"There's more to Norway than skiing," James says.
"Yes, there's tobogganing as well," Nikola adds. "I've heard it's bracing."
"Are you going to go and look at the exhibit later?" Nigel asks. "The aides were telling me about it while I was waiting for you lot to come down for breakfast."
"What exhibit?" asks James.
"Some morale thing they're doing," Nigel says. "On account of how no one can take decent vacations anymore."
"Do you remember the time we went to Rome?" Nikola says dreamily. "And we forgot that there would be other people there too? Remember the nuns?"
"Hush," says James. "What are you talking about Nigel?"
"The office of…something, had all these people send in photographs of vacations they'd taken in the French countryside," Nigel explains. "The idea is that you go look at the photos and it reminds you of how much you hate the war."
"I'm almost positive that's not the intent, sir," says the eager aide, but no one pays him any attention.
"It sounds fascinating," Helen says, spreading inferior jam on cold toast. "We should go over and take a look after lunch."
"I'm still not allowed to leave the building," groused Nikola.
"That's no one's fault but yours," James says wickedly. "We'll send you a photo."
Nikola bares his teeth in response, and two of the aides find pressing excuses to leave the room. The third one stays, though, standing straight with his back to the wall. He's smiling, too. Like he's won a prize.
"I've figured it out, Professor Tesla," Hallman says, the first time he gets Tesla alone after breakfast.
"What have you figured out, Lieutenant?" Tesla asks. "I hope it's not the invasion. That information hasn't even been leaked to the generals yet."
"Not that, sir," Hallman says. "I've figured you out."
"You know, I've had more than a few people tell me that, over the years." Tesla is fidgeting, which would be annoying if he didn't have a tendency to talk as much as he moves. Now he is fiddling with a small electrical gadget that will, apparently, make it possible for Dr. Watson to move about with greater ease, and also survive the trip to France, should things go awry en route.
"I kind of can't believe I'm saying it out loud, to be honest," Hallman says. "If I tried to tell anyone else, they'd probably say I was crazy."
"The most interesting people are," Tesla says carelessly. He turns around and spreads his hands wide. "Tell me about myself."
"You're a vampire," Hallman says. "You never get drunk, you don't eat or sleep as much as the others, and Dr. Magnus asks you about your medication all the time, except I know you aren't sick."
"Congratulations, lieutenant," Tesla says. "But you're only half right. I am, unfortunately, half human. Only part of me is vampire, but I promise you, it's all the important parts."
"If you bite me, will I turn into a vampire?" Hallman asks.
"Why is that always everyone's first question, I wonder?" Nikola says, turning back to the gears on his desk. "People are so unimaginative."
"Is that why you can't go out?" Hallman asks. "Because the sunlight will kill you?"
"Lieutenant, was it raining when I got here?" Nikola asks in a disparaging tone. "And do you think at some point in my journey here from…where I was before it stayed dark and cloudy the entire time?"
"Good point, sir," Hallman says. "What about garlic? Holy water? A stake?"
"God, I hate literature sometimes," he says. "No, no and no. Well, probably not. I'm not really inclined to experiment with that sort of thing. I did get clawed by a manticore once, though. And there was something about a dragon, but I don't like to brag."
"Sir, I'm not entirely sure I believe you," Hallman says.
"You know, that might be the cleverest thing you've said yet," Nikola says. He delicately licks the tip of his index finger, and then there is an arc of sparks between his hand and the gadget on his desk. After a slight crackle, it hums to life. "But I think you've earned a story."
Hallman does his very best not to smile.
"The Germans can't possibly believe that this is a museum exhibit," James says, glaring at a lovely photograph of the French coast near Calais.
"Probably not, if you keep grumbling about it," Nigel says. "James, they've done a good job. There are pictures here from all over, and they're not even organized all that well. Unless you know what you're looking for, you wouldn't know what's missing."
"And there are more than a few things missing," Helen says. "It's no worse than your idea about the radar stations."
"I don't like that there are so many pictures," James says.
"If they're going to be here, we might as well use them," Nigel says. "I've been keeping an eye on the technology. They're only getting better. Someday, they're not going to need us at all. Just photos of where they're going."
"Let's go look at Norway for a while," Helen says. "I'm supposed to be an expert, after all, and I've only been there once."
"I think Patton just likes having you in the room," Nigel says. "It gives him something to do."
"Shut up," Helen says. "The First US Army Group takes up a lot of his time. He's been giving speeches day in and day out for a week."
"It must be exhausting," James says. Only those who know him best would hear the complete sarcasm in his words. The First Army Group is entirely fictional, which is a waste of Patton's talents in James's opinion, but he was not consulted on the matter.
"It keeps him busy," Helen says.
One of the aides comes into the room and goes to Nigel. They nearly always do, when given the option. He is less threatening than Helen, and he's managed to parlay his stories of being a rumrunner into something that makes him sound approachable rather than like a gang kingpin. Of course, James had attended some of those parties, so he knows it's all a carefully crafted lie. Nigel can be as ruthless as the rest of them when you're between him and what he wants, and James has never met a man with a more creative hand to poison. He supposes it's Nigel's way of preparing for a quiet retirement somewhere in the countryside, and right now it suits their purpose for him to be the friendly one. The aide passes him a note, and he reads it quickly.
"They need us back at headquarters," he says brusquely. "Something about a change in the weather."
"Carentan?" James says. "Are you quite sure?"
"Yes," says Patton. "That's what the leak said in any case."
"We've made arrangements to transport the three of you to France immediately," Eisenhower says. "Well, after the dinner tomorrow night."
"Can we afford to waste that much time?" Helen asks. "I should think that sooner rather than later would be more convenient."
"It's too close to target," Patton says. The aides are in the hallway, so they've all relaxed slightly. If there is a traitor in Patton or Eisenhower, they are in more trouble than they can solve with clever misdirection. "We can't have you that close to Carentan without the risk that it will give away the actual plan."
"You mean if we're caught and tortured," James says dryly.
"It's a heavily fortified position and considerably dangerous," Eisenhower says.
"All right," says Helen, "so we wait until tomorrow after the dinner. Then we go to France, find and destroy the machine, recover the plans and inform you via the autotype that the skies are clear for the invasion."
"You'll want to coordinate with the French resistance cells in the area," Eisenhower says. "They'll be able to provide you with more weapons than you can carry in your transport."
"What's our transport?" Nigel asks.
Patton grins. "Well, you're taking a sub across, but once you make landfall, we've acquired a German tank, and it's all yours."
"What happens if we're stopped?" James asks.
"That's entirely up to you, Dr. Watson," Eisenhower says. "How's your German?"
"I'll practice," he says through his teeth. Nigel smothers a grin.
"Excellent," Eisenhower says. "If you'll excuse me, I've other things to attend to. General, Doctors, Mr. Griffin."
Eisenhower strode from the room and Patton unrolled a map of Carentan and the surrounding area. He starts to make notations, designating where they are expected to land, where they could find the tank, and what route they should take.
"Don't you have things to do, General?" Helen asks. "Not that we don't appreciate it, but we've done this a few times by ourselves."
"I don't mind," says Patton. "Besides, the only army I have right now is pretend, which means they move very quickly, are really easy to feed and do exactly what I tell them, which, this morning, was to go swimming."
"You inspire confidence, General," James says.
"Not as much as I'd like," Patton says. "You've been holding something back. Or rather, telling us things, but only what you want us to know."
Helen and James exchange a long look, and James nods. It is more acceptance than permission.
"We were in your charge for less than a week before the plans for the weather machine were stolen," Helen reminds him. "The Sanctuary was completely secure, and you made us leave it to come here and work for you directly, as though what we had done during the first years of the war was meaningless."
"For the record, I was against that," Patton says.
"What she means is that you've got a spy, and we don't like it." Nigel says.
"Of course we've got a spy," Patton says. "We've probably got a dozen. That's why we're planning to invade Norway and why I've spent the last three weeks looking at vacation pictures of Calais."
"We never thought it was you, General," Helen says.
"Thank you," Patton nods. "I assume you have theories?"
"We're working on them," James allows.
"And you'll tell me when it's done?"
"I imagine so," James says.
"Good." Patton rolls up the map and passes it to Helen. "I'll see you at dinner tomorrow, then."
The three of them sit at the table for a few minutes in silence after the second general leaves.
"Why can't we just turn them in?" Nigel says.
"Because we don't know which of them it is," James says. "And if we spook him, we lose the opportunity to share disinformation. A spy you know is far more useful than a spy in custody."
"I realize that that has been our practice for the war," Nigel says. "I helped get some of them. But we're coming down to a wire now, and I'm not sure I want to go running off to France knowing that someone might be telling Hitler I'm about to come calling."
"We are planning three entirely separate invasions, one of which is entirely clandestine. I can't think of a more important time for misinformation, but you're welcome to stay here, if you like," James says. Nigel bristles, and Helen steps in.
"Gentlemen, enough," she snaps. "All that matters is getting James to his machine so we can fix this. Let's go back to Nikola before he says something he's not supposed to."
Every major player sits down to dinner on June 3rd, and James knows absolutely that the spy is in the room. The war office is sure that it has identified and turned all but one German agent, and there is no doubt in James's mind that the last agent sits at one of the tables in this room.
The conversation is the most inane collection of words James has ever experienced. Beside him, Nigel recites long sections of "The Invisible Man" to men who don't know that he's the source for the material, and across the room, Nikola is trying to drink an entire platoon under the table. Everyone there knows that there will be an invasion, but far fewer know where that will be.
James is halfway through explaining the rules of cricket, a somewhat touchy subject about which his nationality has not made him an expert, when Helen finally comes to his rescue.
"Come with me," she says at a whisper and links her arm in his. "You're going to want to see this. It will be funny."
"Truly funny, or funny because it will give aneurisms to half the people in this room?" he whispers back. He moves her hand so that it is more formally placed, how they might have walked if they courted in their youth.
"Bit of both, really." She's smirking now, which is never a good sign, but he's bored out of his mind, and he hates cricket, so he follows her around the outside of the room.
General Patton is there, red-faced and probably not nearly as intoxicated as he looks. He winks at Helen, and then turns to face the room at large. Across the room is another general, one with whom James has not interacted very much. Patton waves exuberantly, and the general looks over, already slightly perturbed.
"I'll see you in Pas de Calais, Gavin!" Patton yells, and then his aides all but drag him from the room.
"Is he mad?" James hisses in Helen's ear as the dining room explodes around them.
"It's entirely possible," Helen says. "I kind of like him."
"You would," James says.
"We have to pack," Helen says. "And you have to practice with Nikola. Your accent is still atrocious."
"How would you know?" James demands. "Your German is even worse than mine."
"My German is excellent," she says. "It's just a bit dated."
"I imagine dinner is pretty much finished," James says. "I'll fetch Nigel and Nikola, shall I?"
"I'll meet you upstairs," Helen says. She's laughing as she goes, and James finds that unreasonably attractive for some reason.
"It's stupid, Helen, and you know it," Nikola says. He hasn't raised his voice, but his eyes are darkening, and that is never a good sign. "It's stupid for any number of reasons, not the least of which is that I'm the only one of the lot of you that speaks passable German."
"Nikola," Helen starts, but he cuts her off.
"I could defend all of you without breaking a sweat, I could get us past checkpoints without having to do anything that would make someone else break a sweat, not to mention that I've spent enough time working on the weather machine that if I went, James wouldn't have to, and we wouldn't be risking him or the contraption it took all four of us half a decade to invent!"
"Nikola!" Helen says. He flings his hands out in frustration and sits. "You're not wrong. But we're under orders. And they need you here, in case something goes wrong with the autotype."
"Nothing is going to go wrong with the autotype, Helen," Nikola says.
"She knows that," Nigel says. "We all know that. But they don't. All they know is that you built them a machine they can't understand and have promised them that it's safe."
"The part where they think that if they let you out you'll never come back doesn't help either," James says under his breath.
"Thanks," Nikola says.
Helen pours herself a cup of tea and grimaces, but then drinks it anyway.
"Camomile?" James asks, a vague disgust in his voice.
"Yes, unfortunately," Helen says. "We really have to fix this."
"What, China?" Nikola says. "I'll put it on my list."
"That would be handy," Helen says. "We have to go prepare. There are some tests I want to run on James's machine before we take it into the field."
"I'm sure there are," Nikola says in a suggestive tone of voice.
"Nikola," Nigel berates him gently, but Helen only smirks in return and James rolls his eyes.
"Be careful," Nikola says. "If you see…if you see him. Shoot first."
Helen stills and looks at him, completely serious for a moment. "I always do," she says. It isn't difficult to believe.
Lieutenant Hallman is not an idiot. He knows that Calais is a much better place to stage an invasion of France than Norway is to stage an invasion of Europe. Patton's outburst at dinner hadn't told him anything he didn't already know, and that worried him. He's spent as much time as he could at the photo exhibit, trying to deduce what was missing, what was under-represented, but it hadn't told him anything worth knowing.
Patton hadn't helped. Either he was incredibly brash and didn't care that the world knew he was taking the First US Army Group to Calais, or he was being clumsy, taking them somewhere else and trying to cover his tracks.
Fortunately, Hallman is not paid to figure out what the information meant. He's only paid to send it. So send it he did, by the usual method. Patton claims Calais, Norway is still on the table, and Magnus and Watson are planning a trip to a tiny French town he's never heard of called Carentan, and they plan to take Griffin with them. The reply is swift and succinct. He is to stay on Tesla, like a burr, and if necessary prevent him from talking with Eisenhower or any of the other generals once Magnus has gone.
It will be the riskiest thing he's done so far, more dangerous than stealing the tea, and not just because it could expose him. Leaving aside the physical damage Professor Tesla could do to him if he wanted, there's also the increasingly distressing fact that Hallman finds the man more and more likable, Serb or no.
There is something he's missing, and it's driving him crazy. He'd leaked as much intel on Druitt as he could, and knew that the men in France would be ready for what Magnus had in store for them, but there is something else, something about the invasion that he hadn't done properly. He would only have so much time. Eisenhower wants June 6th and is determined to get it, and as of June 4th, no one Hallman could pump for information knows where the invasion will be taking place.
Tesla is the key. Hallman would have to put his feelings aside. He would remember his parents and why he had been recruited to this job. He had a duty to the Reich, and Tesla is only a Serb.
John stands in the dark, shadowed by the wall and the night and his black leather coat. The French are a conquered nation, an occupied nation, and their overlords have not been kind. Still, they are French, and so there is wine. And where there is wine, there are victims.
He can't hunt as he likes, not when he is, supposedly, an upstanding member of the National Socialist Party, but his proclivities can be useful, in certain circumstances, and it was made clear that he was allowed to utilize them when required. As they are tonight.
It's a Resistance Cell he stalks tonight, having read a report of their activities in one of the papers on Korba's desk. There are any number of appropriate targets, most of whom are to his particular taste anyway, but he quells those urges and risks a little rebellion. He might see Helen and James in the next few days, and he's probably damned enough without adding more innocent blood to his hands. The prey he seeks, therefore, is slightly less than innocent.
If Korba asks, and he never does, John can claim it was an honest mistake. He went to the bar, found the Resistance fighters and chanced to kill the wrong one. But Korba never asks. John will murder tonight, and it will be bloody, but the man he kills has been collaborating with the Germans for weeks now. For money. In John's day, there was honour in such things as war.
He takes the man behind a public eating house, closed down since the Germans came to town. A hand on his coat, and they are in Whitechapel, where John has always felt at home. The man prays to God in French, not understanding what has happened, and John slits his throat in the same alleyway where he ended Elizabeth Stride. Her death was interrupted and he'd had to find another, but London is locked down during the night when the country is at war, and he has all the time in the world to make a mess of the collaborator's body.
He's back in Carentan and cleaned up long before dawn. Today it will either all go according to plan or it will all fall apart, but in either case, he is ready.
James takes his time.
The same thoroughness that so frustrates Nikola in the workroom and flusters Nigel when they play cards has been perfected in bed with Helen. It honestly wasn't what she meant when she said they had to test the machine earlier in the evening, and they did run all the medical tests she thought, as James's physician, were appropriate. But when they were done, he had paused in re-buttoning his shirt, and reached for her instead.
They have to be quiet, on account of all the people in the house, but that isn't really a problem for either of them. Nikola has accused them of being practical, and he's not entirely wrong. Their passion is subdued, but no less fervent for its apparent lack of fire. And on nights like this, there is more fire than usual.
The spectre of death has hovered over them many times. They have always faced it together, on their own terms, even before, when there were others in the picture with them. Whatever else he has been to her over the decades, James has always been her partner, and he is no less so now that she shares his bed.
Tomorrow they will go to France, and they will find the machine and destroy it. Of this, Helen has no doubt. She does not allow it. Tonight, she will let James pretend he is distracting her, that his mouth on her skin makes her stop thinking about Norway, Normandy or Calais, and that his hand between her thighs makes her stop thinking about all the ways the invasion could go wrong. She lets him, because she knows that he is doing the same for himself, and right now, that illusion is all that's keeping them both sane.
It's a kind of understanding she's never had with another lover. It's one of the things that makes it so easy to go back to James. She hopes it's one of the reasons he always comes back to her. Right now, none of that matters. They have each other, and they are going to get the job done. Because that is what they do. She never stops thinking that, not even when she arches desperately under his hands, and not even when they're both spent, and finally on the edge of sleep.
Nigel wishes that they'd gotten around to inventing something that would turn invisible along with him. He's talked to all the experts in the field, every crackpot Nikola made contact with in America and few of the more local variety. None of them had anything of use. Fortunately, modesty's never been much of an issue, but he does get cold, and the weather in France probably hasn't improved since his last trip there, even though it should be late spring now.
He'll simply have to wait. He's sure that if he's patient, technology will come up with something. If James and Nikola ever sit down after the war ends, they might even have something by the 60s. Nigel's not exactly holding his breath. He's had plenty of time to think about dying in the past few years, and he's more or less decided that this will be his last war. He's no coward, but he is tired, and it's not his brain that men commanding armies always seem to want. Espionage is a young man's game, and Nigel stopped being a young man four kings and a queen ago.
He's tired. And this will be his last war. But he will do his damndest to make sure they win, and that means once more into the breach. So he'll go.
Nikola doesn't sleep much anymore. Especially on nights like this. Nights like this, when he can feel the lightning in the air.
To be continued...
