Red Flag Warning: The warning given for unpredictable winds during wildfire season.
Studies in Betrayal: Keep Your Friends Close...
They didn't tell him everything. Mostly, he's okay with that. It's not like he's told them everything either.
Oh, they could guess, and they probably have. Rumours have come all the way to the White Cliffs of the monsters that stalked the forests along the Eastern Front. They are smart enough to figure it out, figure out that there is only one monster and that the monster is you. Helen all but gave you her blessing, but you doubt she realized the ferocity you were capable of. Since the night you injected the Source Blood, they have wondered if there is a monster in you. Now they know.
That isn't why they haven't told you their plan, though. It's the oldest ploy in the game. What you don't know, you can't reveal, however accidentally, and this has been a war of accidental revelation. They have left you in the middle of a mess: somewhere there is a traitor and since you are forbidden from leaving anyway, it is your task to flush the traitor out.
It still galls, though. James has yet to test the limits of his new machine, and behind enemy lines hardly seems the place to do it. If you were there, you would be able to keep them safe. Instead you are stuck in the relative safety of the country that only ever sought to use you and never let you truly belong. When this is over, when they no longer hold the well-being of your friends hostage for your good behaviour, you will not think twice before leaving. There isn't very much, after all, that can hold you back.
The things you don't know claw at your mind, scrabbling talons against tenuous notions you are puzzling your way through. The information that revealed the location of the weather machine seemed too easily obtained. Helen's departure had not been quiet enough. It's been raining for weeks on end. And John Druitt has not been accounted for. There are too many things that could go wrong.
You helped Alan Turing break Enigma. You built a machine that does an even better job. Your model sits on James's desk, waiting patiently to funnel you news, should Helen be able to send any. You do think it a bit odd that the Allies have never sought to weaponize you, but perhaps they disregard the rumours, and since it suited Helen's purpose to have you here, here you are.
There will be an invasion tomorrow. You sit in your office and pretend it's Norway or Calais. You know very well that it is neither, but secrecy is your life here, the game that everyone has agreed to play. There is one more spy to find, and your list of suspects grows shorter by the hour. Before, it was only idle speculation, conversations you pointedly did not have with Nigel or James. Now, with your friends behind the lines, the urgency cannot be denied.
So you make yourself the prey. And you wait.
Lieutenant Hallman doesn't know where the invasion will be. Patton's brash statements notwithstanding, Calais seems unlikely. And Norway seems impractical. He's poured over the maps, seen the pencil marks that indicate the destruction that the Allied planes have rained down on France over the past few weeks. There seems to be no pattern, no order to the strikes. Radio towers have been blown up from the Atlantic to the North Sea, but there are still only so many places that the Allies can make landfall.
He's alone with Professor Tesla this morning, and the vampire is agitated about something. When Dr. Magnus and Dr. Watson don't appear by 9AM, Hallman knows that something is up. He will have to be careful. If Tesla is on tenterhooks, then something very important must be going on. They must have gone on a mission. Suddenly, Hallman knows what is happening, as if he had received an official memo telling him everything he could possibly want to know.
He is absolutely sure that today is the most important day of his life. Watson and Magnus are gone, and unless Hallman has missed his guess, Griffin has gone with them. The invasion will be tonight, or early tomorrow morning, and Magnus is making her play to secure the weather machine before it happens. This is more important than the day at West Point when he agreed to serve the Reich. It's more important than the day at the Sanctuary when he was able to steal the plans for the weather machine. If he is successful today, he will go down in history.
He has to send the message to his contacts in France, which will require leaving the room. But that should be easy enough to arrange. The more challenging part of his day will come when Tesla tries to take some kind of action. Hallman must, at all costs, prevent the vampire from speaking with any of the High Command today.
"I said, do you think you could arrange for some tea?" Tesla says with the tone of a man who has had to repeat himself more than once. "Or are you going to daydream all day long?"
Hallman flashes his most winning smile. It's almost like Professor Tesla wants to be played.
"Of course, sir," he says. "I'll go see what's available in the mess. Just one cup, or will the others be in?"
"Just one cup," Tesla says, slightly bitter. Confirmation, then, that Magnus and the others are gone. It never hurts to be sure.
"I'll be right back," he says, and turns on his heel.
"Don't hurry on my account," Tesla says sarcastically, all frustration and wounded pride.
He doesn't know it, but today, Professor Tesla is the centre of Lieutenant Hallman's universe. Together, they are going to help the Nazis win the war.
Colonel Korba pulls off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. He hadn't needed spectacles before he gave up his eyes to the Reich. Like any good German, his eyesight had been perfect. But sacrifices were called for, and Korba had made his willingly. Usually, it doesn't bother him, but every now and then the frames pinch his nose, and he has to take them off for a moment of respite.
If he opens his eyes without them, even the faintest of lights is too much for him. He is careful never to let anyone know that, how vulnerable he is without them. It wouldn't do for that sort of information to make it into the hands of the Resistance. After today though, the Resistance won't matter anymore, and Korba is only too happy to be present to witness its deathblow.
He holds in his hands a piece of paper bearing two seemingly disparate pieces of information that the spy in England was able to put together and deliver to him in Carentan. The weather machine is at risk, and the invasion will happen imminently. If it were from any other source, he would doubt its authenticity, and even as it is, he questions the logic. But there is one commonality he cannot disregard: Helen Magnus and James Watson have disappeared from Portsmouth, with their invisible friend in tow, and the spy in England thinks they have somehow gleaned the location of the weather machine, which means the invasion is not Norway or even Calais. It is much, much closer.
It's a gamble. The British have been mercilessly efficient in turning German spies. Already there is misinformation aplenty, and another rumour is hardly useful. This is the first that Korba has heard of Normandy. It would be a remarkable coincidence. He has come too far to rely on coincidence.
Sitting up straight, Korba puts his glasses back on and signals for his aide.
"Sir?" the officer says, coming to attention.
"Tell Druitt his presence is required in Carentan. We will provide more details at a later time, but he is to be available as soon as possible," Korba says.
"Sir, can we trust him?" He doesn't usually encourage questions from his staff, but he appreciates some measure of initiative.
"No," Korba says. "But he still thinks we do. We are about to capture some very dear friends of his, friends who are in possession of information that we need. It will be his job to extract it from them."
"Surely he will refuse?" The officer has carefully written down the message, and is folding it into his pocket. "And then will he not be a danger to any who might be close to him?"
"We have prepared a surprise for Herr Druitt," Korba says, an arrogant smile on his face. "The bunker where his friends will be held is made of a material that he will not be able to teleport out of. Once he comes into the bunker, he will be ours."
"Very clever, sir." The officer straightens, preparing to salute and leave the room.
"We shall find out," Korba says, and waves his hand in a dismissive return of the man's gesture.
Left alone in his office again, Korba adjusts his spectacles and turns back to the files on his desk. In these folders is every scrap of information pertaining to Helen Magnus that he has been able to buy, steal or torture out of captured abnormals deemed unworthy of the war effort. He has so many questions to ask her, and he has been waiting to make her acquaintance for some time now. They will use Watson to trap Druitt in the bunker, but Magnus…Magnus he is saving for himself.
Nikola has scrupulously taken his medication every day since his return to England. It wouldn't do to lose control and attack one of his aides in a moment of pique. As he holds the paper with Druitt's name on it, though, he finds himself wishing for something he could chase and sink his teeth into. He works alone, true, but this feeling of helplessness is not part of his usual arrangement.
He can no longer hear the planes. They've all passed over his head and left him behind. He has no idea what's happening on the ground in France, only that the worst has happened. He trusts Helen to get herself out of this, but at the same time his inability to help her is making him crazy. His aide, the smiling one he's become rather fond of, brought him black tea with his supper, and ever since he finished drinking it, Nikola has been uncomfortable.
On the roof of the house they've commandeered, the air is no clearer, but at least he has a greater chance of solitude. The lieutenant has been nailed to his backside all day, it seems, except when Nikola sends him out with messages to Eisenhower that go unanswered. He can only take so much youthful enthusiasm at a time. It's starting to clog his thoughts.
It's becoming increasingly apparent that neither of the governments that are holding him right now have any intention of letting him go. For all he knows, Churchill and Roosevelt are even now drawing up a treaty under which terms they'll share him. He knows something similar is in the works with the Russians for what to do with the German scientists who survive the conflict. On one hand, Nikola admires the unexpected dedication to progress, but at the same time, it's uncomfortable to know that his future is being bargained over and settled without his input. He will have to make a move as soon as it is reasonable to do so, but for the life of him, he can't imagine what that move will be.
He hears the intruder on the stairs long before the man makes it to the roof. The step is too heavy to be the lieutenant's, so Nikola resists the temptation to hide.
"Ah, Professor Tesla." General Patton has as much reason to be restless tonight as Nikola does. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were up here."
"It's all right, General," Nikola says, relaxing in spite of himself. Maybe certain company would be welcome. "I don't own the roof."
Patton goes to the railing and looks down. There's not a lot to see, with the blackout curtains over every window and the street lights out. Portsmouth is a target, like everywhere else in Britain, and so it hides when the sun sets. Some nights, the Channel gleams white with moonlight, but tonight there are clouds, so not even that much illumination breaks through.
"This is the worst part," Patton says. "The waiting."
"I noticed," Nikola says dryly. Tea is a comfort, but it always leaves him thirsty. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, searching for the piece of the puzzle he is missing.
"On nights like this I feel old," Patton says.
"You're not," Nikola says. "At least, you're not as old as me."
"That isn't what I meant," Patton says. He looks at Nikola, his eyes shining in what little light is available, and for a moment, Nikola has a flash of understanding. "I've done this before."
"You're a general," Nikola points out. "Sending men into battle is your job."
"I've sent men and been sent," Patton says. "I've attacked and defended. I remember battles I didn't fight, men I didn't serve with."
"Are you always this philosophical the night before an invasion?" Nikola smiles, a real smile, for what feels like the first time in months.
"I'm always this philosophical," Patton says. "Usually there's enough going on that no one notices."
"That seems fair enough," Nikola says. There is a long moment of easy silence between them, and suddenly the wait until morning doesn't seem so unbearable.
It doesn't last. But in those few moments of companionable silence, Nikola can see all the pieces with a clarity he hadn't been able to manage before. The world slows, and he lifts first one piece and then another, sliding them into place beside one another where they fit, locking his suspicions and impressions together into solid facts and a course of action.
Druitt must have leaked the location of the weather machine. His affection for Helen, and James, would not let him sit idly by while one of James's creations was misused. For whatever reason, Druitt had wanted them in Normandy.
That leaves two other things for Nikola to make sense of: the stolen plans and his bizarre inability to get the attention of General Eisenhower. Two things, and the cup of tea that ties them together.
"General, we have a spy," Nikola says quietly. He's not afraid of being overheard, not up here, but habits are hard to break.
"We're aware," Patton says, his voice equally quiet. It's unusual for him, and Nikola knows that this is Patton at his most dangerous.
"I have figured out who it is," Nikola says. "And he's down in my office, probably rifling through the files on my desk right at this moment."
"Should we use him or take him?" Patton asks. It's a courtesy Nikola hadn't expected, but it only takes him a moment to decide.
"Take him," he says, his mouth full of teeth.
Patton doesn't flinch at the shift, only nods and follows Nikola down the stairs. Nikola Tesla may work alone, but that doesn't mean he is without ties to the outside world. Only a fool would endanger his friends.
Hallman finds the workroom deserted. He has no idea where Professor Tesla has gone, and he does not particularly care. It's over, or it will be soon. All he has to do is find a way to cover his tracks, and then wait for his extraction. Then he will be in Germany, a Germany victorious in Europe, and his place there will be amongst the heroes of the war.
Reaching into his pocket, he removes the small sheaf of papers he takes his notes on. He finds a pertinent file on the desk and begins to write, carefully encoding as he goes. Impending victory is no reason to throw caution to the wind.
The Autotype begins to punch out a message, and he diverts to the machine. It must be from Griffin, passing news or calling for help. If Hallman can intercept it, so much the better. He turns his head to the side, just as the 'A' appears. By the time he sees the 'F', he knows the game is up.
Professor Tesla's voice still startles him though, perfectly accented German spoken in a voice that's blackout dark. Hallman looks to the doorway and sees him there, as perfectly poised as ever, but with the demon on his face. Hallman's heart races, though he fights to give no sign. Tesla has always looked so civilized. It was easy to imagine that the rumours of what he'd done in the woods on the Eastern Front were exaggerations.
Now, Hallman is less sure. Those black eyes and perfectly deadly claws seem capable of everything, and Hallman has been caught. Tesla accuses him of greed, and Hallman would speak in his own defense, but the vampire has moved faster than any true human should, and those deadly claws press against Hallman's throat. Whatever hope he had of keeping his fear to himself is gone now, but he still refuses to crack.
"How long?" There is a dark promise in that voice, but at the same time it is beautiful. He wants to tell it everything. Surely it will understand.
"I was recruited by the SS when I was still at West Point," he says, looking straight at Tesla's face. He's forgotten, somehow, that the professor is only a Serb. Working alongside him, Hallman had come to admire the man, despite his lesser stock. At the same time, he can't help shifting upwards, stretching his neck to avoid those claws. It only makes Tesla's grip more tight. "My family supports the Reich. It was my duty."
Surely, Tesla must understand that, that duty to his family and to his home; that duty which, though to opposing sides, is the only thing they share. Didn't he fake his own death, after all? And return to aid his own kin, however justified their doom is? But there is no understanding on Tesla's face. Only a smile with too many teeth, and every nightmare Hallman has ever had is playing in his mind. Perhaps he has misread the vampire more gravely than he thought.
Tesla releases him abruptly, those nails still hovering near Hallman's face, and laughs dismissively.
"You were good," he says, elegance and death at once. "But I was better."
Hallman forces his voice level as he asks how Tesla knew, and maintains that apparent calmness as Tesla explains, at least until Tesla accuses him of leaking the information about Magnus and Watson. Then it's only one claw at his neck, the fine point scraping over his skin too softly to do any damage, but with enough sincerity that he understands how completely at Tesla's mercy he is.
"You made me like you," Tesla grates, rage beneath the disappointment in his voice. Hallman wants to reply in kind, but fear quashes his ability to speak.
Tesla turns away to the soldier who accompanied him, the claw leaving Hallman's throat at last. He breathes, relieved, and when Tesla speaks again, it is a human voice that Hallman hears.
"He's ready," Tesla says, as though he has already moved on from Hallman's betrayal. The officer advances, sidearm drawn, but Hallman knows that resistance is futile.
"Professor," he tries once more to explain, to make Tesla understand, but Tesla doesn't let him.
"Enjoy your tribunal, Lieutenant," Tesla says, and Hallman lets himself be led away.
To be continued...