"Kilmarnock."
Newkirk and Kinch watched in silence as Hogan paced slowly from one end of the radio room to the other, then turned and went back again. His arms were folded, his brow furrowed.
Any minute they were expecting radio contact from London, with answers to the questions Kinch had transmitted earlier in the day. But right now, Hogan seemed more interested in the details of Newkirk's conversation with Anne-Marie Barallier.
"Kilmarnock," he said again. "You're sure that's what she said?"
"Well, that's what I heard, anyway," replied Newkirk. "It did seem odd, though. I mean, she could have said anything, or she could have just kept stumm. Instead, she suddenly starts talking about Kilmarnock. And while I'm sure it's a lovely town, considering it's in Scotland, I can't think of a single reason to go there. Apart from the whisky, that is, and even that you can get at any decent off-licence without ever leaving London. At least, you could before the war."
"It doesn't sound like the kind of place Mademoiselle would want to include, if she was touring the British Isles," remarked Kinch.
"No, that's what I thought," said Newkirk. "But she sounded as if she knew the place, and expected me to know about it as well. I can't work it out. What's so special about it?"
For a few moments Hogan's thoughts dwelt on the attractions Kilmarnock might have to offer a casual visitor. "Go over it again, Newkirk," he said. "What else did you talk about?"
Newkirk flushed; but before he could answer, Carter came bustling out of the darkroom. "Got the negatives, Colonel."
Hogan took the drying rack and held it up to the light, studying the images with the help of the magnifying glass which Kinch handed him. "Well, I can't make anything of it, either," he said at last, passing the negatives back to Carter. "It looks like some kind of runic script, which is just the kind of thing the Nazis are nuts on. There should be people in London who can translate it, once we get it to them. But getting it there won't be quick."
The radio buzzed, and Kinch picked up the headset. For a couple of minutes, nobody said a word. The only sounds were the Morse signals from the radio, and the scratching of pencil on paper. Then Kinch handed the notebook to Hogan. "Not much to go on, Colonel."
"Anne-Marie Barallier," murmured Hogan. "Aged twenty-eight, born in Beauvais. Her father was a greengrocer - you sure you got that right, Kinch? LeBeau told me he was a magistrate."
"I think I know how greengrocer is spelled," replied Kinch dryly. "But I can ask them to repeat it, if you want."
"Okay, no need to get on your high horse," said Hogan with a grin. "I'll take your word for it. Guess she thought a magistrate sounded classier." He continued his perusal. "She worked as a secretary for a lawyer in Paris - the same lawyer who defended François Bloch on a couple of misdemeanour charges. So that would be how she got involved with him."
"She was arrested in Bloch's apartment, after he and his gang attacked a police station," added Kinch. "But they couldn't find anything to charge her with, so they had to let her go. After that, she seems to have gone to ground."
"Until now." Hogan's eyes were still on the page. "As for Bloch, he got a life sentence, but he was released by the Germans when Paris fell. Present whereabouts unknown."
"Anything else before I sign off?" asked Kinch.
"No," said Hogan. "Wait, there is something. Ask them about Kilmarnock - whether there's anything going on there, any strategic importance about the place, or any other reason she might have mentioned it."
"What's on your mind, Colonel?" said Newkirk, as Kinch started transmitting.
"I'm not sure," murmured Hogan. "There's something about this woman that just doesn't add up. We know she was involved with the fascists before the war. And we know she's involved - very much so - with Wolfert. So why didn't she just turn you over the minute she laid eyes on you?"
Newkirk pursed his lips, thinking about it. "She did say something about not wanting to get me into trouble, on account of me being a mate of LeBeau's. I was a bit short with her about it, told her to change the subject. That's when she started talking about Kilmarnock."
"What do you think it means?" asked Carter.
Hogan folded his arms, and spoke slowly, as if he were still working it out. "She must have realised, as soon as she saw Newkirk, that he wasn't just an ordinary prisoner of war. Once she worked that out, it wouldn't take long to start wondering whether a prisoner who can impersonate a guard at will has anything else going on. Then she'd ask herself what he was doing in Klink's office in the first place, and the answer would be pretty obvious. So what does she do? She asks if he's been to an obscure town in Scotland, one with no known strategic importance. It's an odd conversation starter, any way you look at it."
"Perhaps she was trying to tell us something," suggested Carter. "What if the Krauts are planning an air strike there?"
"And what possible reason would the Germans have for bombing Kilmarnock?" said Newkirk. "There's nothing there that would make it worth their while."
Carter's brow wrinkled. "Well, maybe they're after the whisky factory."
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Right. The illustrious Luftwaffe are planning to bring the entire Allied war effort to a complete standstill by cutting off the supply of Johnnie Walker Black Label...actually, Andrew, you might be on to something there."
"I don't think it's that," said Hogan. "Well, Kinch?"
"They've told me to stand by," replied Kinch. "Apparently it does mean something." His eyes were grave as he studied Hogan's face. "And my guess is, you've already got it worked out, Colonel."
"Maybe," murmured Hogan. He leaned against one of the support posts, frowning. The others waited expectantly, but he seemed lost in thought.
"Well, let's hear it, then," said Newkirk.
Hogan's frown deepened. "Wolfert's got something big going on. We know he's desperate to keep it quiet, so it's probably something the Allied High Command needs to know about. And if Hitler's asking for a progress report, it's probably pretty far along in the planning stage. We've got copies of his papers, but it's going to take time to get them to England, and more time to get them translated. If they're coded as well, it'll take even longer. By the time our people have worked out what Project Termite is, it could be too late. But there's one person who might have an idea of what Wolfert's doing. And she might just be prepared to work with us on it."
"You think she'd turn on Wolfert?" Newkirk paused, considering the possibility. "She's very standoffish with him," he said at length. "He's absolutely besotted, but she doesn't seem to like him above half. I know she's got form for getting cosy with some right nasty geezers, but maybe she's not with Wolfert by choice. Some of those ruddy Krauts don't take no for an answer." His jaw clenched at the thought.
"It's possible," said Hogan. "But I think there's something else going on. She took a big chance, hiding you from him, just so she could talk about Kilmarnock. It's got to mean something."
For a minute or so, nobody spoke. Kinch kept his eyes on Hogan, as if trying to read whatever it was the colonel didn't want to say aloud. Newkirk fidgeted, but Carter hardly dared move, and almost jumped out of his skin when the silence was broken by the incoming transmission.
Hogan straightened up, watching the dawning look of stunned amazement on the radio man's face. Without a word, Kinch handed him the notebook. He read the message, then sighed. "I was right," he said.
"What is it, Colonel?" asked Newkirk. "What's going on at Kilmarnock?"
"Absolutely nothing," replied Hogan. "It's not the place that matters. It's the name." He looked down at the words spelled out in Kinch's neat, rapid handwriting. "'Kilmarnock. Recognition code identifying deep cover agent, code name Nightingale. Provide all possible assistance.'"
"She's one of ours?" Newkirk stared at him, staggered. "But - but - blimey, Colonel, what about her and Wolfert?"
Carter's mouth had fallen open; he gave a half-hysterical giggle of sheer astonishment. "Boy, when they say deep cover, they aren't kidding."
"It's pretty unbelievable, Colonel," said Kinch. "I sure wouldn't have picked her for an Allied agent. Everything we know about her..."
"Everything we know, we have to look at again," Hogan interrupted. "Wolfert leaves for Berchtesgaden first thing in the morning. Once he's gone, I'll go through the tunnel and pay his girlfriend a little social call. But there's someone else I have to talk to first. I'll go see him tonight, after lights out."
"Who's that, Colonel?" asked Carter.
Hogan tore the page from the notebook, and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't answer Carter's question; and neither Kinch nor Newkirk needed to ask. They already knew who the colonel would be calling on that night.
