Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 1916
Robert stood rigidly in the doorway, scowling at the large grandfather clock in the foyer. Matthew and Mary were huddled together by the door, smiling and beaming at each other. Their goodbye had taken over five minutes already, and Robert was debating escaping back to the morning room to wait them out a while longer. Robert flexed his jaw as he sighed and averted his eyes at their displays of affection. Matthew held Mary's hand, except for when he touched her now slightly bulging stomach. Robert did not know when Mary had become so openly affectionate. She must have picked it up in Manchester, he thought. Among other things, he grumbled to himself.
Finally tired of standing by, Robert stepped purposefully into the foyer, his footfalls loud across the marble floor.
"Good day, Robert," Matthew said politely, nodding to the Earl. "And goodbye, darling," he smiled, leaning over and kissing Mary firmly.
Mary nodded at her husband, a curious smile on her lips. Matthew was through the door in an instant as Bates helped Robert with his coat.
"Good day, Papa," Mary said graciously, the smug smile still adorning her face. "I'll see you tonight at dinner."
Robert looked down at his shoes as Bates buttoned up his coat.
"I'm staying at Sandhurst for the rest of the week," Robert said flatly. "We're increasing the training schedule to get the soldiers out faster."
"Ah," Mary nodded. "I shall see you in a week then."
Mary looked away and her smile turned into a grin. Robert rolled his eyes. It was strange how seeing Mary enjoying the life he imagined for her ages ago – married to the heir to the Earldom, living in London running her own household – now seemed to grate on him.
"Let Matthew know, please," Robert said curtly, taking his hat and turning for the door.
"I'll tell him when he calls this afternoon," Mary said lightly.
Robert frowned again. He turned slightly and looked at his eldest daughter.
"He phones in shortly after lunch each day to check on me," Mary shrugged, the smile never leaving her lips. "I've half a mind to tell him I've gone into early labour just to scare him a little bit."
Mary chuckled at her joke and patted her stomach.
"Do not joke about such things, Mary," Robert said dismissively. "And I hope you are keeping your conversations to a minimum. Matthew has very important work to attend to. You can always talk to him in the evenings."
"Don't be a spoilsport, Papa," Mary rolled her eyes. "I always tell him that I'm feeling fine and order him to go back to work."
"Good," Robert nodded. "You can call your Mama if you need any help, of course."
Mary nodded. "Don't worry, Papa. Your potential grandson and Matthew's heir is healthy and happy, as far as I know. I've felt much better since we moved to London."
"Very well," Robert said, turning back towards the door.
"And don't worry about whether it will be a boy or not. I expect that Matthew and I are going to have several more children," Mary said over her shoulder, smirking to herself as she went back upstairs.
Robert shook his head, muttering as he left Grantham House and disappeared into the back of the waiting motor.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, September 1916
Matthew sat at his desk, scanning over the page in front of him with a pencil. The office was rather quiet today, which he preferred to the manic atmosphere that would sometimes greet a new intercepted transmission. It could be as rowdy as a weekend crowd at Old Trafford one day and as quiet as the library in his former law firm's office the next.
Matthew did not know what to expect when he first arrived weeks ago. It was easy to understand who a soldier was and the skills one required to be a good one. Similarly, Matthew could easily picture who a typical Navy sailor was, or even a fighter pilot in the Royal Air Force. These members of the Navy – the cryptoanalysts, the codebreakers – were just regular looking people, and that was somewhat unnerving. He felt somewhat lost, having no idea what made any of these people particularly good at their task, or what made him a proper candidate to join their first few days were spent learning everyone's names, and countless hours sifting through the numerous codebooks that British Intelligence had captured from the Germans since the beginning of the War. It was so much gibberish to him at first, and he'd taken over a dozen tries to decipher his first test message, until Reverend Montgomery and his cohort, Nigel de Grey, amusedly reminded Matthew that the decoded message was in German and had to be translated to English.
It was Mary who had put him at ease during his first week. She had teased him that she would not dare coerce any of His Majesty's secrets from him, and had even made his pulse jump by seductively saying she found it quite glamorous that she was married to a spymaster. In a fit of his usual exasperation, Matthew had bemoaned that he had no idea what he was doing or why he had been chosen to join Room 40 in the first place. It was easier to measure his performance against normal and typical military characteristics – his ability to fire a rifle, or batten down a hatch or do whatever it was that pilots did to fly an aeroplane. What made a good codebreaker?
His pique had manifested itself in a huff after they had retired to bed. Mary took the book from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. She then had slinked her body over his, drawing his full attention as she ran her fingers through his hair and smirked at him.
"Darling," she drawled. "Are you saying that you aren't sure how to act in a room full of swots?"
Matthew swallowed. "They aren't all swots, at least, not entirely anyway, from what I can tell…"
"It seems to be that your colleagues are all talented at one particular thing – burying themselves in books. And I am supremely confident that when it comes to a race between bookworms, my husband can read with the best of them."
Matthew could only roll his eyes and laugh. He feigned annoyance that Mary dare lump him in with a group of swots, which had led to Mary feigning an apology and feigning innocence when she asked how she could possibly make up for her horrible insult. He had arrived at work the next day with a glazed expression on his face, the memory of Mary's penance still vivid in his mind.
She was right though. Codebreaking was simply the practice of examining an encoded message and looking for patterns and hints on how it was encrypted. While the stolen German codebooks were helpful, they were outdated and not entirely accurate. However, by studying them, Matthew easily picked up that the Germans were rather uncreative when it came to scrambling their messages. They used basic ciphers and kept the coded words in alphabetical order. Matthew quickly established his own logical process for applying different techniques to a message to unravel its code. It became a game to him, seeing how many steps it took for him to crack a message. Mary was not at all surprised as Matthew's mood improved by leaps and bounds as the days and weeks carried on. His enthusiasm for his job was adorable, even if the subject matter was entirely tedious.
"Dilly spent a week trying to break a German naval communication, and I managed it in a morning!" Matthew crowed one evening over dinner.
"Really, darling, it was boring enough to hear about your job before you began to succeed," Mary joked, patting his hand. Matthew could only smile back at her. She would never admit it, but his boring job had kept him in England and allowed them to live together in London by themselves, two realities they did not expect when the government had called him to service months ago.
It was to Reverend Montgomery's surprise that Matthew even refused to use the tabulating machine they had installed to help streamline the process of decoding messages. Matthew preferred his deliberate method, going step-by-step, grinding away at the problem until it was solved. The machine was cumbersome and difficult to use and understand, and Matthew did not completely understand it. Taking a transmission and using his brain to peel away the layers hiding the true message underneath – that he could do.
The only continuing disappointment was that for all of their skill in decoding German messages, there were very few 'Eureka!' moments for the denizens of Room 40. It was rare that they found out the dates or details of specific strategies, or anything that was Earth shattering in the least. Most of the coded messages were relaying information that was either outdated by the time they decoded it, or revelations that the Army was already aware of. This War was being fought face-to-face, across long trenches and between large forces killing each other over a few kilometres of land. Those on the front lines did not need codebreakers to tell them what they could see in front of them.
Still, Matthew carried on, enjoying having somewhere to go each day and challenges that, while perhaps not substantively valuable, still fired his mind. Moreover, he was greatly enjoying his new life with Mary. She ran the small staff at Grantham House with a practised hand, and had their social engagements planned weeks in advance. They had a version of the life he imagined for them in Manchester. He working at an office doing something stimulating; she in charge of their home, a child on the way. He found himself loving the routine of it all, the pleasant anticipation he felt when the car pulled into St. James Square and approached Grantham House, eager to greet his wife at the end of the day.
If only he could do something to help end the blasted War, he would have no complaints at all.
Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October, 1916
"Mary," Matthew said sweetly as he settled into bed next to his wife.
"Yes?" she said innocently, her fingers absentmindedly playing with her braid.
"We have to talk about a name for the baby."
"No," Mary said insistently.
"You know that Papa did not want my son to be named Reginald."
"But I do," Mary said as she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Why do you of all people want to talk me out of this? My son will be named after your father. It's the least that we can do, Matthew. If you come to your senses and quit haranguing me about this topic, I may consider your name as the baby's middle name. But, you're pushing my patience."
Matthew sighed. He did not particularly care about this topic, truly, but when his mother had visited them for a weekend last month, she had discreetly told him to not allow Mary to use his father's name for the baby. Matthew always knew his Papa did not want to follow such antiquated traditions, and had even objected to Matthew having the middle name Reginald, but ultimately Matthew always though it was more said in self-deprecation and in jest.
"Your father held his independence above all else," Isobel said firmly. "He did not push for you to follow him into medicine, and he would not want his grandson saddled with either expectation or responsibility. It may be symbolic only, but your father believed that one's identity began with one's name. You must fight Mary on this and convince her that her well intentioned tribute is misguided."
In some ways, Matthew found it funny that he still was not particularly adept at convincing Mary of anything. They argued well enough, but he tended not to keep track of the score between them as it was decidedly unflattering to him.
"Well, all of this is moot if we have a baby girl," Matthew said diplomatically.
"It is," Mary said. "In that case, I would consider Regina Isobel."
Matthew rolled his eyes and pulled her close. He kissed her cheek softly, then moved to her neck.
"Do not even think that seduction will win this argument for you," Mary frowned, a smile coming to her as his lips danced across her skin. "I'm well aware of your games, Matthew."
"I propose a compromise," Matthew said sweetly. "If we have a boy we could use Papa's middle name."
Mary closed her eyes and concentrated, her husband's lips and hands distracting her from recalling such a simple detail. She finally remembered her father-in-law's full name inscribed in the skylight at Manchester City Hall.
Dr. Reginald George Crawley
Mary sighed contentedly as Matthew's attentions grew more insistent. She was loathe to capitulate to him, but she did rather like the sound of George Crawley.
"I will consider your argument," Mary smiled. As his hand swept across her belly, she moved her fingers down his front and grasped him between his legs.
"Allow me to make my first submission then," Matthew grinned, taking hold of her lips and massaging her thigh with clear intent.
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, November 1916
"Matthew, good work on yesterday's messages," Reverend Montgomery said gruffly, looking over the pages scattered across his desk. "We usually see a slow down over once we reach December. Even though there is no official ceasefire, the forces on both sides tend to slow down once Winter sets in and Christmas approaches."
"I'm glad to hear some things are still considered sacred, sir," Matthew nodded.
"Yes, well in light of our slower traffic, I'm going to put you in charge of monitoring the American diplomatic cable," Reverend Montgomery said. "It's all clear traffic. The Americans only allow the Germans to use it for limited diplomatic purposes, to communicate with their Embassy mostly. It all seems ridiculous to me, but the Americans seem to think by cooperating with the Germans on this, it will encourage peace talks. A lot of good it's done so far…"
"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded.
"Anyway, I know it isn't particularly worthy of your talents, but I don't want you staying late here into December. Your place is back in Yorkshire with your wife. When is the baby due again?" Reverend Montgomery asked.
"Sometime in January, sir," Matthew answered. "My family is actually coming up for Winter Season so I'll be here through the beginning of December. We usually spend Christmas and New Year's at Downton, but I don't need to…"
"Matthew," Reverend Montgomery warned. "In these times, family is even more important. You can take on a bigger workload in January, but until your baby is born, I want you to ease up a little. You're already the fastest one of all of us. Nigel is beginning to get jealous of you, truth be told."
Matthew's eyes went wide. "Sir, I apologize! I…"
"He's not too upset about it, Matthew…not yet..." Reverend Montgomery smiled. "Now, let's say that the week before Christmas, you will go home where you belong and we shall see you back here in mid-January. If anything urgent comes up, we'll call you back of course."
"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"You're most welcome, Matthew. Now, get back to work. It isn't December yet," Reverend Montgomery smiled.
Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1916
"What do you think?" Mary smiled, smoothing her dress over her stomach.
"It's quite…blue," Matthew said, glancing around the newly refurbished nursery.
"We can always change it if necessary," Mary smiled, coming over and linking her arm in his. "But I expect the colour will suit."
"You aren't going to be upset if the baby turns out to be a girl, will you?" Matthew asked.
"Of course not," Mary scoffed. "Sybil, Edith and I saw the most darling little dresses when we were shopping in London last week. I believe I'm having a boy, but I won't be disappointed darling, not at all."
"Good," Matthew nodded. "I know that there are expectations upon you to produce an heir, but we there's no rush, Mary."
"I know," Mary agreed. "It's just that, well, I don't want Edith to beat me to it."
Matthew chuckled. "Has anything developed in that area?"
"Edith isn't talking about it, thank God," Mary rolled her eyes as they walked out into the upstairs hallway. "I refuse to even acknowledge that she and Sir Anthony share the same bed, let alone…anything else."
"You never know, darling," Matthew smirked. "There is something to be said for experience, after all."
"Matthew!" Mary hissed. "Don't be vulgar! And truthfully, it wouldn't take much at all for him to seem otherworldly compared to Edith's lack of experience. That is one thing he has in his favour. One chaste kiss would have her swooning."
"I thought that becoming a mother would make you kinder to others," Matthew laughed as they reached the stairway and went down to the Great Hall."
"I could have a dozen children and it wouldn't change how I feel about her," Mary said pointedly.
"Well then," Matthew grinned. "Are you saying you're up for a challenge?"
"Let's focus on having this one first," Mary smiled.
"All right," Matthew replied. "The day after she's born, we can start on the next one."
"He will need lots of care and attention," Mary said firmly. "And you will be far too tired between spending time with your son and codebreaking to even want to do anything else."
"You're mad," Matthew shook his head, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I want you right this instant, and you're nearly nine months pregnant."
Mary blushed fiercely. She glared at him as they came into the parlour to rejoin the family.
"So, how did you find the nursery?" Cora beamed at them.
"It's perfect, Cousin Cora, thank you," Matthew nodded.
"You'll meet Nanny next week," Cora nodded. "I was rather impressed with her. Weren't you, Mama?"
"She came highly recommended," Violet said drily. "And it was explained to her that she would be moving to London once the baby is fit to travel."
"I can't say I'm eager to go back," Robert shrugged.
"It's so very nice to have you home for the holidays," Cora smiled.
"Yes, Papa. And you'll get to see the baby," Sybil nodded.
"Well, let's get on with the Game," Matthew suggested. "Mary and I don't stay up as late as we used to, I'm afraid."
They all gathered around the fireplace and Cora ordered Sybil to go up first. Mary sat next to Matthew and linked her hand in his across her stomach. They began calling out answers to Sybil's antics as the fire warmed them and Christmas approached.
"Does anyone have any resolutions for the New Year?" Sybil asked.
Everyone paused from eating their dessert for a moment and thought briefly on the question. Mary and Matthew smiled at each other. Robert seemed particularly pensive.
"Mine are all entirely focused on my grandchild," Isobel nodded.
"Yes, we do have free reign to spoil him, don't we?" Cora agreed.
"Or her," Edith smiled.
"What about you, Sir Anthony?" Matthew asked, looking down the table.
"This past year has been so wonderful, I don't know if I could imagine a better one," Sir Anthony said, smiling at Edith. Edith blushed and looked down at her plate.
"Let's all hope for an end to the War and that that everyone comes home safely," Mary said.
"Well said," Matthew smiled, raising his glass.
"Shall we go through?" Cora suggested, rising from the table. Her daughters, Isobel and Violet followed suit.
Mary squeezed Matthew's hand and he helped her up from her chair. He went to release her hand and turn back to Robert and the others.
"Darling," Matthew smiled, squeezing her hand again. "I'll be through in a minute."
Mary didn't move.
"Mary?" Matthew frowned.
She turned and looked at him, a concerned frown across her face.
"Carson," Mary said shakily. The butler stepped forward, looking at Lady Mary with concern.
"Please have Branson bring the motor around at once, and have Anna fetch my valise from our bedroom," Mary said.
"Yes, my Lady," Carson nodded. "Right away."
He practically ran from the dining room.
Mary looked at Matthew and leaned on his arm.
"We need to go to the hospital. Now," she swallowed.
Matthew's mouth dropped open in shock.
"All right, let's go," Matthew recovered. He placed Mary arm' in his and put his other arm around her back, guiding her towards the door.
"Now?" Robert asked, rising from the table.
"Now, Papa!" Mary said through gritted teeth.
"God in heaven!" Robert exclaimed.
"I'll go get Edith and the others. I expect that Isobel will want to go with them," Sir Anthony said, moving towards the sitting room.
Robert glanced around the now empty room. He took a swig of his port and grimaced, then turned and made his way to the sitting room.
Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, December 1916
Matthew hated waiting. He hated waiting in line at the café. He hated waiting at work for the latest coded message to come across his desk. He hated waiting for the train to arrive. He knew such waiting was both inevitable and normal, but he grew rather impatient when he knew how things were supposed to play out and he had to wait for it all to happen.
Sitting in the waiting room then, while Mary was being attended to by Dr. Clarkson and his mother qualified as torture.
"Do you have a preference?" Robert asked. "Between a boy or a girl?"
Matthew shook his head. "Just as long as the baby and Mary are both healthy."
Robert nodded, looking down at the floor.
"I was anxious when Mary was born as well," Robert said quietly. "My father did not come with me to the hospital. Cora was inside with Clarkson and the nurses and I was out here by myself. When we left Downton, the only thing my father said was that he hoped it was a boy. I was too frightened to care, really. When I finally held her in my arms, I was just…grateful. Grateful that I had this lovely child."
Matthew looked over at the Earl. Robert continued to look at the floor.
"Mary thinks that I wish she was a boy," Robert sighed. "She thinks that I pushed her and was strict with her and treated her as though she was my son, that I was never…kind…with her. She's right…in some ways. But I never wished that she was a boy. She won't believe me, and you probably don't either, but I never regretted that she was my first child. In many ways, she's more formidable than any man I know."
"I can't promise you that she'll ever forgive you, or that you'll ever have a relationship beyond being polite to each other," Matthew said. Robert finally looked up from the floor to stare at him as he spoke. "There may be too much history for both of you to overcome. I will say though, that the entire time that Mary was in Manchester, she didn't dwell upon what happened to her. She was angry, and felt wronged, and did not speak highly of you at all, but she doesn't waste her time with wondering what could have been. She just gets on with it, and I think that you should do that as well. You may not be able to fix what happened between you, but with time, and some effort, you may be able to start again."
"Mr. Crawley," a nurse called from the doorway.
Matthew and Robert both rose from their chairs.
"You can come in and see your son now, sir," the nurse smiled.
Matthew turned to Robert. The Earl nodded to his heir.
Matthew took off quickly.
"Come and meet your son," Mary said softly, smiling up at Matthew as she cradled their baby in her arms.
"You braided your hair," Matthew smiled, sitting down at her bedside. He took his son from her and held him close to his chest. The baby was swaddled in white linens that Cora had used for Mary when she was born. Matthew looked down at the boy's peaceful sleeping face and could not stop grinning widely.
"Anna did it," Mary smiled, looking over at the sight of Matthew holding their child. "I wanted to be presentable for the father of my child."
"You look beautiful, darling," Matthew beamed, leaning over and kissing her softly.
He rose and walked around the room, rocking the boy back and forth.
"George Matthew Crawley," Mary said, leaning back on the pillows.
Matthew turned to her and nodded.
"I'm keeping Reginald as an option for our next son," she said, arching her eyebrow.
"As you wish, my darling," Matthew smiled, looking back at George asleep in his arms.
"As you wish."
Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, January 1917
Matthew sat at his desk, a German codebook spread out in front of him. He had been studying lightly, though he already knew most of what was written on the pages. There had not been much coming through lately for him to look at, and he was filling his time brushing up on his techniques and analyzing old messages. The sheer volume of coded communications that had been intercepted since the beginning of the War was impressive, but most of it was chatter and became obsolete in short order.
He smiled as he looked at the photograph of Mary and George on his desk. They had the baptism before coming back to London and his dear chap was settling in nicely. The boy slept quite a bit, a trait that Isobel said he inherited from Matthew, and Mary was able to rest and recover rather comfortably since she'd been back.
Matthew usually spent an hour with George when he got home from work before the dinner gong sounded. After dinner, he and Mary would look in on the baby before they both went to sleep themselves. Even though George spent most of his time with Nanny, Matthew and Mary found themselves worn out by the time dinner was through.
One of the girls who dealt with deliveries came by Matthew's desk.
"The latest from Porthcurno, Mr. Crawley," she said, dropping a thick envelope on his desk.
"Thank you," Matthew nodded, opening the packet and taking out a stack of papers.
Matthew had to reconcile certain harsh truths about War as part of his occupation. Not only did the British intercept communications from the Germans and other enemies of His Majesty, but they also monitored the wireless communications of certain friendly nations as well, including the United States. As England controlled the telegraph station at Porthcurno, the westernmost station in Europe, most transatlantic communications had to pass through Britain. Though the British were not supposed to monitor or copy any messages sent through those channels, the reality was they had been monitoring American communications for years. Matthew was not entirely surprised when he was told by Reverend Montgomery about this practice. He expected that shadow games abounded in British Intelligence. Odds were the Americans were spying on the British as well in some fashion. It still did not entirely sit well with Matthew that he was literally eavesdropping on communications without any justification.
When he first started monitoring the American diplomatic cables, his conscience was assuaged in part. The messages, encrypted on a basic level by the Americans, were innocuous and irrelevant. The vast majority did not concern Britain or its interests, and could be disregarded. Even the German communications sent to their embassies in North America were unimportant. They weren't coded, for one, meaning nothing truly sensitive was ever transmitted, and second, there was nothing important about the War that needed to be communicated across the Atlantic. Matthew meticulously decoded all of the messages anyway, to keep his skills sharp, but more often than not, the message he found was instructions on what days of the year the American embassies would be closed or some random staffing arrangement that he had no interest in.
He idly thought of Mary as he sifted through the latest ream of paper. As the American messages had only one encryption, he could decode them easily, using the key he had memorized long ago. He almost saw it as a game – could he beat his personal record for going through a packet of communications? Everything he looked at would then be reviewed by Reverend Montgomery or Nigel, and he took a small amount of pride in shocking them at how quickly he could process the messages.
Perhaps he could convince Mary to have dinner out sometime this week, he thought. They had not gone out for a proper meal since coming back to London. Mary did not spend all of her waking moments with the boy, but Matthew suspected she was far more attached to him than she let on. Though George was not even three weeks old, Matthew felt the need to have a proper date with Mary, if only as a change of routine. He would have to be careful about how he broached the subject. If he tried to suggest they do something different, she would accuse him of being bored with their life at Grantham House. If he used George as an excuse, she would probably accuse him of being a bad father, or worse, that he was accusing her of being a cold mother who would leave her infant at home to go gallivant around London at night. Matthew smiled at the thought. Though he was hardly an expert on anticipating Mary's reactions and moods, he enjoyed the challenge of sparring with her. It made them both feel alive, this knowledge that they could duel this way.
Matthew turned back to the page in front of him. He went through the code key once again and lined up the decrypted words with the original message. He frowned as he read the finished result.
"Strange," he muttered.
"What's strange?" Nigel asked, coming over to his desk.
Nigel de Grey was a short, thin man who kept to himself and was shy and quiet. He spent most of his time talking with Reverend Montgomery, and tended to leave most of the supervision and direction of the group to him. He had enlisted in the Army shortly after the outbreak of War and served in Belgium before he was recruited to Room 40. Matthew liked him from the moment they were introduced. Nigel was a problem solver, someone who saw the coded messages as puzzles to be unravelled, and he was very good at what he did, being the preeminent codebreaker of the group.
"That's the latest American cables?" Nigel asked.
"Yes," Matthew frowned. "They're all more of the usual, except for this one."
"What's that about?" Nigel asked.
"I'm not sure. It's coded," Matthew said.
"Beyond the standard encryption?"
"Yes," Matthew nodded. "It isn't a clean message like the others."
"Why would the Americans encrypt a coded message on their diplomatic channel? You don't suppose they know we're intercepting them?"
"I can't see how they would," Matthew shook his head. "All the rest of the packet is clean. It's just this one that is coded beyond the standard encryption."
"What code did they use?" Nigel asked, looking down at the paper.
Matthew glanced at the page for several moments. There was something about the pattern of the words and characters that seemed familiar to him.
"It's not American," Matthew said finally. He looked up at Nigel.
"It's German."
"German?" Nigel frowned. "Why would the Americans be sending a coded German message overseas? That's not their arrangement."
"I don't know, but I recognize the code. It's one of the newer ones from the last code book we got from the Russians. The Americans don't use it as far as I'm aware," Matthew said.
"It's probably an oversight, but go ahead and decrypt it just the same," Nigel ordered. "I can't see how anything important would be sent through the Americans, but let's double check to be sure."
"It's going to take a while," Matthew said.
"Take it home, then," Nigel shrugged. "Just don't lose it."
"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded, rising from his desk and collecting his belongings.