Woolsey looked at the pouch. Lamoreaux’s worried that there’s some sort of booby trap, he thought. Actually, it was quite possible. Woolsey knew that this diplomatic pouch was not, in fact, intended to arrive in Washington, but rather it was his job to deliver it to the Tomb in New Haven. They played by different rules.

Woolsey removed the metal bar and unfolded the heavy fabric. He eased open the mouth of the pouch, his heart pounding. Inside, he saw a thick tagboard folder marked “Operation Magic — Highly Confidential.” He pulled it out of the pouch, untied the string wrapped round it, and removed a thick sheaf of papers. To his great relief, there seemed to be no traps within. The real trap was in going against his orders and reading these papers. The Patriarchs would kill him for that if the French didn’t beat them to it.

Woolsey recognized the sheaves of paper. Though the forms differed for different branches of service, he had been working with communications, codes and ciphers since he was commissioned. The top sheets were copied messages from GC&CS, the Government Code and Cypher School at Station X. He had spent a little time there at the estate in Bletchley during his training. There were other decrypts from FECB, the Far East Command Bureau in Singapore, and the most recent came from the Americans at OP-20-G, and that meant the American Naval Codebreakers. The British documents were all carbon copies and dated from July and August, 1941. The American sheets, however, were original raw decrypts in the hand of the men who had taken the messages — definitely not copies. Across the top of the page was written Top Secret Ultra. Below that the date and below that, the code designator: JN-25. Woolsey had no idea what that meant – he had never heard of that code designator, but that was not surprising as he had never worked in intelligence.

He examined the first of the American decrypts. It was dated 19 November and it read: “This dispatch is Top Secret. To be decoded only by an officer. Text: At 0000 on 21 November, carry out second phase of preparations for opening hostilities.” Another, dated 21 November was also marked Top Secret and gave instructions that it should be decoded only by an officer. This one gave specific orders for the “Combined Fleet” to move out of Tankan Bay on the morning of 26 November and advance to a refueling position on 4 December. Woolsey could tell from looking at the latitude and longitude that the position was somewhere in the Pacific. My god, he thought. The message discussed various possible targets, including Pearl Harbor. The officer’s initials on the American decrypts were always the same.

“Lieutenant,” the captain said. “What is it?”

Woolsey glanced up at the Frenchman. He tried to compose his face so as not to give away anything. “Sir, I don’t know yet,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

These had to be decrypts of a Jap code, he thought. My God. He wondered how they’d worked it. The Patriarchs had wanted into this war. They must have had their man inside at Bletchley Park and somehow he had figured out a way to secret these out. Woolsey guessed that not even the American president had seen them.

Woolsey pulled the last message from the bottom of the stack. It was dated 6 December. Oh shit, he thought as he read. They knew. They bloody knew long enough in advance, but they let them all die.

“Lieutenant, I can see from your face these papers are important. Explain to me what they mean,” Captain Lamoreaux said.

Woolsey lifted his head and stared at the captain. He had been so amazed at what he was reading, he had forgotten where he was. In an instant, he realized the explosive nature of what he held in his hands.

“Sir, I’m not sure what this is,” he began, “but I can tell you they will undoubtedly try to sink us before they’d let this get into Hitler’s hands.”

“What is –” the captain started to say, but he was interrupted by a sailor who burst into the cabin babbling in French.

When Woolsey turned to look at the man in the doorway, he saw Michaut’s eyes focused on the documents.

Woolsey shuffled the papers, moving that last sheet back to the bottom of the pile.

Lamoreaux responded curtly to the sailor, then rose and stepped around his desk grabbing his coat which hung from a hook on the wall.

Woolsey stuffed the papers back into the envelope and shoved them all into the diplomatic pouch. He’d understood one word. Avions. Planes.

Captain Lamoreaux turned from the sailor as he shrugged into his coat. “They have not seen us yet, but there is little time. With the radio gone, I order them to prepare the signal lamp in the conning tower. Come.”

Woolsey folded the top of the pouch back to seal it, and added the bar and lock. “This is highly classified, sir. You must secure it.”

“Michaut,” the captain said. He leaned down and pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk. Inside was a strong box. “Take care of it. In there.”

The captain stepped out from behind his desk. He placed his hand on Woolsey’s shoulder and steered him out of the cabin to the companionway that led to the conning tower. “Allons-y, Lieutenant. If these planes are American or British, it will be up to you to save us.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Georgetown 

March 28, 2008

6:05 p.m.

Riley just wanted to sleep. She wanted oblivion. No thinking. Just a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. But instead, Mikey was there trying to shake her awake.

“I tried to warn you,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you straight out because you’d never have believed it coming from me.”

She groaned and rolled over.

He shook her shoulder hard. “He was always a dangerous man. We never knew he could be a danger to us.”

“Leave me alone. Let me sleep.” She pushed him away.

“I tried to stop them.” He touched her hair.

“No,” she said, trying to pull the blanket up over her head.

“You’ve got to wake up.” The hand caressed her shoulder.

“Go away,” she said and she pushed at the hand.

“No way. Not without you, Magee.”

“What?” She opened one eye. The person with one hand on her shoulder was Cole Thatcher. She squeezed the eye closed again and shook her head, trying to throw off the nether sleep world and come fully awake. When she opened both eyes this time, she saw that, without a doubt, those were Cole’s arched eyebrows.

“Hey, sleepy.”

She groaned as it all played back to her. Her father. I would have stopped it if I could, but they said he had to die. Yorick, his Bones name. Dig’s hands on her father’s head. That sound. That unforgettable crunching sound as her father’s head turned too far. Oh God, Dad.

“Time to wake up.”

Cole. He had been there for her. But why? What was he doing here?

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “Now. Kayla saw a black Lincoln with tinted windows cruise down the street twice.”

Riley sat up, all vestiges of sleep ebbing with the surge of adrenaline. “Shit. Where are my shoes?”

“Right here,” he said, handing her the sneakers.

As she laced them up, she asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours. It’s a little after six.”

“Where’s Hazel?”

“Packing. She’s coming with us. She’s going to arrange for me to fly back down to the islands, and she’s taking you somewhere safe. We’re supposed to meet her in the hall by that big staircase.”

Riley swung her legs off the bed, but when she stood, the room seemed to tilt. So they had already decided her future for her? She grabbed the bed’s footboard and steadied herself. Now was not the time to get into that. “Okay,” she said. She had learned long ago that a soldier had to pick her battles. If Dig was coming, she had to get them all away from him. “Let’s go.”