“Good,” Colin said, holding the torch out to him.
“No, this one won’t work,” he said. “It’s too modern. And it needs to be fitted with a special blackout hood to eliminate the beam’s being seen from above. Go ask Props if they have one with a hood, and if they haven’t, then paste strips of black paper over the glass. Hurry.”
“Yes, sir,” Colin said, and dashed out.
“You have the coordinates ready?” Dunworthy asked Linna as soon as Colin was gone.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “We can do it as soon as Colin—”
He went over to the door and locked it. “Send me through.”
“But I thought—”
“The last thing I need is a seventeen-year-old tagging along while I’m trying to find a missing historian,” he said, walking over to the net and ducking under its already descending folds. “A seventeen-year-old who, as Badri can attest, has a history of stowing away on journeys to the past.” He centered himself on the grid.
“Ready,” he said to her.
“I think you should at least wait until we’ve set up the return drop,” Badri said. “If there’s increased slippage, and you go through later than—”
“You can set it up after you send me through. Now, Linna.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. She began typing, and he saw the beginnings of the shimmer.
“Don’t send anyone else through on assignment till I return. And if Polly comes back through to check in, keep her here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Colin’s not to be allowed anywhere near the net while I’m gone.”
The shimmer was beginning to grow and flare, obscuring Linna’s features. “He’s not to come through after me—or Polly—under any circumstances,” he said, but it was too late. The net was already opening.
Very well met and well come!
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
Bletchley—November 1940
TURING. OH, GOD. HE’D COLLIDED WITH ALAN TURING AND nearly got him killed. “That was Turing?” Mike asked, and grabbed for the wall, his legs suddenly unsteady.
“Oh, you are hurt!” Elspeth said. “Here, come inside and sit down. And you’re limping!”
“No, that’s not—” he began, but the girls were already helping him up the steps and inside.
“People like that should be forbidden from riding bicycles,” Mavis said indignantly. “Let me see your foot.”
“Did you say Turing?” Mike said. “Alan Turing?”
“Yes,” Elspeth said. “Do you know him?”
“No. I knew a guy named Turing in college. A math—”
“That’s him. They say he’s a genius at maths.”
“Well, I don’t care if he’s a genius or not,” Mavis said. “I intend to give him a piece of my mind!”
“No! Don’t say anything to him. I’m all right.”
“But he may have broken your foot—”
“No, he didn’t. It was shot off.”
Their eyes widened, and Elspeth, obviously impressed, said, “Were you at Dunkirk?”
“Yes. The point is, he didn’t hurt me. I was just shaken up for a minute. There’s no need to say anything to Mr. Turing. I was the one who wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“You were the one?” Mavis said indignantly. “Turing never pays the slightest attention to where he’s going. He simply plows through pedestrians.”
Elspeth nodded. “Someone needs to tell him he must be more careful! He could have injured you!”
And I could have injured him, Mike thought. Or killed him. If Turing had lost control of his bicycle and crashed into a lamppost instead of the curb, or into a brick wall …
Mavis said, “I’ve a good mind to tell Cap—”
“No. There’s no need to tell anybody. I’m fine. No harm done. Thank you for picking me up and dusting me off.” He picked up his bag, which Mavis had carried in.
“Oh, don’t go,” Elspeth said. “We want to hear about Dunkirk.” She perched on the arm of the couch. “Was it exciting? It must have been dangerous.”
“Not half as dangerous as this place,” he said.
Elspeth laughed, but not Mavis. She was looking curiously at him. “Why were you at Dunkirk? Aren’t you an American?”
Oh, Jesus, worse and worse. He hadn’t even been thinking what he was saying, he’d been so upset about nearly killing Turing, and now he’d just blown his cover.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“I knew it,” Mavis said smugly, and Elspeth added, “Oh, good, we adore Americans. But what were you doing at Dunkirk?”
You can’t say you’re a reporter. “A friend of mine had a boat. We thought we’d go over and see if we could lend a hand.”
“Oh, how thrilling!” Elspeth said. “You’ve no idea how exciting it is to meet someone who’s actually doing something important in the war.”
“You must stay to tea and tell us all about it,” Mavis said. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”
“No, don’t.” He stood up. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I’m interrupting—”
“No, you’re not,” Elspeth said. “We’re off duty tonight.”
“But it’s getting late, and I have to find a place to stay. I don’t suppose you know of any rooms that are available?”
“In Bletchley?” Elspeth said, as if he’d asked for an apartment on the moon.
“I’m afraid everything’s filled up for miles around,” Mavis said. “We’re three to a room here.”
“Did I hear someone say we’re getting a new roommate?” a female voice called down from upstairs. “Tell her there’s no room.” A young woman came running down the stairs. She was very buxom and very blonde. “We’re crammed in like pilchards as it is—oh, hullo,” she said, coming over to meet Mike. “Are you going to be billeted here? How lovely!”
“He’s not billeted here, Joan,” Mavis said. “Even if we weren’t full up, Mrs. Braithewaite only lets to girls,” she explained to Mike. “She says it saves complications.”
I can imagine, Mike thought, looking at Joan.
“Have you been to the billeting office yet?” Elspeth asked.
Billeting office? “No,” he said. “I just arrived.”
“Well, when you go,” Elspeth said, “tell them it’s essential you live close in, or they’ll put you up in Glasgow.”
“And you must insist on seeing your billet first,” Mavis added. “Some of them are dreadful. WC at the bottom of the garden, and bedbugs!”
He was still thinking about what they’d said about a billeting office. He should have thought of that. Of course the administration at Bletchley Park would be in charge of assigning lodgings. He’d been thinking he could rent a room and hint to his landlady that he worked out at the Park, but if everyone who worked there got lodgings through the billeting office—
“He might try the Empire Hotel,” Joan said to Mavis.
“It’s full up,” Mavis said, and to Mike, “Everything’s full up. Even closets. Our friend Wendy’s sleeping in the pantry at her billet, in among the bottled peaches.”
“The billeting office isn’t open on a Sunday,” Joan said. “We could sneak him upstairs for tonight.”
“No,” the other two said in unison.
“What about the Bell?” Elspeth asked.
Mavis shook her head.
“Well, maybe they’ll let me sleep in the lobby,” Mike said, and went to the door.
“You’re certain you can’t stay a bit longer?” Joan asked.
“Afraid not. Thanks for all your help. Do any of you happen to know—” But before he could ask whether they knew a Gerald Phipps, they began giving him directions to the Bell. “And if it hasn’t any rooms, the Milton’s two streets down—”