Angels in the Gloom

highly uncharacteristic.

“They are going to test the prototype!” he said, his voice sharp and high. “At sea. On the Cormorant. Day after tomorrow. We’ll have to be very quick.”

The Peacemaker was astounded. In spite of his usual self-mastery his heart was beating faster and the palms of his hands were wet. All thoughts of discipline for the carelessness of stopping outside the door vanished from his mind. “Sea trials?” He tried to keep his voice level, and failed. “So you’ve completed it? You told me there were still problems!”

“There were. Corcoran told us he was abandoning it, or at least we were. I didn’t believe him.” His face was a strange mixture of expressions, unreadable. “I didn’t think he would admit defeat, but I had no idea he had the answer and was just going to cheat us out of having a part in it. I suppose I should have seen it.”

“Are you certain?” The Peacemaker could not suppress the excitement bursting up inside him. This could be a superb victory! The device completed, and stolen for Germany. It could end the war in months. “Absolutely certain?” This gamble had proved a stroke of genius. His heart was lurching in his chest, making his breath uneven.

“Yes,” the young man answered. “They are taking it down to Portsmouth tonight and putting it on board the Cormorant, ready to sail in the morning.”

“Who are they sending with it? You?”

“No. I don’t know who’s guarding it. Probably someone from naval intelligence, but it’s supposed to be used by ordinary gunners.”

“Gunners?” the Peacemaker was surprised. “Not scientists?”

“No. Unless they have plans they haven’t told us. But if it were anyone from the Establishment it would have to be Iliffe or me, and it isn’t.”

The Peacemaker steadied his breathing with an effort. “You have done extremely well,” he said gravely. He must not praise the young man too much. It was the cause that mattered. Arrogance always caused mistakes in the end, and there was much ahead for this man yet. He would be rewarded appropriately, not more. He smiled. “Now I understand why you came so hastily that you overlooked the rudimentary precaution of getting out of your taxi a street away. Don’t do that again.”

The eagerness did not dim in the young man’s face. “No time,” he said simply. “You’ll need to move immediately. Whatever you’re going to do, it will have to be right now.”

“I’m prepared. I assume that if the police had progressed any further in learning who killed Blaine, you would have told me?”

“Of course. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s finished without him.”

“On the contrary,” the Peacemaker said with a touch of chill. “It matters even more. Since it was not us, and would hardly be British Intelligence, it means there is some other interest of which neither of us is aware.”

“Domestic tragedy after all?” the young man said, but there was not quite the same certainty in his voice as before, nor the bright edge of intelligence.

“And smashed the first prototype?” the Peacemaker said sarcastically.

The young man blushed. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It has to be Lucas or Iliffe, but I have no idea which one.”

“Then go back and find out,” the Peacemaker ordered. “I need to know.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man’s face was paler now, the fire within him under control.

“Go,” the Peacemaker said softly. “I have much to do. You have done brilliantly, Morven. Your action today may have saved a hundred thousand lives.” He held out his hand.

The young man hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m doing what I believe to be right,” he said quickly. “I don’t want thanks for that. I do it for myself.”

“I know.” The Peacemaker’s voice was gentle, a different kind of warmth in it, almost a tenderness. “I know you do. Go back. You are not finished yet.”

Once he was outside, Morven took a long, deep breath, and his whole body trembled. Then he controlled himself with a passionate effort and walked along the footpath.

As soon as the Peacemaker was alone, he moved across the room toward the telephone. He had not expected the guidance device to be completed so soon. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that it would not be created at all. Now suddenly it was going to be tested at sea. He had to send someone with the skills and the resources to get themselves into the crew of the Cormorant at a day’s notice, and the strength, the iron nerve, and the ingenuity to steal the device. That meant a man of wide experience and the ability to blend into any group of men and seem to be one of them, but also with an organization behind him who could and would do whatever they were asked.

And of course he would also have to inform Germany of it, so they could send a U-boat to intercept the Cormorant, which would take skill and some planning. If the device was as brilliant as Morven had said, it was the ultimate weapon!

There was only one answer: Patrick Hannassey. He was perfect. If there was any man in Europe who could get himself onto the Cormorant as a member of the crew, and be unremarkable, competent, a man whose face or mannerisms no one would remember, and yet have the intelligence, the imagination, and the cold, brutal instincts to kill if necessary, it was he.

He would get the prototype into the hands of the Germans. And in so doing, he would have to go with it himself. The Germans would probably have to employ more than one U-boat, and in all likelihood end in sinking the Cormorant, which was a loss the Peacemaker regretted. Still, bitter as that sacrifice would be, it was small as a price for ending the war now in May of 1916, instead of God knew when!

And it had the added, and now quite urgent, beauty that a word from the Peacemaker to his cousin in Berlin, and the Germans would keep Hannassey, get rid of him if necessary. He must not be allowed to return. A mention of his aims, a free and peaceful Ireland, demanding money, an even larger share of power and total independence, would be sufficient to see that Berlin removed him from the scene.

Yes. It was excellent! A better outcome than he would have dreamed possible, even this morning. He picked up the telephone.

Matthew reported for duty on board the HMS Cormorant. He was familiar with the sea from having spent holidays on the coast in small boats, but this would be very different. It was a relief to be able at last to do something personally to strike against the enemy who had, until this point, outwitted and outplayed him at every stroke. Somewhere on this ship, unless both he and Shearing had misjudged, there would be another man placed as late and as artificially as he was. That other newcomer would be here to steal the prototype for Germany, just as Matthew was here to catch him, and through him the murderer of Theo Blaine.

He had never been on a warship before, only seen them from the shore, low and sleek, gray castles of steel on the gray water, decks dominated by bridge and gun turrets. There was very little rigging, just one relatively small mast and two cross-spars, enough for signaling and radio. Funnels proclaimed the power of mighty engines. There was no grace and beauty of sails as at Trafalgar, or sound of the wind in canvas. They were more like wolves than swans in flight.

Once on board the differences were perhaps less great. He was welcomed without ceremony, merely one of eight new men replacing those killed or injured. As an officer, albeit junior, he had a cabin to himself. Perhaps that was Archie’s doing. As he unpacked his few belongings and stowed them in the space under the high, hard bunk and in the chest of drawers, he concluded that if shared, such cramped quarters would have made his task infinitely more difficult.

The only other furniture was a washstand, a chair, and a hinged table that let down as a desk. The whole space was about five paces by three, with a port over the bunk. But then the entire ship was less than two hundred feet long.

He must familiarize himself with it as soon as possible, learn every passage, stairway, every fitting and its use, every room, and at least something of every one of the hundred and twenty-seven men, and what his job was. One of them was his enemy.

He must go up and report to the signal room, and he could not afford to get lost. All the passages were narrow; one could barely pass anyone without touching him. On the floor was a curious substance, rough to the feel, a mixture of cork and India rubber known as corticine. Everything else was metal, with the occasional glass