The Blue Rose

‘Early in World War II, a top-secret team of British code breakers set up shop at an old Victorian manor in Buckinghamshire called Bletchley Park. Station X, it was dubbed. Their objective was to break seemingly unbreakable German military codes. If they could crack them, they would be able to target German supply shipments, eavesdrop on Luftwaffe activities, and most important, locate and destroy the U-boats that were playing havoc with Allied convoys.’

‘Somebody wrote a novel about it, I believe,’ Kate remarked.

Kingston nodded. ‘Enigma. Damned good one, too.’ He polished off the last strawberry and took a sip of the dessert wine. ‘The coded messages were transmitted daily on a code-making machine the Germans called Enigma,’ he said. ‘It was a devilishly clever contraption capable of scrambling messages in an astronomical number of ways. To make things even more difficult, the Jerries changed the wiring set-up for their transmitters and receivers daily. So the messages intercepted by our lads were utter gibberish.’

‘The odds against anyone breaking the code must have been staggering,’ said Kate.

‘I’m told that, for anyone who didn’t know the machine settings, the odds were a hundred and fifty million million million to one,’ Kingston replied.

Kate whistled.

‘I read somewhere that it supposedly pioneered the age of the computer,’ said Alex.

‘That was actually the contraption our chaps developed to decipher the codes sent on the Enigma. It was called Colossus. And you’re right, Alex, it’s believed to be the world’s first programmable electronic computer.’

‘Those chaps must have been awfully clever,’ said Kate.

‘Sheer genius is more like it. Helped by counter-espionage and a bit of luck here and there.’

‘How did they find all these geniuses at such short notice?’ asked Alex.

‘At the beginning it was quite a motley group. A lot of them were cryptic crossword puzzle whizzes – mostly The Times and the Telegraph, I believe. There were chess masters, mathematicians, all kinds of intellectuals. One was a rare book dealer, apparently. People with eidetic minds,’ Kingston added.

Kate had never heard of the word. She reminded herself to look it up later.

‘What was amazing,’ Kingston continued, ‘was that they were all sworn to absolute secrecy – not only at the time but for some thirty years after the end of the war. Churchill described it as “his goose that laid the golden egg but never cackled”.’

‘Where on earth did you learn all this, Lawrence?’ asked Alex.

‘At Bletchley Park. After seeing Jennifer, I stopped off there. It’s a museum now, run by a charitable trust – the grounds are lovely. You should go up there sometime.’

‘I think we will, when this rose business is over,’ said Kate.

There was a pause in the conversation while she stacked the dessert plates and placed them to one side. She smoothed the tablecloth in front of her and looked at Kingston. ‘So, Lawrence, your theory is that since we now know that Major Cooke and Captain Farrow were part of the secret team at Bletchley, it’s almost certain that, one way or another, they were familiar with cryptography. Is that the right word?’

‘Yes, it is. And yes, that’s right, Kate,’ Kingston replied. ‘It’s quite plausible that they would have known of the Enigma programme. Which means,’ he said, picking up his glass and gently swirling the last drops of wine, ‘that instead of inventing a code for their horticultural experiments, they simply used an existing code. Perhaps one of the more fundamental ones. Impossible for most people to decipher, but a piece of cake for any former Bletchley cryptographer.’

‘Why use a code for hybridizing roses in the first place?’ asked Alex. ‘It all seems a bit pointless. Aren’t we over-reaching just a wee bit? All this cloak and dagger stuff?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Kingston retorted. ‘Not if Cooke and Farrow sensed they were close to a breakthrough as earthshaking as a blue rose.’

Kate thought Alex’s question reasonable but it was clear by Kingston’s frown that he didn’t agree one bit.

‘Under the circumstances,’ he said, straightening up in his chair and looking down his nose at Alex, ‘some kind of coded entries of their cross-pollinating would be logical – even advisable, I would say. It’s not at all far- fetched. Besides, they were old army chums. It was fun. Brought back memories of their old days.’

‘You know something,’ said Kate. ‘Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead. It seems to me that if we continue digging into this code business we might well end up establishing that Cooke and Farrow did, indeed, create the rose. This seems counterproductive to what Adell is doing – trying to establish us as the rightful owners.’

Alex was looking testy. ‘Look, if I recall correctly, Adell’s last words were that we were to proceed on the assumption that we are the sole owners.’ He looked briefly at Kate, then rested his eyes on Kingston. ‘So, for the time being, why don’t we do that?’

‘I think Alex is right,’ said Kate, breaking the momentary silence.

Kingston simply shrugged.

Alex folded his napkin and placed it tidily in front of him. ‘Going back to what you were saying, Lawrence – about the code thing. I’ll buy your theory,’ he said, ‘but who the hell would be capable of cracking the Major’s code now? This Enigma business was nearly sixty years ago. Surely most of those people are long gone by now, aren’t they?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Kingston, ‘but I’ve been doing a little digging on my own.’

‘Of course you have,’ Alex muttered.

Kingston ignored the jibe. ‘When I was up at Bletchley I posed the question to the director, a nice lady. As I expected, nobody on the staff up there has any knowledge of the codes themselves, but she suggested that I talk to the Defence Intelligence and Security Centre people at Chicksands in Bedfordshire.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. ‘If we draw a blank there, there would appear to be no other avenues left open, I’m afraid.’

‘If we know the code, does that mean we can replicate the rose? Create more of them?’ Kate asked.

‘In all probability, yes. But there’s a small problem.’

‘What’s that?’ Alex asked.

‘The missing journal,’ said Kingston.

‘What about it?’

‘I’d bet a tidy sum that the crossing formula necessary to do that is contained in the missing journal. That’s why it’s missing.’

‘Somebody else knows about the blue rose?’ Kate asked, frowning.

‘I wouldn’t rule it out entirely,’ Kingston said, leaning back in his chair.

Chapter Nine

But ne’er the rose without the thorn.

Robert Herrick

Another week went by and July continued miserable. An umbrella shop couldn’t have wished for a better day. Stumbling along the shiny, slick pavement of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Alex did his best to shield Kate and himself from the constantly shifting curtains of rain that whipped across the square, beating a tattoo on his black umbrella. Every once in a while he would peek around the edge of the near-horizontal brolly, getting his face drenched each time he did so. At last he saw the alley and the welcoming portal of Sheridan, Adell and Broughton’s offices. In the next hour or so they would get an update on Adell’s progress with the auction arrangements. It was now three weeks since their last meeting.

‘Nasty day,’ Chris Adell said, relieving them of their coats, umbrella, and Kate’s beret.

‘Phew,’ Alex whistled, as his body adjusted to the comfortable warmth of the room. ‘They’ll be pairing off the