so often were, owing to weather interfering with the radio signals or circumstances forcing the W/Ts to rush. But the message was neat and clean. “In the Cardinal’s nest. Eggs safe.” Eleanor ran her fingers over the page, hearing Marie’s voice in the text typed across the page. “The Cardinal” was a reference to Vesper, and “eggs” meant her radio had arrived intact.
The text was unremarkable and smooth, indistinct. It might have been written by anyone. Marie’s heaviness on the first letter, the hallmark of her fist print, was lighter than usual.
Eleanor scanned the message for Marie’s security checks, the mistakes she had been trained to include to verify her identity. She knew Marie’s bluff check was to substitute a p for the thirty-fifth letter, but the message wasn’t long enough for that. Nor did it contain a c where she should have substituted for a k, her true check. Eleanor cursed the code instructor who, in trying to create unique checks that would not be easily detected, had gotten too sophisticated and failed to give Marie checks that would have been usable in every transmission.
Eleanor studied the paper once more. Something felt off. She turned to Jane. “What do you think?”
Jane read the message through horn-rimmed glasses once, then again. “I’m not certain,” she said slowly. But Eleanor could tell from Jane’s face that she was worried, too.
“Is it her?” Eleanor pressed. She pictured Marie that night at Tangmere. Marie had seemed nervous, as if having doubts, Eleanor could see. But they all had doubts right before going. Good God, how could they not?
“I think so,” Jane said, her voice more hopeful than definite. “The message is so brief. Maybe she was just rushed.”
“Maybe,” Eleanor repeated without conviction. Other than the fist print being a bit light, there was nothing else to support her uneasiness. But she felt it nevertheless.
“What do you want to do?” Jane asked, returning to her own desk. They had at best a few minutes to transmit back to Marie. Eleanor needed Jane to send a message to Marie about the arms drop that was scheduled for the following Tuesday so that the Vesper circuit could organize a reception committee, locals who would receive the munitions and store them for the partisans. But if Marie had been somehow compromised, the information would fall into the wrong hands.
I need to send her a personal message, Eleanor thought. Something that only Marie would know. She hesitated. Airtime was scarce and precious and it was risky to keep an operator transmitting any longer than absolutely necessary. But she needed to confirm with Marie that it was really her—and nothing was amiss. “Tell her I’m holding the butterfly.” It was a veiled reference to Marie’s locket necklace, the one that she had confiscated the night Marie left. Though she wasn’t quite sure, she sensed the necklace had meant a great deal to Marie. Something to do with her daughter, perhaps. Surely the message would prompt a personal response.
Eleanor held her breath as Jane coded and sent the message. Two minutes passed, then three. She imagined Marie receiving it, willed the girl to say something to reassure them it was her. The message came: “Thank you for the information.” No recognition of the personal reference, nothing to confirm that it was really Marie. Eleanor’s heart sank.
But the fist print was familiar now, heavy on the first word now like Marie’s. “It looks like her this time, doesn’t it?” Jane said, seeking reassurance.
“Yes,” she replied. Marie had been told time and again in training not to talk about herself or her background, or to broadcast personal information. Perhaps in replying generically to Eleanor’s message, she was just following orders.
“So what should we do?” Jane looked up at Eleanor uncertainly, asking whether to transmit the information about the next arms drop.
Eleanor hesitated. She had trained the girls, backed them with everything they had. But she was just being overly cautious now, and it wasn’t like her. She had to believe that they were up to the job and would make the right decisions. Otherwise, none of this would work and the whole thing would fall apart.
Eleanor had to make the call. She stared at the radio, as though she might actually be able to hear Marie’s voice and know it was her. Eleanor believed that, despite Marie’s difficulties while training at Arisaig House, the girl was strong and smart enough and had grown sufficiently in training to rise to the challenges of