Page 12 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

12

Lyness Naval Base, Hoy, Orkney Islands Friday, June 6, 1941

“You have new orders.” Lt.-Cdr. Bennett Blake slapped a piece of paper onto his desk.

Lachlan paused halfway down to his seat in Blake’s office. He was already being transferred away? If so, why did Blake look cross rather than pleased?

He eased himself into the chair. “New orders, sir?”

“As our command’s liaison to the Admiralty Experimental Station at Dunnet Head.”

Lachlan relaxed into his seat. He hadn’t been transferred after all. “I’m familiar with Dunnet Head.”

In December, a radio direction finding station had opened near the lighthouse, one of a half dozen stations ringing Scapa Flow to warn of attacks. Whilst the RAF ran most of the RDF stations, the Admiralty ran Dunnet Head. The station’s special “Coast Defense U-boat” equipment could detect aircraft up to one hundred miles away and small vessels, including surfaced German U-boats, within a few miles. If only it had detected the U-boat that landed Cilla van der Zee.

Blake poked Lachlan’s orders with one finger. “Every Saturday morning, you will meet with the station commander.”

“Aye, sir.” How curious though. “Does our command send liaisons to the other RDF stations?”

“No.” Blake’s light eyes blazed. “This is an order from the Director of Naval Intelligence, specifically for you.”

“For me, sir? I dinnae understand.”

“Nor do I. This is not proper protocol. The DNI shouldn’t select the man—I should. Others with far more experience than you serve in this command, others far more suitable.”

The subtle reprimand stung. For three months at Scapa Flow, Lachlan had worked hard and well, to no avail. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“The DNI said you have unique qualities for this assignment.”

At least someone seemed to appreciate him—but he’d never met the DNI.

“Those unique qualities have earned you unique privileges. Every Saturday morning, a motorboat will ferry you to Bruff.”

“Brough, sir. It rhymes with loch .”

“Broke, then.” Blake mangled the soft Scottish ch . “The same motorboat shall ferry you back every Sunday evening. Your family lives nearby, I understand.”

“Aye, sir.”

Blake’s nostrils flared. “Will private transportation for a weekly visit home suit you, your Majesty?”

Lachlan’s chest caved in. “I apologize, sir. I have no idea what this is about.”

“Your orders.” Blake held out the slip of paper. “Your motorboat will be waiting at Lyness pier tomorrow morning.”

“Aye, sir.” With his orders in hand, Lachlan left the office.

Whatever special privileges the new assignment conferred were negated by falling even lower in his commanding officer’s regard.

****

Brough, Scotland Saturday, June 7, 1941

A grey seal swam like a torpedo alongside the 35-foot fast motorboat and lifted his head to greet Lachlan.

“How’s the fishing this fine morn?” Lachlan said to the seal. “Be glad fish are not rationed.”

Whiskers twitched on the seal’s long Roman nose, and he dived.

A bonny cloudy day, and Lachlan inhaled the earthy scent of home as the motorboat neared the cove at Brough, where the cliffs softened to green slopes.

The motorboat puttered up to the stone boat ramp that had been built a century earlier to cart supplies during the construction of Dunnet Head Lighthouse. His family’s motorboat, Mar na Creag , painted green as summer heather, was moored at the pier.

At the top of the ramp, a man in a naval officer’s greatcoat stood next to a black Morris 8 staff car.

After the motorboat pulled close, Lachlan thanked the crew, climbed out of the vessel, and hopped down to the pier.

With his kit bag in hand, he met the officer halfway up the ramp and saluted.

“Lieutenant Mackenzie, I presume?” The commander returned Lachlan’s salute. He stood a few inches shorter than Lachlan with a strong military bearing and a prominent chin. “I’m Commander Ernest Yardley. May I see your orders?”

“Aye, sir.” Lachlan removed the slip of paper from his coat pocket.

Yardley perused the orders, sized up Lachlan from head to toe, and broke into a wide smile. “Come along, then.”

Lachlan put his kit bag in the boot of the staff car and climbed in, and Yardley drove up the road off the beach.

“I’m curious about this assignment, sir.” With the window rolled down, Lachlan rested one arm along the door rim and held on as the car bumped along the rough road. “My command doesnae send liaisons to the other RDF stations, although we communicate often.”

The corner of Yardley’s mouth twitched. “Your assignment is much more than serving as liaison, although you and I will indeed exchange weekly reports as part of your cover.”

“Cover? I dinnae understand.”

“For security reasons, I’ll wait to explain until we’re in my office.” Yardley glanced at Lachlan and chuckled. “I see I’ve confused you.”

He tried not to frown. “Aye, sir.”

At the crest of the bluff, they reached the main road. To the southeast, the road led home, but Yardley turned to the northwest, toward Dunnet Head.

“For now,” Yardley said, “I’ll explain why I chose you for this assignment. First, your familiarity with Scapa Flow and base security. Second, your experience in convoy escort. Third, you know the area and the people, which could prove useful. Fourth, your record shows you’re a man who follows orders and keeps his word, but also shows instances of great ingenuity.”

Lachlan’s mouth hung open. “You ... delved deep into my record.” Far deeper than an assignment as liaison warranted.

“I’d be remiss not to.” He sent Lachlan another glance and chuckle. “The last two reasons I selected you must wait until we reach my office. One is the reason you’re the only man for this assignment, and the other is my insurance policy.”

In almost two years in the Royal Navy and six years at the Royal Naval College, Lachlan had never found an assignment so perplexing. If Lachlan hadn’t read the orders with his own eyes and hadn’t received them from his own commanding officer, he’d think he’d fallen into the cloak-and-dagger world of espionage.

“All will be explained soon.” Yardley waved one hand to the side. “In the meantime, enjoy the scenery.”

“Aye, sir.” But in such circumstances, how could he enjoy even the patches of purple-pink Scottish primrose?

In a few minutes, Yardley drove past the RDF station, through the gate, and up to the lighthouse.

Dunnet Head Lighthouse had been built in 1831, designed by Scottish engineer Robert Stevenson, grandfather of the great author Robert Louis Stevenson.

Lachlan smiled at the chance to see the elegant white tower up close again.

After Yardley parked the car, he led Lachlan through a bright blue door in one of the keepers’ houses and into an office.

Yardley showed Lachlan a chair and pointed to a paper on the desk. “Before we start, everything you see and hear today is covered by the Official Secrets Act. Please sign this copy to indicate your understanding.”

Still standing, Lachlan gaped at the man. What on earth was going on?

Yardley sat behind the desk. “You are bound by the act whether or not you sign. Outside these premises, you may not discuss anything I say—not with family, not with friends, not even with Commander Blake or other naval personnel. Entirely hush-hush. Sign, please.”

“Aye, sir.” His voice sounded gravelly, and he lowered himself to the chair and signed the act. Curiosity drove him. And duty.

“Allow me to introduce myself more fully.” Yardley set his cap on his desk and smoothed wavy dark brown hair parted in the middle. “I serve with naval intelligence, and I do have some experience with RDF, but I’m currently assigned to MI5, the Security Service.”

“Counterintelligence,” Lachlan murmured. Whilst MI6 planted British spies in enemy lands, MI5 protected Britain from enemy spies. “I—I’m a naval officer, not—”

“And now you will participate in naval intelligence. MI5 runs the Double Cross program. When Germany sends spies to our shores, we turn them to work for us as double agents whenever possible. We provide intelligence for the agent to send to Germany. I selected you to provide information on security at Scapa Flow, sailings of convoys and the Home Fleet and—”

“Sir! I could never—”

“You will.” Yardley’s gaze turned to stone. “All messages sent by the agents in the Double Cross program are approved by the Twenty Committee.”

“The Twenty—”

“We abbreviate Double Cross with two X s, which is also the Roman numeral for twenty. The Twenty Committee is composed of men from MI5, the War Office, the Admiralty, the Air Ministry, and civil authorities. The committee decides on the content of all messages sent by our agents, and nothing is sent that will bring harm to our nation.”

Lachlan shook his head, over and over, but he failed to shake the words into logic. “Sir, my duty is to protect Scapa Flow, the ships, and the men. That requires concealing information from the enemy. You’re asking me to reveal it directly to them. I cannae.”

“You will.”

“I refuse.” Lachlan stared the man down. “You’re asking me to violate my duty, my loyalty, my integrity.”

“Am I?” Yardley shrugged and flipped up his palms. “I believe I’m asking you to fulfill your duty and act on your loyalty and—”

“Ludicrous.” Lachlan’s hands clenched the arms of the chair. “I apologize for my impertinence, sir, but this is ludicrous.”

“Is it? Think on this, Mackenzie.” Yardley leaned forward with a probing gaze. “What differentiates us from our enemy? We are dutiful. So are the Germans. We are loyal. So are the Germans.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Indeed not.” He jabbed one finger at Lachlan like a spear. “Duty for duty’s sake is meaningless, as is loyalty for loyalty’s sake. What virtues does that duty defend? To which values are we loyal? Those virtues and values—those are what we’re truly fighting for.”

Lachlan huffed. He’d been concerned about fifth columnists in the area working for the Nazi cause, but he’d never dreamed an actual spy would be permitted to send secrets to Germany. “I fail to see how sending vital information to the Nazis—”

“Double Cross is a long game, Mackenzie. Like chess or cricket. At first, we send true but harmless information to build German trust in the agent. In return, the Abwehr asks questions of the agent—and those questions reveal much about German plans and goals. That, in itself, is priceless. But in the long run, we hope to someday feed false information to the Abwehr, to deceive them about our own plans and goals. That can only occur after trust is established.”

How much worse could this get? “You want me to lie? You have the wrong man indeed.”

“On the contrary, you are the only man.” Yardley went to the office door, opened it, and leaned outside. “St. Clair, bring her in.”

Yardley stepped back and gave Lachlan an amused smile. “Now you will meet the double agent you’ll work with.”

Lachlan slowly rose from his seat. The agent? Her? A woman? Not ... surely not ...

A dark-haired woman in the blue uniform of the Women’s Royal Naval Service entered, followed by a blond woman in a bright green suit—Cilla van der Zee.

She was alive. The air spilled out of his lungs. Thank goodness, she was alive.

Miss van der Zee gasped at the sight of him and gripped the doorjamb, her face stark.

Why was Lachlan relieved? She was a spy. A Nazi spy. He whipped his gaze to Yardley. “Why is she here, sir? She’s a spy. She should be—”

“Hanging from a rope?” Yardley leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Yes, she should be, but she’s more useful to us alive.”

Lachlan shook his hand in her direction. “But she—she’ll betray you.”

“I will not.” The selkie’s voice shook as it had that night on the beach, but in determination, not fear. “I’m on the Allied side. I told you I was.”

He met her gaze, as luminous as before but lit with defiance. “You told me several stories. I believe none of them.”

She blinked and glanced away.

“Sir,” Lachlan said to Yardley, and he struggled to keep his voice steady. “She cannae be trusted. She’s a selkie.”

“Ah yes, your mythological creature. An apt description.”

“Quite apt. At the first opportunity, she’ll sneak back to the Germans.”

Cilla gasped again. “I would never. Commander Yardley, how can you expect me to work with a man who hates me? A man who wants me to die?”

Yardley raised one corner of his mouth. “You, my dear, are in no position to negotiate.”

Then the commander directed the same look to Lachlan. “If she wants to stay alive, she won’t attempt to escape. To deter her, she is guarded by five MI5 officers—the principal and assistant lightkeepers, two Wrens, and me. And as I explained earlier, every message she sends will be approved by the proper authorities and monitored by us. It’s perfectly safe for you to work with her.”

“I will not.” Lachlan’s hands coiled at his sides. “I know who she is.”

“Which is why I selected you. You know who she is. The fewer people who know the identity of our double agents, the better. One of the reasons Cilla is alive is because only you and the constable knew of her arrest, and both of you were immediately sworn to silence and can be trusted to keep your word. No other witnesses, no articles in the newspapers.”

“Oh my goodness.” Cilla covered her mouth, and she swayed.

Lachlan mashed his lips together. He didn’t want her to die—he really didn’t—but he refused to give her information to send to the enemy.

“As for you, Mackenzie, this is a direct order.” Yardley pushed away from the wall and stepped behind his desk. “For any naval officer, disobeying a direct order would have serious ramifications, but for you ...”

Lachlan held his breath as Yardley handed him a slip of paper. It read, “Plagiarism. Neil.”

His face tingled. With two black marks on his record, he would be severely punished for insubordination. “Your insurance policy.”

“Indeed.” Yardley wore a pleased smile. “Also, if you were to be so misguided as to disobey my order, I’d simply bring in another man to do the same work. That man might not be as protective of the base, might be more susceptible to the selkie’s charms.”

The paper crumpled in Lachlan’s grasp. “You’re offering me an impossible choice, sir.”

“I didn’t offer a choice. I issued an order. You have a duty to the crown.”

Duty? Lachlan squeezed his eyes shut. How could duty to the crown require him to violate his duty to the Admiralty?

“Well, Mackenzie,” Yardley said. “Will you obey your orders?”

He had no choice. None at all. Disobedience would mean demotion, dishonor, possibly even dismissal from service. How could he bear it? Especially in a time of war when his country needed every man?

Lachlan summoned his strength and shoved out the words. “Aye, sir.”