Page 36 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

36

Brough Saturday, April 4, 1942

The motorboat didn’t earn the name of “fast” as it puttered through the mist, and Lachlan’s foot tapped on the deck. Why couldn’t the boat go faster?

The cliffs embracing the harbor at Brough emerged, and the mist cleared. A man in an overcoat and hat stood by the boat ramp in front of a motorcar—Father’s green 1933 Rolls-Royce 20/25. The man was Neil.

Lachlan’s chest clenched. Why would Neil come to meet him? Why would he use precious rationed petrol? Had something happened to Mother or Father?

As soon as the boat heaved to, Lachlan vaulted out with his bag and jogged up the slippery stone ramp to his brother. “What’s wrong? Mother? Father?”

“No. They’re fine. Sorry to alarm you.” Neil opened the passenger door. “I’ll explain in the motorcar. We’re going to Thurso.”

Lachlan drew in his chin. “I cannae. I have a meeting at Dunnet Head, and I’m late.”

“This is more important.” Neil glanced over Lachlan’s shoulder and stepped closer, his blue eyes intense. “A German spy came to the pub last night.”

A chill raced through Lachlan’s limbs. “Oh no.”

Neil gestured to the motorcar.

Ice crackled in Lachlan’s veins as he forced himself into the Rolls-Royce. MI5 promised they’d catch the spy at the drop site. At the railway station. Why was Jericho running free?

Neil slid behind the wheel. “I called the police, but the spy left before they arrived. So did I. I didnae want to explain, but now I’m ready.”

Lachlan gripped the bag in his lap as his thoughts whirred. “Tell me what happened.”

Neil drove up the path from the harbor. “I was at the Claymore and Heath waiting for my friends. A man went to the barman—and the barman sent him my way. The man asked if I was with Free Caledonia. He had a wee bit of a German accent. He’s a spy, I know it.”

Lachlan rubbed a fist over his mouth. “You called the police. Good. Do you—do you know if they caught the man?”

“We’ll find out at the police station.”

“Why me?” A disconcerting warble entered Lachlan’s voice. “Why do you want me coming along?”

“You need to file a report.” Neil chewed on his lower lip and sent Lachlan a concerned look. “About Cilla.”

“Cilla?”

At the main road, Neil turned south toward Thurso, and his mouth squirmed. “The man said he was supposed to meet with Cilla but didnae trust her doing a man’s work. I hate telling you, but she’s a spy too.”

A groan rolled out from deep in Lachlan’s gut. “No.”

Neil shot him a glare. “I know she’s turned your head, and I fear she’s turned your heart. But you cannae let her turn your mind.”

Did everyone know how he felt? But Lachlan had far greater concerns than his embarrassment. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

Neil thumped the seat between them. “How did the spy know Cilla’s name? Think, man.”

Lachlan strained to pull in a few long breaths. “Neil, stop the motor and look at me.”

A scoffing sound, and Neil curled his upper lip.

“Stop the motor.” Lachlan pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “You need to speak to Commander Yardley at Dunnet Head.”

“Who?”

“If we go to the police, they’ll bring in Yardley anyway. If we go to him straightaway, we’ll save a precious hour. Lives may be at stake.”

Neil stopped the motor. Confusion and suspicion wrestled together on his face. “You’re making no sense, man.”

“Aye.” Lachlan kept his voice low and firm, but he let mercy enter his heart and his expression. “I know you dinnae trust me, not after I turned you in to the police.”

Neil flinched and cut his gaze out the side window.

“But I’m asking you to trust me now,” Lachlan said. “You need to tell Yardley what happened, and you need to do so without delay.”

The engine idled, and Neil swung his gaze back to Lachlan.

Over a decade of treachery and anger and resentment throbbed in the space between them. But Lachlan called up the memory of when they had been close, when they’d loved each other, when they’d been united as brothers. Lachlan still loved his brother, and his chest ached for what they’d lost, thrown away, turned their backs on. “Please, Neil.”

A sharp huff, and Neil cranked the wheel around and drove north toward Dunnet Head. “What is going on?”

He couldn’t tell him, but saying so would snap the thin thread of trust. “Only Yardley can decide what to tell you.”

“No sense at all.”

“Aye.” A new concern writhed in Lachlan’s gut. “Have you told anyone else about the spy? Father? Mother? Your friends from Free Caledonia? Anyone?”

“No one.” Neil’s mouth puckered. “I wanted to tell you first. Because of Cilla.”

“Thank you.” Emotion thickened his voice. Despite all that had happened between them, Neil cared about Lachlan’s safety, even his heart.

His mind overflowed with questions, but they had to wait. “I want you to recall every detail. What the man looked like, his mannerisms, every word he said. Dinnae tell me. Wait and tell Yardley.”

“Aye.” Neil accelerated up the long—far too long—rise to the lighthouse.

Lachlan rapped his fist on his bag and prayed the police had caught the spy. If they hadn’t, the man was running free. He knew Cilla’s name, certainly knew she was at Dunnet Head.

What had gone wrong? Why had Jericho gone to the pub instead of the railway station? Had something alarmed him?

Over and over, Lachlan rapped his fist. If MI5 hadn’t caught the man, Cilla was in the gravest danger.

At the lighthouse, Lachlan showed Neil where to park. Then he hopped out and loped into the courtyard, motioning for Neil to follow.

Gwen and Imogene stood talking by the lighthouse door.

“Where’s Cilla?” he called as he ran. “Is she safe?”

“She’s inside.” Imogene pointed up to the tower.

“Good. Dinnae let anyone in.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

Thank goodness. They knew of the danger. “Yardley? Where is he?”

“In his office.” The ladies stared at Neil.

“He’s with me.” Lachlan veered toward the keeper’s house. He shoved open the door and marched into Yardley’s office.

The commander sat up straight at his desk and stared at Lachlan and Neil, certainly shocked to see a civilian.

Lachlan removed his cap. “Commander, this is my brother, Neil Mackenzie. Neil, this is Cdr. Ernest Yardley. Neil had a suspicious visitor last night at the Claymore and Heath.”

“You’re the one who called the police.” Yardley stood and extended his hand to Neil. “Thank you for doing so.”

Neil’s gaze swam back and forth between the naval officers. Slowly, his hand rose, and he returned Yardley’s greeting. “Aye, I did.”

“Have they caught the man?” Lachlan asked.

One quick shake of the head in denial, and Yardley gestured to chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Neil pulled off his fedora and lowered himself into the chair. “What is going on?”

Another shake of Yardley’s head, and the commander sat and pulled a notepad close. “Mr. Mackenzie, I need you to tell me everything that happened last night. Everything.”

Neil unbuttoned his gray overcoat, and his eyes narrowed at Yardley.

Lachlan shifted in his chair. “Please, Neil. Everything.”

“Aye.” Neil ran his hands up and down his trouser legs. “I was at a table by the window at the Claymore and Heath, waiting for my friends.”

Yardley wrote on his notepad. “In Free Caledonia, yes.”

Neil gasped. “How do you—?”

“Continue, Mr. Mackenzie. A spy is on the loose, and time is of the essence.” Yardley skewered Neil with his gaze.

A belligerent toss of his head, but then Neil sighed. “A man came in, went to the barman, and the barman sent him to my table.”

“Describe the man.”

“About our age.” Neil motioned toward Lachlan. “Average height, but big, the sort of man who could toss a caber if he were Scottish.”

Lachlan winced. He’d rather the spy were a scrawny wee man.

“Hair? Eyes? Anything else?” Yardley didn’t look up from his notes.

“Sandy hair. Eyes light blue or gray. Narrow face, a cleft in his chin.”

“What was he wearing? Carrying?”

“Gray suit and coat, black homburg, two suitcases, one of brown leather, the other was steel. I detected a mild German accent. He asked if I was in Free Caledonia and—”

“Hold on.” Yardley grabbed his phone. “I must send this description to the police straightaway. I’ll take the rest of your statement in a minute.”

Whilst Yardley rang the police, Lachlan removed his greatcoat, asked Neil for his coat, and hung them up.

“What is going on?” Neil asked Lachlan in a frustrated whisper.

Lachlan could only shake his head.

After Yardley hung up the phone, he picked up his pen. “The man asked if you were in Free Caledonia.”

Neil tipped his head. “Not straightaway. He set his suitcases on the bench at my table and looked me over, all the while fiddling with a red ribbon knotted around his suitcase handle.”

Yardley glanced at Lachlan. The spy had been looking for the fictional scarlet thread.

“I didnae fancy how he was looking me over, and I asked if I could help him. That’s when he asked if I was in Free Caledonia. When I said I was, he joined me and asked if I knew a Dutch woman named Cilla.”

Yardley’s gaze flew to Lachlan again but revealed nothing. “Did he now?”

“Aye. He said he was Cilla’s friend—the friend she’d sent for, the friend who had come to help us. He kept looking around, right sleekit.”

“Sly,” Lachlan translated for Yardley. “Suspicious.”

“Very,” Neil said. “I decided to keep him talking, so I thanked him for coming. He said he’d brought presents for us, but he’d lost them and hoped Cilla had found them. Now he was sounding right daft. Then—aye, right then—Cilla passed by on the street. The man asked if she was Cilla. But if he was her friend, why didnae he recognize her?”

Lachlan clenched his hands together. Now the spy knew what Cilla looked like as well.

“The man said he’d seen Cilla at the railway station. He mentioned a red rope in her hair. Those were his words—‘red rope.’ He said it wasnae right, reporting to a wee lass like her. She couldnae do a man’s job. He should be in charge, not her.”

Yardley grumbled and kept writing.

Neil raised one finger. “That’s when Cilla got into a motorcar with a naval officer. The spy was upset, said Cilla was betraying Free Caledonia.”

Yardley’s mouth twitched. “How did you reply?”

“I was very confused. I told him she doesnae belong to our group, just fancies our discussions. He grew more upset and said, ‘But she helped you commit sabotage.’ I was shocked. We’ve never committed sabotage.”

Lachlan puffed his cheeks full of air. Cilla’s story had unraveled.

“The spy said, ‘But she told us you did. That’s why I came. To help you.’” Neil rubbed his hands harder up and down his legs. “I knew—I knew I needed to call the police, but he was suspicious of me now. I had to placate him, so I told him we were very interested in sabotage. My friends would be coming soon and would be eager to discuss it. I asked if I could buy him a pint, and he agreed.”

“Is that when you rang the police?” Yardley said.

“Aye. I asked the barman to pull two pints, then asked to use the telephone. I kept my back to the German man, but when I turned around, he was gone.”

Yardley nodded. “When the police came, you were also gone. You didn’t leave your name either.”

“No.” Red flooded Neil’s cheeks. “I knew it’d look bad for me. Why would a German spy ask to speak to someone in Free Caledonia? And I—I wanted to talk to Lachlan. Cilla is a spy, and he needed to hear it from me first. He’d know what to do. This station is in danger, Scapa Flow. You’re all in danger.”

On any other day, words of trust from his brother’s mouth would have soothed Lachlan’s soul. But not when a spy roamed free. Armed.

Yardley set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, and he studied Neil long and hard.

“He hasnae told a soul,” Lachlan said. “Not our parents, not his friends in Free Caledonia, no one. He met me at Brough to take me to the police station in Thurso so we could file reports. I brought him here instead.”

“Very good, Mackenzie. What did you tell your brother?”

“That I could tell him nothing.”

Yardley returned his attention to Neil. “Mr. Mackenzie, have you heard of the Official Secrets Act?”

“Aye.” Neil looked even more confused, if that were possible.

“Everything we’ve discussed is covered by the OSA. You are never to mention or discuss this conversation or the events of last evening with anyone. Not even Lachlan.”

“What is going on?” Force filled Neil’s voice.

Yardley flipped up one hand. “This is now a case for the police and for MI5. We may ask you to testify or to identify a suspect, but that is the end of it.”

“Who are you?”

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m the commander of this station.” Yardley raised one eyebrow. “The penalties for violating the OSA would make your previous prison sentence look mild. Am I understood?”

Neil gaped at Lachlan. “How does he ...?”

Lachlan shrugged. Yardley knew everything about everybody.

Now Neil knew far more than he should. Especially about Cilla.

Lachlan cleared his throat. “Commander Yardley, Cilla is part of our community and a frequent guest at my family home. Neil thinks she’s a spy.”

“I know she’s a spy! Why have you not arrested her? She’s in the lighthouse, aye?”

Yardley stared Lachlan down, but Lachlan didn’t relent. He would not have his brother suspecting Cilla.

Yardley heaved a sigh and turned to Neil. “All you need to know is that Cilla is on our side. She can be fully trusted. I cannot and will not tell you more.”

Neil’s gaze shifted to Lachlan, wide and unbelieving, as if to say, “What are you involved with?”

Aye. What indeed?