Page 43 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

43

Cilla steered Mar na Creag over a quiet sea under a starry moonlit sky.

Where was the U-boat? Had she navigated properly? She’d never been trained in navigation and had used only a map and a compass and her watch to plot her route.

What if she’d missed the rendezvous coordinates? Or what if the U-boat was delayed? The fuse on the limpet mine was already set. How awful if Mar na Creag sank and not the U-boat.

She gritted her teeth and scanned the waves and the sky. After Yardley read her letter, he’d certainly send out a fleet of bombers and ships. She hoped he did, in case the mine failed. But not until after she convinced Kraus she was loyal and he sent the message to Hamburg, saving her family.

Cilla twisted her arm until moonlight illuminated her watch dial. The rendezvous time had arrived—and only fifteen minutes remained until the blockship was scheduled to blow up.

About a quarter mile to the south, a dark form rose from the sea—the conning tower of a U-boat.

Cilla raced toward it, waving as if she were a true spy.

Water sluiced off the gray hull, and two men emerged from the top hatch, including Hauptmann Kraus.

Cilla pulled as close as she could to the lower platform of the conning tower, and she turned off the engine. She grinned up at her handler and switched to German. “It is good to see you, Herr Hauptmann. It has been too long.”

“You came.” His voice chilled.

“Why would I not come?”

“Some in the Abwehr say you’ve turned.”

Cilla let out an indignant huff. “What did Jericho tell you before the English captured him? He’s a stupid man and can’t be trusted.”

Kraus let out a noncommittal mutter.

If the mine exploded before Cilla boarded, the U-boat would only be damaged—and they might broadcast her family’s death warrant to Hamburg. She had to get on board.

Cilla worked up her most charming smile. “Come now, Herr Hauptmann. If I’d turned, why in the world would I return to Germany and risk interrogation?”

“True.” Kraus nodded to the naval officer by his side. The two men climbed down a ladder to the lower platform of the conning tower, and the naval officer tossed her a rope.

Cilla tied the rope to a cleat on the deck, and the officer tugged the boat closer to the U-boat. If only someone would find Mar na Creag adrift tomorrow and bring her back to Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie. They didn’t deserve to lose their lovely boat because of her.

The railing around the conning tower rose a bit higher than the motorboat’s deck, and Kraus reached over. “Give me your luggage.”

Cilla hesitated, but if she dropped the limpet mine in the ocean when boarding, all was lost. She hefted the first suitcase to him.

“It is heavy,” he said.

“My wireless set and my pistol.” She gave him a breezy smile. “I couldn’t leave those behind, could I?”

“Smart girl.”

Cilla handed her other suitcase to Kraus, a superfluous piece of luggage, but if she truly planned to return to Germany, she would have brought it.

Trying not to look at the dark water slapping the two vessels, Cilla leaned over and grasped the top railing and stretched one foot toward the deck. Her foot landed, she kicked off from the motorboat’s deck, and the men manhandled her up over the railing.

With her feet soundly on the deck, Cilla straightened her coat, picked up her suitcases, and beamed at the man she’d never wanted to see again, no matter how kind she’d once thought him. “Let me get my luggage out of the way before tonight’s show—and the English would say it’ll be a jolly good show. Do I have the same cot as before, in the aft torpedo room?”

“Ja.” Kraus led her up to the top platform of the conning tower and to the hatch.

She could only carry one suitcase at a time down the vertical ladder, an awkward and immodest process, so she made quick work of it. Then she returned for the second suitcase.

She emerged in the U-boat’s control room, rank with the odor of diesel oil and unwashed bodies and packed with equipment and gauges and men. Bearded sailors grinned at her.

Cilla ducked her head as if shy, as if signaling she wasn’t available for flirtation.

In reality, she couldn’t bear to see their faces.

Her actions tonight might condemn them to death, injury, or capture by the British. If only they could all survive and be rescued.

What if she survived the explosion?

Her breath caught. Better to die tonight than face Yardley and the MI5 officers who had put their faith in her—and who would have her executed.

“Excuse me.” Cilla squeezed past two smiling sailors and through a round hatch into the diesel engine room, loud and smelly.

A handful of sailors worked at the controls, and she avoided their gazes. If possible, the engine room would be the best place for the mine. Surely the diesel oil would amplify the mine’s explosion. At the very least, the engines would be damaged, making it easier for the Royal Navy to chase down the U-boat.

If she couldn’t find a place to hide her suitcase in the engine room, she’d leave it on her bunk in the aft torpedo room and hope the mine’s explosion set off a torpedo as well.

Cilla passed between long banks of engines as high as her head. On each side, the engine housing rounded down toward the hull.

Toward the end of the engine room, she glanced around her shoulder. About fifty feet behind her, the sailors had their backs to her, absorbed in their duties.

No time to think. She pressed up on her toes, swung the suitcase with the mine over the top of the engine, and let it slide down toward the hull.

Cringing, she waited.

No explosion. No thump of suitcase down to the deck. It must have wedged in place.

A long breath flowed out. Cilla proceeded through the electric motor room and through another round hatch into the aft torpedo room, where she tossed her remaining suitcase onto a cot in case Kraus went that way.

She glanced at her watch. Only a few minutes until Lachlan’s fake sabotage.

As Cilla rushed back the way she came, she allowed memories of him to flood her mind—his smile, his embrace, his enchanting brogue. At least she’d never see the return of cold, hard fury onto his beloved face. Of disappointment and betrayal.

Cilla shook herself and climbed the ladder up through the conning tower. The performance of her life awaited her, and she summoned up cheer and confidence.

Sailors and officers crowded both platforms. On the top platform, Kraus stood by the railing in his army officer’s cap and greatcoat, and men parted ways to allow her through, greeting her with enthusiasm.

The first smile of the evening shone on Kraus’s round face. “A few more minutes, ja?”

“Ja.” Cilla gripped the railing in her gloved hands. The silhouette of Dunnet Head rose to the southeast. To the northeast, the dark mounds of the Orkney Islands sheltered the waters of Scapa Flow.

On such a clear night, the explosions on the blockship should be visible from their vantage point.

“Your men knew how to use our explosives?” Kraus said with a note of disbelief.

“They are very clever, and I trained them well.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “I do wish you’d trusted my abilities and hadn’t sent Jericho. And I do wish I could have been there tonight as I requested. I should have been. But the plan is solid, and Joshua and his friends are dedicated to our cause. I’m confident in them. I—I’ll miss them.” She allowed her true grief to warble in her voice.

She’d miss Commander Yardley and Gwen, even Imogene. She’d miss Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie and Neil.

Most of all, she’d miss Lachlan.

Her breath snatched away. Right now, he hated her.

She raised a perky smile for Kraus’s benefit.

Everything she’d done tonight, from making Lachlan despise her to evading her friends at the lighthouse to planting the mine, was for them.

She might not have done the right thing, but she’d done the only thing.

****

Never in his life had Lachlan Mackenzie acted without thought or plan. Now, without either, he raced at full speed in the fast motorboat to the coordinates Cilla had provided. Even if false, the coordinates hit the center of the arc of possible positions, as good a starting point as any.

At Dunnet Head, he’d commandeered Yardley’s staff car and careened down to Brough. At the pier, he’d ordered the boat’s crew to start the motor—and then ordered them to shore, overriding their mighty objections by pulling rank and absolving them of all blame. He told them he was going on a rescue mission, but a dangerous one. He refused to risk their lives.

Lachlan swept his gaze across the waters and gripped the wheel.

He had no idea what he was going to do. As a transport vessel, the motorboat had no weapons, and Lachlan’s revolver was no match for a U-boat’s machine guns.

Regardless, he unbuttoned his greatcoat for easier access to his revolver.

His only hope was to reach Cilla before she boarded the submarine. Maybe if Kraus observed the sabotage, he’d radio that news to Hamburg even in Cilla’s absence. Maybe Kraus would simply assume she’d been delayed. Maybe the Royal Navy would sink the U-boat before doubts of her loyalty could be raised. Maybe that would be enough to spare the van der Zee family and the secrecy of the Double Cross program.

A long shot, but the only one he had.

Fractured prayers ricocheted in his head.

A muffled boom rolled over the waters, and he glanced behind him. Another boom, and a pulsing glow rose.

His limpet mines. They’d worked. Surely Kraus would see and believe.

A third boom. A fourth.

Now Kraus could send his message to Germany.

A sickening in his gut. A convulsion.

If Cilla was on time for the rendezvous, she was already on board the U-boat. Her limpet mine planted.

“No, no, no.” He squinted at the seas. “Please let her have missed the rendezvous. Please let her have selected a long delay on the fuse.”

His breath bounced in his throat, erratic, uncontrolled. Where was the U-boat? Where was Mar na Creag ?

“Cilla, where are you, lass?”

With every second, his long shot grew longer.

****

“It was an American warship,” Cilla said with a smug expression.

All around, German sailors cheered.

Kraus wore an exultant smile. “Excellent work, Fr?ulein. That will drive a wedge between England and America.”

To the northeast, a luminous cloud rose from Scapa Flow. “It will. Joshua and his friends did very well.”

To Cilla’s other side, the U-boat captain thumbed through several sheets of paper, selected one, and handed it to a sailor. “Radio Hamburg immediately.”

“Jawohl.” The sailor disappeared down into the hatch.

The U-boat could transmit messages only when surfaced, so Cilla didn’t have to go below quite yet. She tugged her coat sleeve over her wristwatch. She didn’t want to spend the last minutes of her life counting down to her death.

“Excellent work indeed,” Kraus said.

Cilla smiled in relief. The captain probably had a selection of messages at his disposal for a variety of situations, already enciphered. Right now, a message would be tapping over the airwaves stating they’d recovered their agent and had observed a spectacular set of explosions at Scapa Flow.

Cilla had saved her family and Double Cross, and she breathed out a prayer of gratitude.

The German sailors filed their way down the hatch, congratulating Cilla as they went. Kraus motioned for Cilla to go below.

She drew back. She’d rather die from the explosion or drowning or hypothermia than trapped in a sinking ship. “I—I think I’ll stay topside as long as possible.”

Kraus’s smile drifted down, and he glanced toward Mar na Creag , bobbing lonesome on the waves not far away, then back at Cilla. His eyes narrowed. “Ja, the night is beautiful.”

Did he think she’d try to escape? From an armed U-boat? If her limpet mine didn’t explode, she might still face interrogation in Germany.

She forced a sunny laugh, then gave Kraus a mischievous smile. “I’d forgotten how much a U-boat stinks. This will be my last breath of fresh air for some time.”

He chuckled and rested his elbows on the railing. “Ja, the air is foul inside.”

Cilla leaned on the railing and drew a deep breath, savoring the night air. In the distance, moonlight glistened on the lighthouse atop Dunnet Head. Was Lachlan up there, observing the sabotage? Watching for the U-boat?

Hating her again?

But it was for the best. Goodbye, my love.

After the last sailor climbed down the hatch, Kraus turned to her, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. “Are you glad to return to Germany, Fr?ulein?”

“I am. These English honestly believe they can win the war. I feel—trapped.”

“Trapped?”

She was trapped indeed. Trapped with her enemy on an enemy submarine, about to die.

Yet a great smile unfurled. She was loved by God, forgiven, and she’d never be alone again. “Now I am free.”

A stillness in the air.

An absence of air.

Her ears pummeled. Her body—slammed, sliced, tossed into air and water and oblivion.