Page 70 of Strangers in Time

S ECRETS

A FEW MOMENTS LATER Oliver poked his head into the study. Bryant was still seated behind the desk, looking disturbed.

“I could see that did not go well,” observed Oliver worriedly.

“You could say that, yes, and a sight more.”

Oliver closed the door and sat down across from the major. “What crime did he commit?”

Bryant told him.

Oliver said, “Cripes, and here I thought it was something to do with money.” He glanced at Bryant. “But British soldiers? That explains why you’re interested. What proof do you have? And why would he do that?”

“As to the proof, we have a letter from the man admitting his guilt.”

“What!”

“Yes, quite remarkable.”

“Did he say what his motive was?” asked Oliver.

“Only that if we could not administer justice, he would.”

“Any idea what he meant by that?”

“Not the foggiest. Ignatius, can one get a cup of tea in this bookshop ?”

“You know it’s strictly against government regulations to have tea in the morning. But I can provide you with a simply disgusting cup of what the government deems to be coffee.”

Bryant glared at him.

“Molly was left quite badly off,” noted Oliver in a serious tone. “She’s making do as best she can, but it’s not been easy.”

Bryant nodded. “Murderous father on the lam, mother in the looney bin, house now a pile of rubble, yes, quite badly off, I’d say. Look, I’ll have the Ministry of Health take the girl off your hands. I should have brought them with me, in fact.”

Oliver leaned forward, his expression tense but focused. “I would consider it a great personal favor if you would do nothing of the kind, Scott. I really would.”

The man eyed him in surprise. “What’s all this?”

“She is vulnerable and hurt and confused. And she is also helping the war effort through her superb nursing skills. I think we should allow Molly to continue to do just as she is, and she can remain here while she does so.”

“But she’s not even sixteen.”

“She’s far more mature than many an adult of my acquaintance.”

Bryant watched him keenly. “Is she the daughter you never had, Ignatius? Is that what this is about?”

“It is about letting someone do her duty for her country whilst she is trying to cope with untold personal tragedy. I would argue that she could do that far better here than in an orphanage.”

“You and your brother were placed in an orphanage for a while, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s a highly competent surgeon, and you turned out all right.”

“We turned out all right in spite of our circumstances, not because of them.” He glanced hopefully at the major. “So, can you just let this rest? Please?”

After a few moments mulling over this, Bryant said, “As a favor to an old friend, yes, I can.” He gazed around the study. “You ever think about the old days at university?”

“Not too often, no. I have other things to occupy my time,” replied Oliver. “You know, the war ?”

Bryant smiled briefly at the remark. “It was quite lucky for us that the Germans didn’t stick to only bombing the East End. We might have had social chaos otherwise, poor versus rich, that sort of thing. But they bombed everywhere.”

“Which of course drew us more together,” said Oliver. “Something I have witnessed firsthand in my official duties.”

“And how is the air raid warden bit coming along?”

“The recent lull has been nice.”

“Unfortunately, there are darker days ahead.”

“Oh, really?” said Oliver dully.

“You know of course of the Germans’ V-1 rockets? They started chucking them at us this summer. First one hit on the Kent coast, but London has been targeted as well.”

“The doodlebugs? Yes, I’ve actually witnessed one or two of the bloody things whizzing across the sky.”

“Made from sheet metal and plywood. They can fly four hundred miles per hour and carry a bomb payload of nearly a ton. Killed over six thousand people in southern England. They can’t reach the north, limited range. But we learned that by banking a plane sharply while flying close to the V-1, we can alter the flight path and drive the damn things into the ground.”

Oliver watched his friend’s tense features closely. “I take it the Germans have come up with something else of concern?”

Bryant sat forward, lowering his voice. “Have you heard any whisperings of the V- 2 program?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Good, no need to inspire fear amongst the public.”

“Well, please feel free to inspire it in me,” said Oliver brightly.

“It’s a new type of bomb the Germans are readying to hurl against us.”

“I would have thought they had far too many of those already.”

“Like the V-1s, the bombs aren’t dropped from a plane. They have their own propulsion and advanced guidance systems, internal gyros, and external rudders and the like. They’re thirteen-ton missiles, really, and the damn things can fly thousands of miles an hour, with a payload of a thousand kilograms. They’ll be launched from the Dutch coast. They’ll strike here, of course, and perhaps Birmingham and Coventry as well, if they have the range.”

“And just when I thought things were going so splendidly. So when will they be coming?”

Bryant looked nervous. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but…”

Oliver looked expectant.

“They’ve already launched them against us. But we… meaning the government, have deemed them to be gas main explosions. Don’t want to panic the public and all, you see.”

Oliver did not look pleased by this. “Yes, I do see .”

“The only saving grace is you’ll never hear the damn things coming, and you’ll be dead before you know it.”

“How reassuring.”

Bryant keenly studied his old friend. “You ever regret not going to work at Bletchley, Ignatius? They wanted you badly, you know. Your head for numbers and puzzles and all that. And your paper on cryptography outlining the possibilities of separate divisions of labor, mirrored with a shared purpose and folks from many different backgrounds and intellectual capabilities, is one of the reasons why they initiated a scheme like Bletchley in the first place. ‘Poets and physicists,’ I think you called it.”

“Careful, Major, you don’t want to run afoul of the Official Act.”

“Since it was on my strong recommendation, I know they had you down to work there,” Bryant replied. “And you could have helped the war effort far more effectively than being an air raid warden.”

“Well, I had Imogen to consider.”

“Poor Imogen,” noted Bryant, no longer looking at him.

“Yes, poor Imogen,” repeated Oliver, staring at the blank page curled in the Crown typewriter.