Page 10 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

The first page was a schematic, lines and symbols she didn’t fully understand, but the label jumped out like a flare in the dark: Magnetron Assembly.

Type CV64. Radar technology. She stared at the technical drawing, her eyes scanning the labelled parts, the angles, the notations scribbled in red ink.

She didn’t reach for a pencil. She didn’t need to.

The figures, names, plans – each detail etched itself in her mind the instant she saw it, like a photograph developing in a darkroom.

Pa used to call it her party trick, ever since she had rattled off the twelve times table at age six, having read it just once.

But this was no parlour game. Now, that party trick might save lives.

Her eyes skimmed the second page. TRE . Pye . GEC . And then … Names. Tizard . Boot . Randall and … Harcourt .

Her breath caught. Her father’s name . Her gaze slid over the names once more. She remembered hearing about Henry Tizard some time ago. Pa had returned home one evening, talking animatedly to her mother about a meeting. She hadn’t understood it then, but now …

She flipped to the next page. Typed technical specifications she barely understood, but in the margin was a note scrawled in her father’s distinctive slanted handwriting.

Echo 7 is vulnerable.

Merlin’s Eye is exposed.

Kingfisher is watching.

Ellie stared at the page. The coded message .

The same phrases – only now they weren’t riddles, they were warnings.

And Pa had written them. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more: the fact that her father had been privy to such secrets, or the possibility that he had stepped into murky waters. The kind that could get a man killed.

Her fingers hovered beneath the final line and an icy shiver slid down her spine. Why had he written this? How did he know those names? Was he being watched? Or worse, was he passing the messages on? Before she could read further, the door creaked open behind her.

Her father stood there, hands at his sides. ‘That’s not for your eyes, Eleanor.’

His voice was level, but the clipped precision of each syllable cut like a blade.

She straightened, spine stiff. ‘I was looking for a book,’ she said evenly, nodding towards the shelves.

‘I didn’t mean to pry.’ For a moment she felt eight years old again, caught in the study when her father had warned her it was off limits.

He stepped forward and plucked the folder from her hands, sliding it beneath his arm. ‘Some knowledge is more dangerous than ignorance.’

Ellie didn’t flinch, merely watched him, noting his steady hands, but his eyes flicked towards the whisky decanter as if thirst wasn’t the only thing weighing on him. ‘Of course. I’ll leave you to it, Pa.’

She wanted to ask him what was going on and had to clench her teeth to stop herself from blurting out the words. But she knew better than to dwell on it. Pa wouldn’t tell her anything. A pause passed between them; quiet but brimming as she stepped aside. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

He inclined his head slightly – a gesture of civility, nothing more – as Ellie moved past him, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back until she had turned the corner into the hallway.

Only then did she hear the creak of the door closing, followed by a groan as it eased open a fraction.

She strolled along the hall, the rug muffling her steps, the oil paintings lining the walls watching with silent judgement as she passed by.

Pausing, she heard her father’s voice; low, clipped and uncharacteristically tense.

Ellie slowed, her pulse quickening. Her father rarely spoke with emotion.

Every word Richard Harcourt uttered, whether at Whitehall or at his own dining table, was measured, precise and chosen for its effect. But this? This was different.

She moved closer, back up the hall, until she was pressing herself into the shadow of the hallway arch, just out of sight.

The study door was ajar by a finger’s width, a sliver of amber light spilling into the hallway, illuminating the dark-wood panelling beneath her fingertips. She held her breath.

‘ It’s already in motion.’

Ellie’s pulse stuttered.

‘ Echo 7 is vulnerable.’

She froze, every muscle locked.

‘Merlin’s Eye is exposed.’

Her fingers curled against the wall, the cool silk wallpaper anchoring her. These weren’t abstractions. These were the exact names from Templeton’s coded message. The ones MI5 had buried.

‘Kingfisher is watching. We can’t afford another slip.’

Kingfisher is a person . That much was certain.

Her father’s voice dropped, too low to hear, but his tone never faltered – cool, controlled.

He wasn’t flustered or afraid. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, the heavy click of the telephone receiver being replaced bounced through her mind.

Ellie exhaled, only now realising she’d been holding her breath.

She waited a moment longer. Her father was silent, but there was the sound of drawers being opened and closed, the shuffle of papers, then footsteps and the rush of fresh, cool air as the front door opened.

The heavy click of the latch echoed as it closed and all was quiet once more.

Only then did she move. Behind her, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter-hour, its deep, resonant toll filling the otherwise silent house.

She slipped inside the study like a shadow.

The room was still warm from his presence, the air heavy with brandy and tobacco.

She moved straight to the desk. The folder was gone, of course, so Ellie checked the drawers.

Three opened but searching them proved fruitless.

The fourth was locked. She crouched, pulled a hairpin from her pocket and worked it into the narrow keyhole.

It took longer than usual. Her fingers were steady, but her pulse raced, adrenaline coursing through her body.

Then she heard it: the almost imperceptible click, as sure as the turning of a clock’s gears, and she eased the drawer open.

Inside: a stack of government-marked files, one envelope bearing the War Office seal, and a typed memo marked URGENT RE: Merlin’s Eye .

Ellie scanned it quickly. Scientific terms blurred together – oscillators , frequencies , shielding .

Radar tech . Classified . A second document mentioned the Ti zar d Mission , and beside it, a small file marked ECHO 7 – LOCATION a quiet longing, perhaps, for how things were before the war.

‘Give my regards to Father,’ she said.

‘I shall. And do be careful, Eleanor.’ Her mother’s voice wavered. ‘It’s not safe out there. Especially for a young woman doing … that sort of work.’

Cool words, but the warning felt genuine.

‘I can take care of myself,’ she said, her voice soft but certain.

Ellie’s fingers paused on the lapel of her coat for a moment.

Her mother had never understood her, or approved of many of her choices, and she doubted she ever would.

But for the first time in a long time, Ellie wondered if Mama’s worry had less to do with propriety, and more to do with genuine fear.

Outside, the cold wrapped around her like a second coat, and chimney smoke hung heavy in the air.

She walked briskly down the street, thoughts racing through her mind.

She had learned more than she expected tonight; the image of the radar schematic burned behind her eyes.

Whatever Pa was hiding, it was dangerous, and someone close to her was playing a game with high stakes.

She wasn’t sure whose side they were on, or whether she had already made herself a target.