Page 11 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)
T he park was quieter than usual, the wind rolling off the lake, pummelling Catherine’s cheeks with cool persistence.
Leaves gathered in drifts along the gravel path, kicked up with each step.
Above, three geese passed overhead, honking as they formed a perfect V; it was rather like watching the RAF in their Hurricanes and Spitfires, she thought.
She’d left her shift late, fingers still stained with ink, the echo of clattering typewriters ringing in her ears.
She hadn’t told a soul about Daniel. Ellie would ask questions, dig too deep, and she had no wish to lie.
Besides, Ellie had looked wrecked yesterday, muttering about a cryptic note on a dead man’s body.
She’d played it off, but Catherine could still hear her voice.
I can’t slow down, not until I know what it means.
She kept walking, the lake alongside her, plots of victory gardens on her left.
Was there an inch of ground free of this war?
Silver barrage balloons floated far above, bobbing like tethered elephants in the fading light.
The sun had slipped beyond the horizon, streaking the clouds in salmon and gold, and there, beneath the willow, Daniel was waiting.
He rose as she approached, a smile breaking over his face like sunlight through smog.
Yet his eyes seemed to carry the burdens of the entire world.
‘You look tired,’ he said, and bent to kiss her cheek.
‘I am.’ She sank onto the bench beside him. ‘Everything’s so loud underground.’ She paused, then added, ‘Each time I come outside, it’s like coming up for air. My ears are still pounding.’
He reached for her hand, his palm warm against her skin. ‘Is anything troubling you?’
She glanced at him, then lowered her gaze. She could tell him about Ellie, the note and about how nothing in the War Rooms felt safe anymore. He made her feel seen, trusted. But an interior niggle warned her away. ‘No, everything’s fine.’
‘The world’s coming apart,’ he said softly. ‘But you, Cat, are the eye of the storm.’
She laughed. ‘I’m a lowly typist.’
His gaze held hers. ‘No. The quiet ones are often overlooked. But they see everything. And that makes you dangerous in the right hands.’
She flushed, partly from pride, partly from unease. ‘You’re full of compliments today.’
He gave a small shrug. ‘Maybe I’m trying to impress you.
’ He smiled and the warmth lingered in his expression.
‘Working so close to Churchill’s inner circle …
you must hear everything. See every cable that comes through.
’ His thumb brushed across her knuckles.
‘The kind of information that could save lives, if it reached the right people.’ He lifted her hand to his lips.
‘They think they’re the eagles in this war,’ he continued.
‘Churchill. His ministers. Even your friend at the Yard who’s asking questions about dead men with coded messages. ’
Her pulse flickered.
‘She’s loyal. But she doesn’t see the rot underneath.’ He leaned in closer, eyes fixed on hers. ‘You do, don’t you, Cat?’
She looked down at their hands. ‘I don’t know what I see.’
He smiled again, warm, reassuring, affectionate. ‘They’re simple birds,’ he said. ‘Some bright, some common. All caged. But you?’ His voice lowered. ‘You’re the cat. You move unseen, the one with claws.’
From where they sat, she could see the bridge across the lake, the faded reflection of Whitehall in the rippling surface. Ducks paddled silently through patches of mist, unbothered by the war around them. She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting herself believe he was right.
He glanced towards the Foreign Office’s domed roof. ‘They think they’ve survived the worst, that they’ll outlast the Luftwaffe and help will arrive. But it won’t. The Americans have no wish to fight another war.’
He lit a cigarette with practised ease. The match flared, casting his features in stark relief. Cheekbones sharp as blades, eyes narrowed with purpose and something deeper that Catherine couldn’t quite grasp. A falcon , she thought; sleek, dangerous, nothing like the birds he’d described.
‘A bomb fell on Buckingham Palace, you know,’ he said conversationally. ‘Lodged itself in the gardens. Didn’t go off.’
Catherine nodded. ‘I read about it. They said it was defused.’
He smiled thinly. ‘This time. Next time they won’t be so lucky.
’ He exhaled smoke rings into the air. ‘The Fuhrer’s offering Britain peace, but Churchill’s too proud.
Too many good people will die for his stubbornness.
When his luck runs out, it’s people like you who’ll inherit the ashes; people who understand that survival sometimes means making difficult choices. ’
The breeze skimmed the surface of the lake, rippling the water, and she shivered.
‘Your friend Ellie doesn’t realise what she’s walking into. These intelligence games chew people up and the innocent always get hurt.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘But someone like you, someone they trust, could guide her away from danger. Be her guardian angel.’
She nodded as her thoughts raced. What was Ellie involved in? And how was she supposed to use her claws? Of course, he was speaking metaphorically, but still, she couldn’t fight a fly. But she could listen, be invisible, watch everything. Her eyes narrowed. Yes, that she could do.
His words clung to her as she walked away. She wanted to believe him, needed to believe she was more than quiet hands in a thunderous war. But Ellie’s voice echoed again, sharper this time, more urgent. And Catherine, for all her admiration, hadn’t told her everything, either.