Page 31 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

‘Close the door,’ he said without turning.

Her pulse quickened. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Chalmers didn’t show yesterday. Or today.’ His face was drawn with exhaustion. ‘His flat’s been cleared.’

Her stomach dropped. ‘You think he ran?’

A personnel vetting file went missing last week. Five names.’ His voice softened. ‘Your father was one of them.’

A chill settled in her chest. Pa, hunched over blueprints, pencil behind his ear – a man of equations, not enemies. He’d never see this coming.

‘Lockwood’s calling a briefing,’ Jack said. ‘Ten minutes.’

***

The emergency briefing felt like a war council.

Smoke hung in the air in layers so thick that Ellie had to blink back tears, and the tension was suffocating.

Lockwood stood rigid at the head of the table, his usual grey pinstriped suit immaculate as always, but his hands betrayed him with a slight tremor as he opened his leather folder.

‘The situation has deteriorated,’ he began without preamble. ‘Chalmers has compromised more than we thought and is now on the run. His flat’s empty, and a sensitive report on the Chain Home stations along the southern coast has been leaked. He was the last to access it.’

Jack’s blood ran cold. The radar technology was tied to Britain’s most critical secrets, passed to the Americans in hopes of survival. He glanced at the files on the table, labelled OPERATION KINGFISHER – INTERNAL INQUIRY .

‘We’ve received intelligence that Chalmers has arranged a meeting tonight. Tilbury Docks, nine-thirty,’ Lockwood continued. ‘He accessed a personnel file containing five names: Tizzard, Randall, Boot …’ He paused. ‘And Richard Harcourt.’

As the briefing continued it became clear that the radar report was no ordinary leak.

Chalmers had seen just enough of the higher-clearance chatter to guess what it was tied to.

A scientific cache passed quietly to the Americans weeks ago; jet propulsion and radar.

Britain’s best hand laid bare to their allies in the hope of surviving the year.

If even one of those files fell into the wrong hands, the consequences wouldn’t be limited to Whitehall.

He stared at the operations map pinned to the wall, his gaze following the red lines crossing from Whitehall to the docks, through Blackfriars and Bermondsey, a city spiderwebbed in shadows.

Lockwood’s voice remained neutral. ‘I’m not saying Harcourt’s involved. But if someone is watching him or planning to use him then we need to know why.’

Jack glanced at Ellie, who had visibly paled. At least she was sitting down.

‘We move tonight,’ Lockwood said. ‘Surveillance team’s in place. You’ll lead the operation, Jack. The docks at ten o’clock.’

He nodded. But as he gathered the papers, the knot in his chest didn’t ease. This wasn’t over. Not even close.

***

The corridor outside the briefing room felt like a trap. Ellie leaned against the wall, trying to process what she’d just heard. Her father was now a suspect. The man who’d taught her about mathematics, codes and ciphers.

‘Ellie.’ Jack’s voice was gentle.

She looked up at him, feeling hollow. ‘They think Pa’s the leak.’

‘They think he might be compromised. There’s a difference.’

‘Is there?’ Her laugh was brittle. ‘Either way, I’m about to help you spy on him.’

Jack moved closer, lowering his voice. ‘If he’s innocent, and I believe he is, then we’ll prove it. But if someone’s using him …’

‘Then we stop them.’ She straightened, forcing steel into her voice. ‘I’m still coming, Jack. If Pa’s in danger, I need to know.’

***

Night had settled over the docks, swallowing the warehouses in shadow. The day had brought the usual waves of bombers. Ellie had watched the vapour trails to the east that morning, and now she heard the distant drone of aircraft heading inland from the Channel.

She adjusted her position against the cold brick wall, forcing herself to focus on the warehouse ahead instead of the knot of worry in her stomach.

Jack stood beside her, his body tense, coiled like a spring.

‘You’re wound tight tonight,’ she whispered, noting how he checked his watch for the third time.

‘So would you be if you were about to arrest your partner’s—’ He stopped himself abruptly as a figure moved at the far end of the alley.

Chalmers. A woman approached him, wrapped in a heavy coat, her face hidden beneath a low-brimmed hat. Moonlight barely touched them as they met. Chalmers reached into his pocket, pulled out a folder and pressed it into her waiting hand.

Jack leaned forward, and as the woman turned to leave, he raised his hand in a sharp signal and the alley erupted into chaos.

A floodlight blazed to life, cutting through the darkness, pinning the figures in harsh white light. Shadows leapt across the walls, distorted and jagged.

‘MI5!’ a voice bellowed. ‘Hands up!’

For a split second, everything froze, then the woman bolted.

Ellie darted after her on instinct, but Chalmers slammed into her side like a freight train, blocking her pursuit.

She hit the brick wall hard, breath exploding from her lungs, then crashed to the ground as his weight drove her down.

Pain shot through her ribs and the corner of a crate bit into her hip.

‘Damn it, Harcourt, MOVE!’ It was Jack’s voice.

Ellie rolled, gasping, just as Jack tackled Chalmers, but the man twisted free, then hurled a crate at the lights. Glass shattered and darkness swallowed them whole. Shouts and running footsteps echoed all around. A gunshot cracked and when the noise faded, Chalmers had vanished.

She pushed herself up, something small crunching beneath her palm.

She grabbed it - a matchbook – and angled it to catch the faint moonlight.

The Albermarle , she read . Pa’s club . Her stomach dropped.

It was exclusive and discreet, the sort of establishment where ministers and military men gathered to swap theories over port.

Had Chalmers dropped it deliberately? A cold, coiling unease shifted in her chest. Ellie clenched her fingers around the matchbook, her mind racing.

Perhaps they were watching him. If so, this wasn’t just a message. It was a warning.

She stared into the darkness where the woman had vanished. The way she had moved had seemed familiar, but the thought slipped away as Jack appeared beside her.

‘I almost had him,’ he panted.

‘Don’t blame me.’ She tossed him the matchbook. ‘From Pa’s club.’

Jack’s expression darkened as he slipped it into his pocket.

***

Back at headquarters, the matchbook sat between them like an accusation.

Jack picked it up, turning it in his fingers. ‘Could be coincidence.’

‘He wasn’t meeting a random contact,’ Ellie said. ‘That was a deliberate handoff. Someone on the inside is pulling his strings.’

Jack set it down carefully. ‘So Chalmers isn’t the mole.’

‘I’d say he’s the errand boy.’ She leaned forward. ‘Think about it. He knew we were coming. Someone warned him.’

Jack’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, he didn’t argue. The gold lettering caught the lamplight, and they both knew the real enemy was still out there – closer than either wanted to admit.