Page 37 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

E llie spread the papers across her kitchen table for the fourth time that morning, searching for what she'd missed.

The cipher stared back at her. She'd cracked it, identified Granville as the mole, but instead of triumph, unease pooled in her chest.

She stifled a yawn. Sleep had eluded her, what with the cipher haunting her thoughts and her father’s warning echoing through her dreams. Jack had telephoned early that morning, to tell her not to come in.

The office had gone into lockdown; a few trusted officers were working through Granville’s files, tracing his authorisations, his clearances, his contacts.

But she couldn’t sit still. If Granville caught even a whisper of suspicion, he’d vanish into the night.

A crucial piece was missing. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind again. He’d known more than he’d let on. Maybe even too much. Her pulse quickened. What if Granville hadn't just fooled them? What if he'd seen Pa as a threat?

She pushed the thought aside. No good came of catastrophising when there was still work to be done.

Her thoughts drifted to Jack, and she wondered what was happening right now. No sooner had she done so than the telephone rang and she jolted, tea sloshing in her cup. She stared at the receiver, then reached out. ‘Hello?’

‘Ellie, it’s me.’

Her mother’s voice, brittle and tight. Ellie straightened instinctively. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s your father. He didn’t come home last night.’

The words dropped like stones in her chest, and she squeezed the receiver tightly.

‘He went to the club yesterday afternoon,’ her mother said, trying and failing to sound calm. ‘He said he had a meeting. But he never came back. I rang the club this morning and was told he left around eleven last night.’

Ellie’s mind raced. ‘Wait. The Albermarle?’

‘Yes.’

The matchbook. The cipher. Her father’s notes. A hundred threads knotted at once. ‘Did he say who he was meeting?’

‘No. And I’ve rung his office too. No one’s seen him.’

‘I’ll go there now.’ Ellie’s voice was firm, clipped. She had to be steady for both of them. ‘Try not to worry, Mama.’

She hung up before her mother could press her further.

The sound of the receiver landing in the cradle felt too loud, too final, and for a moment she didn’t move.

Her father. Gone. Just like that. Not a word.

Not a trace. Just … silence. Ellie felt sick.

Then came the thud in her chest. Not quick, but slow and heavy, like a warning drum.

She grabbed her coat with shaking hands. No hesitation now. Only cold resolve. If someone had taken him, she would find out who – and make damn sure they regretted it.

***

The Albemarle Club was tucked behind wrought-iron gates on a quiet Mayfair street.

With a swift glance at the polished brass plaque on the wall, she pushed open the door.

Inside, the air was warm and faintly spiced with pipe smoke and expensive cologne.

Ellie approached the front desk, where an older porter glanced up from his ledger.

‘Good evening, miss.’

‘I’m looking for my father,’ she said. ‘Richard Harcourt. He was here yesterday.’

Recognition flickered across the man’s face. ‘Ah, yes. He arrived just after seven, I believe. Had a drink in the lounge. Left around eleven thirty.’

‘Was he alone?’

The porter hesitated. ‘No, miss. There was another gentleman with him.’

Ellie’s heart raced. ‘Can you recall what he looked like?’

The man glanced upward as he thought. ‘Tall chap, about your father’s height. Dark overcoat. Sandy-coloured hair. Carried himself like an officer, if you know what I mean. Not someone you’d forget in a hurry.’

‘Did he give his name?’

The man looked regretful that he couldn’t help her more. ‘Signed in as a guest. D. Green . Not a name I recognise.’

Ellie nodded. ‘Was there a driver? A car?’

‘Didn’t see one. They left on foot.’

Ellie stared at the marble floor, her thoughts moving faster than her pulse. D. Green . False name, surely. Someone Pa knew and trusted.

‘Did my father leave anything here, by any chance?’

The porter checked the cubby holes behind him. ‘Not as such, miss … though there was a book found in the reading room. I believe it was his.’

He disappeared for a moment, returning with a slim volume bound in dark-green leather. ‘ Waveforms and Wireless Systems ,’ he read. ‘Not exactly light reading.’

Ellie took the book and thumbed through its pages.

A scrap of paper fluttered loose and she caught it before it hit the floor.

It was a series of numbers, hastily written.

Co-ordinates perhaps? She couldn’t tell, though the format looked familiar.

Her mind raced with thoughts of Pa being held hostage …

And for what? Did a German spy have him?

She slipped the paper into her coat pocket: that would have to wait until later. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘If you remember anything else, please contact my mother, Mrs Harcourt. You have the number.’

The porter nodded. ‘Of course, miss. I hope your father’s all right.’

Outside, the air had turned colder. Ellie stood and opened the book again, flipping back to the marked page. Her father hadn’t planned to disappear. There was no overnight bag. No letter. No warning. He’d gone to the club as usual, had a drink, met someone. And never came home.

Her mother had been right to worry. Ellie gripped the book in one hand, the scrap of paper crinkling in her coat pocket.

Her thoughts returned to the list she’d seen in the warehouse by the docks.

The one with her father’s name on. The radar research.

The magnetron. Pa was connected to all of it.

Had someone taken him? Just after Granville was found to be a traitor, her father vanished.

Had he gone willingly, unaware of the danger?

She walked a few more paces, her thoughts sharpening into a rhythm. Her chest tightened. Whoever had Pa, they wouldn’t hurt him. Not yet. He was too valuable. And that was the only comfort she had.

She found a phone box on Berkeley Square and lit a cigarette while she waited for the exchange. Jack answered on the third ring. Her voice came out low and steady. ‘My father’s missing.’

Silence.

‘He went to his club last night. Never came home. They say he left with a man whose name was probably fake.’

She heard Jack exhale. ‘You think he’s been taken?’

‘I don’t think. I know.’

‘Stay put. I’m coming to get you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And try not to worry. We’ll figure this out together. We’ll find him. I promise.’

Her vision misted with tears, and she hung up without saying goodbye. Thank God for Jack. He was always there, somehow; always dependable.

***

It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon when Jack pulled up outside Ellie’s flat. The day was overcast but dry, with the dull grey light that made everything in London look wartime-tired. He killed the engine and turned to her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘But I’m not going to fall apart.’

Jack nodded, then surprised her by getting out and opening her door.

‘Come on. I’ll walk you in.’

She didn’t argue. Inside, the flat was chilly. Ellie offered him tea, then winced when she realised the milk was powdered and the sugar tin was empty. Jack didn’t seem to care.

‘The club staff didn’t know anything,’ she said as they sat. ‘Just that he left around eleven thirty.’

Jack stirred his tea. ‘If Granville’s behind this, your father’s an asset. They’ll keep him safe.’

‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’

Ellie hesitated, then reached for the decoded cipher on the side table. ‘I almost forgot. I finally cracked the Vigenère.’ She handed him the paper. ‘I used Kingfisher as the keyword.’

Jack’s face darkened as he read: Echo 7 – Bawdsey. Falcon turned .

‘Bird codenames,’ she said. ‘Falcon has to be Granville. It fits, doesn’t it? Someone was warning that their agent had been compromised.’

‘Christ,’ Jack muttered. ‘And someone knew our radar secrets were exposed.’ He paused for a beat, staring at the paper. ‘Either way if they have your father and they know we’re on to them …’

He didn’t finish the thought, but Ellie understood. The stakes had just got higher. He stared at the decoded message for a long moment, then looked up at her, amazement etched on his face. ‘Our best cryptographers struggle with these.’

She felt her face glow with heat. ‘I just kept trying different keywords.’

‘Don’t downplay this. You’ve just delivered the most damning evidence yet about Granville.’

A silence fell between them. Outside, a delivery truck rattled past.

‘You’re safer here for now,’ he said at last. ‘If Granville’s running, he’ll cover his tracks. And if he suspects you’re on to him, you could be a target too.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you asking me to sit tight?’

‘I’m not asking.’ He met her gaze squarely. ‘You’ve already cracked this open. Let me go back to Lockwood now and see how we’ll proceed.’

Ellie nodded.

Jack finished his tea and stood up. ‘I’ll head there now and check back with you later.’

She followed him to the door. ‘Jack …’

He paused on the threshold.

‘Thanks. For everything.’

‘Get some rest,’ he said. ‘You’ve earned it.’

After he left, she tried to settle. She made tea, attempted to read, paced the flat, but nothing held her attention.

She’d called her mother earlier; she hadn’t told her everything, just that Pa was missing, and that every resource was being used to find him.

Her mother had gasped, fallen silent, then Ellie heard sniffles.

She had tried to sound calm and hopeful, but when she hung up, her hands were shaking.

She placed Pa’s book gently on the table, beside the cipher that had led her to Granville. Thoughts wheeled in her mind. The murders. The coded threats. The smuggling network. They’d been circling her father for weeks. Now, they had him. And she was going to get him back. No matter what it cost.

***

Ellie stepped into the front room of the flat as dusk settled over the city. The window was open a crack, and the evening breeze flowed in, dragging snippets of the low hum of conversation outside. A car door shut. Voices murmured. She moved to the window, absently brushing the curtain aside.

Catherine stood by the garden gate, her shoulders angled towards a man in a dark coat.

He was tall, fair-haired, his hat pulled low over his brow.

He leaned in close, speaking softly – too low for Ellie to catch the words, but she heard the timbre; smooth with a slight rough edge, like gravel rubbed into silk. Familiar, but from where?

Catherine laughed gently, then turned to the door. The man gave a slight nod and walked back towards the street. Ellie let the curtain fall and stepped back from the window. Probably a colleague from Catherine’s department. Still, the voice lingered in her mind longer than it should have.

Sleep came in fragments that night, troubled by half-remembered voices and unanswered questions. When Jack’s call came at dawn, summoning her to work, she was already dressed.

His voice was grim. ‘Granville’s gone and we’re fairly certain he’s taken your father.’