Page 39 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

J ack parked the Rover outside the Harcourt family home in Mayfair.

The garden was unkempt, as if the roses had noticed the absence of their keeper.

Ellie stepped out first, her hand on the gate, while Jack paused behind her.

He’d insisted on coming, not out of obligation, but from concern or loyalty that no longer felt purely professional.

Her mother must have been waiting, as she opened the door before they had a chance to knock.

Evelyn Harcourt looked drawn, her face pale in the hallway light.

Her hair was swept into a loose bun, but strands had fallen free.

She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.

Her dressing gown hung askew over a day dress, and one hand clutched at the collar as she glimpsed Jack.

‘Eleanor,’ she breathed, and folded her into an embrace before Ellie could speak.

‘I came as soon as I could,’ Ellie murmured. ‘Any word?’

Evelyn pulled back, eyes rimmed red. ‘Nothing. I’ve called the club again …’ Her voice caught on the words. ‘The porter said he left with his briefcase but never came back. Oh, it’s hopeless.’ Fresh tears welled in her eyes, then she glanced at Jack. ‘Mr. Stratton, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. I thought it best Ellie didn’t come alone.’

They moved into the sitting room. A teacup sat on the side table, barely touched. The wireless droned low in the background: the BBC news, muffled. Ellie perched on the edge of the sofa, watching her mother clasp her hands together so tightly the knuckles turned white.

Ellie began carefully. ‘I went to the Albemarle, and I found this in a book Pa left at the club.’ She laid out the folded note on the table. ‘He left it for me, Mama. It’s a code.’

Her mother stared at the numbers for a long moment. ‘I don’t understand …’

‘Pa’s involved in top secret work and I think he was taken because of it.’

Evelyn covered her mouth with trembling fingers. ‘Is this like the others? Those poor men who died, the ones from the newspapers …’

Jack spoke gently. ‘I promise you, we’re doing everything we can to get him back safely.’

Ellie saw the flicker in her mother’s eyes then; not shock, more like recognition.

‘What is it?’ Ellie asked.

Evelyn hesitated. ‘A few weeks ago, your father began staying later at the club. He said he was working with someone from the War Office. But sometimes I’d hear him in the study after midnight, fiddling with the wireless, scribbling in his journal.

I asked once, and he just … he smiled, said he was being careful . That was all. Being careful.’

‘Did he mention a chap called Granville?’

‘No. But he said … he said that if anything happened, I was to tell you to look inside the book . ’

Ellie met Jack’s gaze. ‘I told you. It’s a message for me.’ She turned to her mother. ‘It’s the red book in Pa’s study.’

The three of them moved down the hallway together.

The study was just as if Pa had stepped out for a moment, with papers stacked neatly, ink blotter squared, pens aligned with military precision.

A fire had burned down in the grate, leaving a faint woodsmoke scent hanging in the air.

Ellie moved to the shelves, fingers brushing spines worn by decades of use.

Thoughts Before the Storm was tucked where it always had been, beside volumes on cryptography and naval strategy. She slid it free and opened it.

Inside the front cover was a small folded slip of blue note paper, worn soft at the creases:

Ellie, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone. You know what to do. Follow the old pattern. And remember – trust your instincts, not the uniforms.

Love,

Pa.

Her throat tightened as she read on, her gaze raking over the list of numbers beneath his message, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Swiping them away with the back of her hand, she sat at his desk.

The numbers were whispering, deceptively simple.

Page. Line. First letter of the first word.

It was their old system, used many times in fun, now reborn in war.

She flipped through the book, pencil poised. She was the only one who could decode this. She wasn’t just following leads, she was following him .

A floorboard creaked behind her. Her mother stood in the doorway, watching.

‘Did you find anything?’ she asked.

Ellie didn’t answer directly. She just nodded, eyes on the page. ‘Hopefully, he’s left me a way to bring him home.’

She wasn’t aware of her mother walking away, or of Jack peering in once or twice as she worked. The only sound she heard was the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock that stood out in the hallway opposite the study door.

She read the first line out loud from Pa’s note. ‘Thirty-two, four,’ then flipped to page thirty-two, her fingertip tracing down to the fourth line. Her pencil hovered over the paper. She read the line, whispering aloud: ‘Guilt is a shadow that lengthens at sunset.’ First letter: G.

She blew out a breath. ‘Next. Forty-eight, nine.’ She repeated the process, marking letters until she reached the end of the first sequence, as words began to form.

G.R.A.N.V.I.L.

Her pulse picked up. She worked swiftly through the remaining numbers, pencilling letters on the page. When she had finished, the message was clear.

GRANVILLE IS A TRAITOR.

He approached me with an offer to defect. I refused. If I disappear, they have me. They want me in Berlin.

Her throat tightened. She dropped the pencil and stared at the decoded message. Pa had known. ‘Jack!’ She jumped to her feet and rushed from the study, almost colliding with him in the hallway as he came dashing towards her.

‘He knew,’ she said breathlessly, showing him her notebook. ‘Granville tried to turn him.’

Jack’s mouth set into a grim line. ‘Then we were right.’

She closed the book and slipped it into her satchel. ‘They took him from the club. We have to move,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

Ellie glanced at her mother, who stood in the living room doorway, a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Mama. The message doesn’t say where he is.’

Evelyn’s face crumpled, her bloodshot eyes brimming with more tears.

‘He wouldn’t have known,’ Jack said softly, ‘but we’ll work it out. Trust me.’ He squeezed her hand gently and she clung to his, as if clinging to hope itself.

They said little as they left the house. Her mother stood at the door with one hand curled around the edge of the frame, the other clutching a handkerchief. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Ellie met her eyes, gave a faint nod and then turned away before the tears could break loose again.

Outside, the night had grown colder and the sky was a thick curtain of cloud. From somewhere to the east, the distinctive roar of a Spitfire echoed on the wind – one of theirs, heading home.

Jack opened the car door for her without a word. They drove in silence for a while, Ellie huddled in her coat, the cipher clutched in one hand, the book in her bag by her feet.

‘He left it all there. Right in front of me. And I nearly missed it.’

Jack glanced at her. ‘But you caught it.’

She stared out at war-torn London. ‘We need to go to Lockwood. Tonight.’

‘I will,’ Jack replied. ‘You’re exhausted. You’ve done what no one else could’ve.’ He slowed for a junction. ‘Let me take this to HQ and sort out the next steps.’

She hesitated. ‘What if they move him before dawn?’

‘Then we’ll be ready.’ He looked over. ‘You have my word.’

They pulled up outside her building, the engine running still as he cranked on the handbrake.

‘Go inside,’ he said softly. ‘Try to rest. I’ll come for you the moment we have a plan.’

Ellie looked at him, and for the first time in hours felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. ‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks, Jack.’

She stepped out into the night, not wanting to go but knowing he was right.

She glanced around the quiet street. The wind rose like breath through the gutters, autumn leaves scuttling along the pavement as the breeze rattled skeletal branches.

Somewhere out there, Granville was moving. And her father was running out of time.

Ellie unlocked the front door and headed inside, drawing the blackout curtain behind her. She found Lizzie curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown, reading the evening paper. Catherine sat beside her, legs crossed tightly, a mug of tea cooling in her hands.

Both looked up as Ellie entered the sitting room. She didn’t speak at first, just dropped her keys onto the side table and shrugged off her coat.

Lizzie frowned. ‘Are you all right?’

Ellie swallowed. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. ‘My father’s missing.’

Catherine straightened. ‘What?’

She sank into the chair opposite them, hands clasped tightly. ‘I went to his club this afternoon. The porter said he left last night, but he never made it home. His car was still parked outside. He … He left me a message. A warning. He knew something was wrong.’

Lizzie leaned forward, her brow furrowed. ‘A warning?’

Ellie nodded. ‘Yes, he must have known someone was after him.’

Catherine went rigid. Her fingers tensed around her mug, knuckles white.

Lizzie gasped. ‘Who took him?’

‘All I know is that it’s someone who’s working for the enemy.’

Catherine’s eyes had gone distant. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. ‘Did the porter say who came for him?’

‘Just that a man arrived – tall, sandy hair, well dressed. Said my father had an appointment and they left together.’

Catherine’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. ‘Did he give a name?’

‘No.’ Ellie narrowed her eyes slightly. ‘Why?’

Catherine shook her head quickly. ‘No reason. I just thought it might help identify him.’

Lizzie looked between them, then asked, ‘Why would they take your father?’

Ellie hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Catherine again, noting how her face had paled.

‘I can’t tell you the details,’ she said finally. ‘But it’s to do with his work. That’s all I know. Or all I can say.’

Lizzie reached out, her hand closing over Ellie’s. ‘We’ll help you however we can.’

Ellie nodded, grateful but tight-lipped. Outside, the wind howled against the glass, filling the silence that had settled over them.

And across the room, Catherine sat still as stone, hands clenched in her lap, her gaze distant. Ellie saw the fear in her eyes swiftly followed by recognition and a chill ran down her spine.