Page 40 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

J ack leaned over the central table in the briefing room, sleeves rolled up, jaw locked tight. Opposite him, Lockwood flipped through the decoded message Ellie had brought in, his brow furrowed in thought. The air hung stale, exuding a musty odour tinged with sweat and tobacco.

‘This was buried deep,’ he muttered. ‘Hidden in a personal cipher system – your father’s, you say?’

Ellie nodded. ‘We used to write coded letters when I was a girl. It was a game back then.’

The map of London lay sprawled between them, pins marking Granville’s last known locations and safe houses.

Ellie tapped her fingers against the edge of the table, her thoughts already racing ahead.

‘He’s moving again. The docks were a decoy,’ she said.

‘If we’re right about the German extraction … ’

Lockwood studied a second map, trailing a fingertip along the southern coast. ‘Then he’ll be heading south-east to the coast. We’ve heard whispers of U-boats off Folkestone and Southend.’

Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘Two different locations, miles apart.’

Lockwood folded his arms. ‘Quite. We need something concrete. I’m not sending men into the dark; besides, the area’s too large. We need to pin it down.’

They worked for hours, combing through intercepts, surveillance reports, naval chatter; anything that might point to Granville’s route.

Lockwood despatched runners to alert police divisions and port authorities – every station, every dock, every checkpoint needed to watch for Granville.

Jack coordinated with the Signals Division to monitor radio traffic.

The light outside shifted from grey to gold, then to black. By the time they stepped away from the table, exhaustion clung to them all.

Ellie exhaled slowly. ‘I need some air.’ She gathered her coat and gas mask, slipping the strap over her shoulder.

Outside, she drew her mackintosh tightly to her against the autumn evening, and walked towards Piccadilly.

She needed to think, and she needed distance.

Soon, the Ritz’s frontage rose above her, carved-stone balustrades, heavy cornices and arched walkways that wrapped the building like a forgotten palace, darkness pooling beneath.

As she passed the grand entrance, now barricaded with sandbags, she caught the echo of footsteps behind her. Swift, closing in.

She turned sharply, fingers reaching for her torch.

The beam cut through the dark, illuminating a tall figure – a man, hat low, now shielding his eyes.

Sinclair. Her breath caught. He looked different, leaner, older perhaps, but everything else was achingly familiar.

The cut of his coat, the way he held himself, alert and watchful.

‘I hope I didn’t startle you,’ he said quietly.

Ellie didn’t move. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘I know. But I had to see you.’

‘You’ve been following Granville.’

His mouth curved faintly. ‘Among others. I’ve been inside the network for over a year, quietly watching, tracking movements.’

She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘That’s why you disappeared.’

‘I’m so sorry, Ellie, but I couldn’t tell you.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it wasn’t safe. Still isn’t.’

She shook her head, voice tightening. ‘You could have said something. Anything.’

‘If I had,’ he said, softer now, ‘you’d have been a target too.’

Silence unspooled between them, fine as a silken thread. She studied his face in the shadows. ‘You knew the name Kingfisher. You flinched when I said it last time we spoke.’

His expression flickered. Silent confirmation.

‘Your father’s alive.’

Relief flooded through her. ‘Where?’

‘You don’t have much time. They’re holding him near Wickhurst Point. A farmhouse. Old smuggling territory.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s temporary. Granville will move him soon.’

Her stomach twisted. ‘What do they want from him?’

‘They have the blueprints but not the understanding. They need your father to finish what he started.’

Ellie stepped forward. ‘Come with me. Help us take Granville down.’

He shook his head. ‘If I act now, I blow everything. My cover. The rest of the network.’ He handed her a folded slip of paper. ‘But I can give you this.’

Their fingers brushed as she took it, the contact electric. The spark she’d tried so hard to forget flared back to life, making her pulse race in a way that felt like betrayal. Jack’s face flashed in her mind.

‘Co-ordinates,’ he said. ‘That’s where they’re holding him.’ A pause. ‘But if I hear anything else, I’ll find a way to reach you.’

Ellie glanced at the note, then back at him. ‘Is this real?’

His eyes didn’t waver. ‘Every word.’

She hesitated. ‘And us?’

Sinclair reached for her hand, his touch cool but certain. ‘There’ll be time, Ellie. After all this is over.’

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t pull away, either.

‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘You can’t tell anyone where this came from. Not Jack. Not MI5. If they know I’ve surfaced, they’ll shut everything down.’

Ellie hesitated. ‘He’ll ask.’

‘Then lie.’ He exhaled. ‘Granville’s got a contact in Spain. If he slips away tonight, that’s where he’ll run. Once he crosses the border, he’s gone forever.’

Spain was neutral on paper, but unofficially a haven for operatives of every nationality. All spies weaving through a delicate political web.

Sinclair looked at her one last time, then kissed her – softly, fleeting, his lips cold, tinged with gin and regret. When he pulled back, he squeezed her hands. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

She couldn’t speak, so she nodded. He released her and melted back into the darkness. Ellie stood alone, fingers still tingling, torn between the past that had just kissed her and the future waiting with Jack.

Somewhere overhead a gull cried, sharp and unexpected, then silence folded back in. She pulled out the note again, scanning the co-ordinates. Wickhurst Point. Granville was moving soon. Breaking into a run, she raced back to St James’s Street. She had to catch Jack before it was too late.