Page 49 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

J ack snapped the file shut, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the quiet room. He leapt to his feet, jaw clenched. ‘Tangmere,’ he said. ‘He’s booked under an alias. Diplomatic cover. The flight’s scheduled for this evening.’

Ellie was already reaching for her coat. ‘Then we stop him.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ he muttered, already moving. ‘Lockwood needs to make the call.’

She followed him into the hallway. ‘You’re not contacting the base directly?’ she asked.

Jack shook his head. ‘MI5 doesn’t give orders to the RAF. Not without going through the right channels. If we barge in without clearance, we won’t get within a mile of the runway.’

When they reached Lockwood’s office, he sprang to his feet, reading the urgency in Jack’s face.

‘Tangmere?’ he asked.

Jack nodded. ‘He leaves tonight.’

Lockwood didn’t hesitate. He reached for the secure line. ‘I’ll get clearance. You go.’

Jack gave a sharp nod. ‘We’ll be there in under two hours.’

***

The countryside blurred past, hedgerows and farmhouses dissolving into grey smears.

The moon was just a smudge behind the clouds.

Jack stomped on the accelerator, the engine’s roar drowning out everything but the drumbeat of her pulse.

Behind them, Collins and Swan rode silently: the only agents Jack trusted to see this through.

A final flight. A forged clearance. And a traitor with one last hand to play.

Ellie checked her watch. ‘They take off at half past ten.’

‘Almost there.’

The rain had turned to mist by the time Jack turned off the main road, tyres crunching over the gravel track that led to RAF Tangmere.

Low hedgerows flanked the path, glistening in the weak light.

The airfield lay ahead, hidden in the gloom, a dark mass of hangars and flight sheds crouched behind layers of camouflage netting.

Even in the darkness, Ellie could make out the skeletal remains of a bombed hangar, its twisted metal frame a stark reminder of a recent Luftwaffe attack.

A dim glow shone from a guard hut at the main gate, where a lone figure in RAF uniform stepped out and raised a hand.

Jack slowed to a stop.

The guard approached, holding his rifle ready, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. ‘State your business.’

‘Stratton. MI5,’ Jack said crisply. ‘You should have received a call from Assistant Director Lockwood. We’re cleared to enter.’

The guard hesitated, then ducked back into the hut, and picked up the telephone receiver. Ellie sat rigid, heart thudding behind her ribs.

After a tense moment, the guard returned. This time, he offered a clipped nod. ‘Proceed. You’ll be met by Flight Officer Miller at the control tower.’

Jack gave a sharp nod and eased the car forward through the opening barrier. Ellie exhaled slowly as they passed into the belly of the airfield.

Tangmere was nothing like she expected; no floodlights or fanfare.

Just low buildings nestled in shadows, rows of hangars and sandbag emplacements surrounding the control tower.

Blast walls had been erected around key buildings.

A handful of aircraft sat dispersed around the perimeter.

The place wore its scars like medals, battle-worn but defiant, a front-line station that had taken its hits and kept fighting.

A man in an oilskin coat stepped into the light ahead, waving them towards a hangar near the runway. Jack pulled in sharply.

‘Flight Officer Miller?’ he asked as they stepped out.

The man nodded. ‘We’ve been tracking your man since he arrived. Went by the name Carlisle. Diplomatic clearance. Very tidy paperwork. He’s scheduled to depart within the hour, weather permitting.’

‘Where is he now?’ Ellie asked.

‘Hangar Three,’ Miller said. ‘With the crew doing final checks. I’ve posted men discreetly nearby. If he’s who you say he is, he’s not leaving this airfield.’

Jack’s jaw tightened. In the distance, a Lysander sat on the runway, a dark silhouette against the night. Jack and Ellie headed to the hangar, Collins and Swan flanking them, Miller two steps behind.

As they drew near, Jack turned to Miller. ‘Any weapons?’

‘None declared. But if there’s trouble, my men are ready.’

Jack didn’t hesitate. ‘Let’s move.’

Inside, the hangar smelled of high-octane fuel. A few groundcrew milled around, their attention fixed on a fighter aircraft. Ellie spotted Granville immediately by the aircraft’s tail, clipboard in hand, speaking to a flight officer.

Jack raised his voice. ‘Granville!’

He turned slowly. His face registered no surprise, just the mild annoyance of a man whose dinner plans had been interrupted. ‘What’s this?’

Jack stepped forward. ‘Orders have changed. You’re not cleared to depart.’

Granville raised the clipboard. ‘The Foreign Office arranged it personally.’

‘Give it up, Granville. We know the papers are forged.’

He let the clipboard drop. ‘Really, Jack? After everything I taught you?’

‘You’re done,’ Jack said coldly. ‘You’re under arrest for espionage and treason.’

‘You’re all so blind.’ Granville’s hand dipped into his coat pocket.

Jack’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘Don’t!’

Granville’s hand came up fast, and a shot cracked like thunder in the enclosed space.

Jack dived sideways, pulling Ellie down with him as the bullet sparked off the hangar wall behind them.

Granville swung the gun towards where they’d fallen.

Jack rolled, came up on one knee, and fired.

One clean shot to the chest. Granville staggered backwards into the hangar wall, eyes wide with shock, and crumpled to the ground.

Jack helped Ellie to her feet, both of them breathing hard. ‘You all right?’

She nodded, shaken. ‘That was close.’

He glanced at the bullet mark in the wall inches from where they’d been standing. ‘Too close.’ He winced then and pressed his hand to his left arm where the bandage was hidden beneath his coat.

‘Your arm. Are you all right?’

He nodded. ‘Knocked it diving for cover. Had worse, dancing with Sylvia from accounting at New Year’s. I swear she broke my little toe.’

She let out a shaky breath, then turned to look at Granville’s fallen body, blood pooling beneath him.

‘It’s over,’ she murmured.

Jack shook his head. ‘Not quite.’ He strode across the hangar to where the traitor lay, his revolver a few feet away.

Granville’s eyelids fluttered. ‘I should’ve seen it coming,’ he murmured.

‘You must be slacking.’

Ellie stepped closer. A red wine stain bloomed through his shirt, blood spreading across the floor. ‘Why betray everything?’

His mouth twitched. ‘It’s called survival.’ His gaze slid to Jack. ‘You think you’ve won. But you’re still blind.’

‘What about Templeton and Lambert?’ Jack’s voice was steel, each word clipped and precise. ‘Did you kill them?’

Granville’s eyes sharpened, a ghost of his old, smug smile surfacing. ‘Clever boy.’

‘Answer me!’ Jack clenched his fists.

‘They were getting too close.’ He coughed, blood speckling his lips. ‘Just like you are now.’

Jack leaned over him. ‘Who was giving the orders? Who is Kingfisher?’

His laugh was wet, rattling. ‘Still think you’re the hunter, don’t you? Well, you’re the prey. You always were.’ A gasp escaped his lips. ‘You’ll never see him coming. Not until it’s too late.’

Ellie bent closer. ‘Give us a name.’

But his gaze had already lost focus. His final breath escaped in a long, shuddering exhale, and his body stilled, eyes open, staring blindly into the rafters.

Behind them, the flight crew stood frozen. Collins moved fast, securing Granville’s weapon, instructing the RAF guards to secure the perimeter.

Jack rolled his left shoulder carefully, testing the movement.

Ellie gave him a look. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

He grinned faintly. ‘Still in one piece. Remind me to wear a thicker coat next time.’ The grin faded as his gaze drifted to Granville’s body.

‘He was like a father to me.’ The words came out rough, barely above a whisper, his hands clenching at his sides.

‘He trained me. Taught me how to read people, how to stay alive.’ His voice cracked.

‘Told me to trust no one and to always watch the shadows as well as my back.’

‘I’d say he did an excellent job, as he never saw you coming.’

Jack turned away for a moment, and when he looked up, his eyes were hard as flint. ‘One mole down. God knows how many left.’

‘He said we’d never see Kingfisher coming.’

A cold smile played at Jack’s lips. ‘Then Kingfisher doesn’t know us very well.’

***

Ellie joined Jack in the operations room, grey dawn light struggling to break through the rain-slick windows. They’d been back from Tangmere for barely three hours – enough time for statements, paperwork and the grim business of arranging for Granville’s body to be taken to the morgue.

Exhaustion had settled deep into her bones. Thank God her father was safe and Granville couldn’t do any more harm. But it still wasn’t finished. The puppet was dead, but the master remained at large.

Across the table, Lockwood closed the file with a snap.

‘Granville’s confession is partial, but damning.

He wasn’t acting alone. We’re pulling thread after thread, but the network is more intricate than we expected.

’ He paused, then slid a typed memo across the table.

‘The Prime Minister was pleased with our success.’

Ellie picked up the paper, scanning the careful language: successful operation, inter-departmental co-operation, threat neutralised.

‘Of course, what matters is that Granville’s network is being systematically dismantled, and your father’s research remains secure, Miss Harcourt.’

But as Ellie read the sanitised version of events, a voice echoed in her mind, brittle and urgent. Tangmere. Next full moon.

‘We wouldn’t have found him without Sinclair,’ she said softly.

Lockwood nodded slowly. ‘He died serving his country. We won’t forget that. He was a good man.’ His voice carried an unusual weight. He stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat. ‘I’ll be briefing the Prime Minister directly. Harcourt, Stratton. I’m sure you’ll both receive commendations.’

Ellie didn’t move. A commendation wouldn’t bring Sinclair back.

Wouldn’t untangle the threads still tightening around them.

It felt … hollow. Her father had nearly been lost. And Granville had taken every secret to the grave.

As the door shut behind Lockwood, she turned to Jack.

‘Do you think that was it? That Granville was the end?’

Jack looked away. ‘I want to believe it was. But no. Not even close.’

She nodded once. The ache in her throat had nothing to do with smoke or exhaustion.

‘His last words keep haunting me,’ she murmured.

‘That we’d never see Kingfisher coming.’ The words had burrowed deep, a poison working through her thoughts.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Granville’s knowing smile, heard that whispered promise of defeat.

She couldn’t let it end like this, not with him having the last word.

She glanced at Jack. ‘We missed something. I know we did.’

‘Then we go back to the beginning.’ He leaned back, exhaustion creasing his face. ‘All we can do is keep buggering on, in the words of the great man himself.’

She nodded, her throat aching with everything unsaid, lost chances and grief that cut deeper than she’d expected. Why did Sinclair have to die?

***

She sat on the bench outside MI5’s headquarters, coat buttoned to her throat, gloves damp from the drizzle. The world moved on around her – buses rolling past, a mother shepherding a child across the street, an RAF lorry groaning through traffic. But Ellie’s world was changing.

Jack appeared a moment later, a paper bag in one hand, two enamel mugs in the other. He didn’t speak as he sat beside her, just passed her the tea and nudged the bag towards her.

‘I thought you might be hungry.’

Ellie managed a smile. ‘Is that your doctor’s advice?’

‘No. It’s mine.’

She pulled out a jam bun and took a bite. It tasted of nothing, but she ate it anyway.

He watched the street, his jaw tight.

The sweetened bread sat heavy in her stomach. ‘I’m so sorry about Granville, but you made the right call.’

He paused as the rain settled on the brim of his hat. ‘The right thing isn’t always the easiest to live with.’

She nodded. Somewhere in the city, Kingfisher was watching. Waiting.