Page 50 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

The New Cross telephone exchange had taken a direct hit while the Hawker factory in Kingston was still smouldering. And somewhere beneath the statistics, real people had spent the night huddled in shelters praying for dawn.

She turned away as voices drifted in the corridor. Lockwood had been speaking with a Whitehall official, all congratulatory nods and satisfied murmurs. She wasn’t smiling. Behind every handshake lurked the same question; who else knew? Who else had helped Granville?

Meanwhile, order was being slowly restored here and there was nothing left for Ellie to do.

She was only here because of the mission involving Granville and her father.

Now it was concluded, she assumed she’d be sent back to New Scotland Yard, where she would be once again chauffeuring Calloway to crime scenes, fetching tea he never drank and enduring his rants when the world didn’t bend to his will.

The bane of my existence , he’d once called her in half-sneering, half-smirking tones.

She folded her arms across her chest, staring out at the city beyond the window.

Even the air outside felt stale, with smoke curling off rooftops, blackout curtains hanging limp.

Thoughts sailed in her mind. Granville was dead.

Her father was safe. The stolen blueprints had been recovered. So why did it feel unfinished?

The door creaked open behind her. Jack stepped in, his tie loose.

He handed her a slip of paper. ‘We found this among Granville’s things,’ he said.

‘It was in the open grate. He’d burned everything else and intended the same for this.

It must have slipped through unnoticed by some miracle.

He was probably in a hurry to get to Tangmere. ’

Ellie unfolded it.

Dove lands IX. X midday below the lion’s mouth .

She read it twice, then a third time.

‘What do you make of it?’ Jack asked.

‘It’s a code.’ Her eyes narrowed as she studied the Roman numerals. ‘IX. X,’ she murmured. ‘Ninth of October.’ She looked up at him. ‘It might be instructions. God knows.’ She frowned, the word dove nagging at her memory. ‘A location, perhaps, a time. Maybe a name.’

He hovered at her shoulder. ‘Can you crack it?’

Ellie shrugged. ‘I’ll try my best.’ She slipped the note into her coat pocket. If Granville wanted it destroyed, it had to be important.

Outside, the sirens began to wail as the last of the daylight bled from the sky. Ellie groaned. ‘Typical. Just as I was heading home.’ She reached for her gas mask and the Thermos of tea she’d brought in with her – not that there was much left now.

‘Come on,’ Jack said, holding his trench coat. She followed him out and they joined the stream of people heading towards Charing Cross.

He glanced at the sky, already darkening with dusk and a mass of grey cloud. Ellie scanned the heavens, catching a flicker of movement overhead as they turned onto the Strand.

The low snarling hum of engines rolled through the air, and then, suddenly, a silhouette cut across the clouds. A fighter, sleek and fast.

‘Spitfire,’ Jack said, his voice tightening. ‘He’s chasing that Messerschmitt.’

A second Spitfire screamed overhead, its wings banking sharply.

Gunfire ripped across the sky, sharp and staccato, and a beat later, golden casings rained down around them like falling sleet, metallic clinks bouncing off the pavement and roofs.

In the distance, a thin trail of black smoke marked the Luftwaffe pilot’s retreat towards the Channel.

Jack grabbed her arm, gently but firmly. ‘Come on.’

Moments later, the station entrance loomed ahead, and they were heading into the Underground, the air thick with the anticipation that always came when Jerry was overhead.

‘Do you ever get used to it?’ she asked suddenly.

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘The sound?’ She nodded. He shook his head. ‘No. You just get better at pretending you’re not afraid.’

Ellie hitched an eyebrow at his frankness, but she doubted it was the truth.

She still wasn’t used to this, despite the Luftwaffe’s presence night after night.

Will they ever stop? Will the war ever end?

She chided herself immediately. Of course it will.

It must . And they had to win – because any other outcome was simply inconceivable.

The air raid warden waved them through with brisk efficiency. ‘Keep left. Bakerloo platform. Bring your own blankets if you’ve got ’em.’

They descended into the belly of the city, shoes echoing on tile and stone. The smell was the same as always – coal dust, urine, sweat and fear. The platform was already half-full.

Ellie spotted a young mother clutching her baby, an old man holding a rolled-up newspaper like it mattered. People made nests where they could; newspapers for pillows, suitcases as makeshift walls.

Jack handed her his coat to sit on. ‘Luxury seating,’ he muttered, earning a tired smile.

Somewhere in the dim of the Underground, someone hesitantly blew the first notes of a tune on a mouth organ.

For a while, they sat without speaking, listening to the echo of distant voices filling the space.

Someone coughed. A baby cried. Then came the steady low rumble of bombers – distant at first, then growing louder.

The first deafening crump crashed overhead and the ground beneath her feet trembled as dust drifted all around.

Ellie jolted, her heart racing. Another blast, closer this time, and the lights flickered.

Her throat tightened. The background murmur faded to hushed silence as everyone else waited it out.

She heard the staccato ack-ack of the anti-aircraft guns punching back at the Luftwaffe.

Panic rose, wild thoughts swirling in her mind. She blew out a shaky breath, chest tight. The air felt thick, humid, pressing down on her lungs. ‘Oh, God. I can’t do this – I need to get out.’

Jack turned to her at once. ‘You’re all right. We all are.’ His voice was steady as he reached for her hand, enclosing it in his. ‘Look at me, Ellie. You’re here. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.’

She stared at him, willing herself to believe it.

His grip was anchoring. And then, like a lifeline, he started talking, some nonsense about his brother’s dog, a pub in Margate, some book she’d never read.

Another explosion made her flinch and he slid his arm around her, holding her tight.

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning in against him.

Slowly, the noise began to blur, growing distant, muffled by the thread of calm he spun around her like a shield.

And then, as if nothing had happened, he brought the conversation back to business.

‘Dove lands IX. X midday below the lion’s mouth.’

Ellie didn’t answer at first. Then: ‘It’s not encoded.’

‘Dove could be the contact,’ Jack offered. ‘A codename, probably.’

Ellie nodded. ‘It fits. Lands suggests arrival, someone being sent in. Midday is the meet time.’

‘Below the lion’s mouth.’

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Could be anywhere. A pub, a statue, a building with lion carvings. There are dozens across the city. Trafalgar. Whitehall. Embassies. It could be anywhere.’

Jack leaned back against the cool tiled wall. ‘Could even be a code for something symbolic. Lion could symbolise Britain. Or strength.’

‘Whatever it is, we’ve got seventy-two hours to figure it out.

’ She glanced down the platform. A man was lighting a cigarette behind a pillar, cupping the flame.

Nearby, a mother hushed her child and handed her a biscuit, unwrapping it from the waxed paper first. Ellie’s gaze drifted to the woman’s coat.

A silver pin glinted on the lapel, larger than the one Catherine wore, and round like a rose.

Catherine’s pin . A silver dove in flight .

The connection sparked, sharp and instinctive. Then she shook her head. It was just a pin. Wasn’t it?

Above them, the rumble of distant engines droned through the cavernous tunnels like a shiver. They both looked up. Ellie wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned back. ‘Sometimes I think the city itself is holding its breath,’ she said. ‘Waiting to see what’s left when morning comes.’

When the all clear finally sounded, a strange, wavering whistle through the tension-thick air, Ellie realised her shoulders had relaxed.

People stirred, reaching for coats and handbags.

Someone muttered about the Luftwaffe, while a man near the door growled, ’I’d like to give Hitler what for. Hope our lads give him hell in return.’

Jack stood, then offered his hand to help her up and she took it without hesitation. Another raid survived, thank God. But as they emerged into the fractured night, she couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere, someone else hadn’t been so lucky.