Page 13 of The Words Beneath the Noise

The private straightened, still gripping the civilian's arm. “Caught him trying to go over the fence, Sarge. Said he was just going to the village, but why would anyone do that during a blackout drill?”

The civilian was babbling now, something about needing cigarettes, about not realising there was a drill, about how he'd just be a minute. His eyes kept darting to the satchel like it contained something precious. Or something damning.

“Name,” I said.

“W-Williams. Gerald Williams. I work in the signals office, I just?—”

“Open the bag.”

“I really don't think that's necessary, I just?—”

“Open it or I do.”

His hands shook as he fumbled with the clasp. Inside, visible in the torchlight: papers. Typed sheets with rows of numbers and letters that meant nothing to me but would mean everything to the wrong people.

“Private, you'll escort Mr. Williams to Captain Finch's office and wait there until I arrive. Don't let him out of your sight. Don't let him speak to anyone. And don't let go of that bag.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

I watched them go, the private half-dragging Williams through the snow, and felt the cold settle into my bones. A leak. Someone trying to smuggle information off the estate in the middle of a blackout drill, when attention was elsewhere and darkness provided cover.

Finch had been right to worry.

I made my way back to where I'd left Pembroke, half-expecting him to have wandered off despite my instructions. But he was there, exactly where I'd left him, arms wrapped around himself against the cold.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Later. We need to get to the assembly point.”

I took his elbow again, and we walked the rest of the way in silence. My mind was churning through implications, suspects, security protocols that had clearly failed somewhere. But I kept my grip steady and my pace even, and when we reached the assembly point where the others were gathered in shivering clusters, I let go of Pembroke's arm and went to give my report.

Headcount complete. One attempted breach, suspect in custody. Hut X personnel all accounted for.

Finch's face, when I told him about Williams, went the colour of old stone. He dismissed me with a curt nod and headed toward the manor at a pace that suggested Williams was about to have a very unpleasant evening.

I found Pembroke waiting near the edge of the crowd, separate from the others as always, his notebook clutched to his chest like a shield.

“Who was it?” he asked when I approached. “The person you caught?”

“Gerald Williams. Signals office.”

Pembroke's brow furrowed. “Williams. He's competent. Quiet. I wouldn't have thought...” He trailed off, something shifting behind his eyes. “But then, one rarely does think.”

“You knew him?”

“I know everyone. At least enough to recognise their patterns.” He looked at me, and in the dim light from the manor windows, his expression was impossible to read. “You caught him because you were paying attention. Because you thought something might happen and you were ready for it.”

“That's my job.”

“Yes. It is.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I didn't thank you. For earlier. In the canteen.”

“You didn't want to be rescued.”

“No. But that doesn't mean I wasn't grateful.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the admission. “Morrison has been looking for an excuse to put me in my place for months. You gave him a reason to back down without losing face. That was... strategic.”

I almost laughed. Of all the ways to describe stepping between two men before a fight broke out, strategic wasn't the one I'd have chosen.

“I'll walk you back to your billet,” I said. “It's been a long night.”