Still, he greeted her with a warm smile and a few rapid blinks. “Lilian. I appreciate your coming in on such short notice.”
“My pleasure, sir.” She put her hand in his so he could help her out. “Daddy says there are instructions awaiting me?”
Hall nodded. “If you have any questions, just send a note up to Commander James. He’s been briefed on the project.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“We’ll see you at dinner tonight.” With a tip of his cap, he slid into the seat she’d just vacated.
Daddy had gotten out too, and Hall’s driver had taken the wheel. Apparently, they really had no time to waste; it was unusual for her father’s friend to be so quick in his greetings. But when one was the Director of the Intelligence Division, sometimes one’s time was not one’s own.
She smiled and waved as they pulled away again, stepping to her father’s side. “I take it he and Mrs. Hall are among the guests tonight?”
“Mm. As well as a few young officers, of course, to entertain you and Ivy Green.” He gave her an indulgent smile.
Lily put one of her own in its proper place. She knew he was trying to help, trying to see that she and Ivy were cared for. That they would have a future full of security and family. She never had the heart to tell him that she couldn’t let herself think of the future quite yet. Not when it took so much effort just to navigate today.
He didn’t understand how hard it was for her to keep this part of her life from Mama. When she’d mentioned it once, years ago, he’d just waved her off and insisted she would get used to it. He, after all, had been keeping secrets from her mother throughout their entire marriage. It was necessary when one had a job like his.
But it was altogether different for her. Mama never tried to be involved in Daddy’s work. But she maintained that her daughters’ business was very much under her jurisdiction.
Lily drew in a deep breath and turned toward the entrance. “Well, I had better get to it. I daren’t be late again today.”
Daddy chuckled and walked with her to the door. “If you want to drive home together, send a note up. Though I do need to stop at the bank this afternoon.”
Lily took care not to react. She avoided the bank whenever she could. Stepping inside it inevitably reminded her of Johanna. Johanna, whose father had been the bank manager. Johanna, whose family had been friends with the Blackwells since they moved to the neighborhood when Lily was five. Johanna, whose family had fled home to Germany two days before war was declared.
Johanna, whom Lily had been so sure was loyal to England . . . up until she’d been proven wrong.
She smiled at the guard who held the door open for her and said over her shoulder to Daddy, “With a bit of luck, this won’t take that long and I’ll be able to leave before you. But if not, I’ll certainly let you know.”
Her father nodded. “I’ll wait to hear from you. Let me know if you have need of anything, dearest.”
“I will.” Though in general, Admiral Hall saw to it that she had absolutely anything she needed. In addition to her magnificent retouching desk, her darkroom at the OB also had drying racks, solutions, gels, frames, scalpels, brushes, paints, ink, an electric fan, and even a heater to speed up the drying process when they were really pressed for time.
Her hand rested on her camera. “Have a good day, Daddy.”
He smiled, but the shadows never left his eyes these days. Not fully. “I’ll have a good day once we’ve routed the Boche for good.” He hurried up the stairs.
She watched him for a moment. The war had aged him. Four years ago, his hair had still been a rich brown, his face scarcely lined, his form robust. These days, there was more salt than pepper in his hair, he looked older than his fifty-two years, and his tall frame had gone gaunt.
Perhaps some of it could be blamed on the illness within the first six months of the war that had landed him behind a desk instead of on his ship. But she suspected it was more because of the war itself, and the responsibilities that came with that desk.
Turning to the familiar stone steps, she padded down to the rooms she had made her own. The door was closed, as always. She let herself in, turned on the lights, and smiled at the beautifully ordered chaos. Mama had her oils and watercolors and canvas. Lily had her solutions and gels and baths. But this was her art. Perhaps it wasn’t art that would make her a household name, an accolade Euphemia Blackwell could claim.
But it made a difference.
And that was what kept her coming back here day after day, developing and altering photos for the admiral. Her mother wouldn’t approve, not of the second part of her job. But her country needed her. Needed her skills.
She settled at her table and skimmed her eyes over what Hall had left for her—two photos to combine by three o’clock, when the field agent in need of it would pick it up before disappearing into the Continent again.
She smiled and turned for her scalpel. Getting out on time today would be no trouble at all.
2
Zivon Marin gripped his briefcase and breathed a silent prayer. It had taken him weeks of watching, waiting, and gauging to be ready to sit in this chair before Admiral Hall’s desk. He had known the moment a return telegram reached him in Paris that he would work quite happily with his czar’s allies against the Central Powers. But that hadn’t meant he could trust them with his own country’s secrets.
The admiral gave him the easy smile of a man who knew well he held this portion of Zivon’s future in his hands. “How are you settling in, Marin? Any questions for me?”
Zivon splayed a hand across the flat side of his briefcase. “Yes, actually. I received my paycheck today—thank you. But I have not a bank here in London.”
“Ah, of course. I’ll refer you to mine. Well, many of us here use it. I’ll just jot the name down, shall I? And the direction?” Even as he spoke, the admiral pulled forward a piece of paper and a pen.
Zivon waited for him to scratch a few of the words onto the paper. Let him engage his mind in something positive, something easy. Then he drew in a breath and moved to the real subject he’d wanted to broach. “There is one other thing, sir. Directly before I fled Russia, my colleagues and I were still trying to do the work we had always done, despite Russia pulling out of the war. I intercepted a message that may be of interest to you.”
Hall paused, pen halfway through a word, and blinked up at him. “Oh?”
Zivon forced his hands to relax, his face to stay neutral. Still. Empty of any doubt. “Yes. From a soldier in the Prussian army, but who is apparently sympathetic to the soviet cause. He heard German officers whispering about a mutiny in the German ranks.”
Hall sucked in a breath. “Mutiny. I’ve not heard these rumblings.”
Not until that moment did Zivon realize he’d been hoping England already had the same decrypt in their archives. That would make it all so much easier. “I had not either, until then.”
Hall leaned back, tossing his pen to his desk and steepling his fingers. “Implications? Why would this Prussian have alerted someone to this—the soviets, I presume, if you intercepted it?”
Zivon nodded. “Everyone knows that the White Army has been asking for assistance from Allied forces.”