72 
Questions

At the Admiralty in London, the First Lord of the Admiralty listened to the report that the exchange had been made with success, and, it was all but certain, without detection. Churchill nodded, obviously pleased, though with grave expression.

“Where is the Dauntless now, Lieutenant Langham?” he asked.

“Hopefully safely through the Greek islands and approaching Malta,” replied a young man of confident bearing, blond, tall, and with a rich baritone voice. He carried himself as one who would one day himself be a leader and commander in the military ranks of which he now occupied the bottom rung on the officers’ ladder.

“That should put her in the Orkneys in three or four days,” said Churchill. “Have we made more progress in penetrating the Prussian Intelligence Service?”

“No, sir—unfortunately not,” answered Churchill’s assistant. “But they do appear to be operating from somewhere on British soil.”

“Have you spoken recently with the Secret Service?”

“I met with Mr. Whyte last week, sir. They are just as much in the dark as we are.”

“We’ve got to find their headquarters!” exploded Churchill in an uncharacteristic moment of anger as he slammed his fist down on the table. “There are still far too many moles among us. They will be our undoing if we do not root them out. What about our friend Beauchamp?”

“Still no trace of his whereabouts, sir,” answered Langham, “nor sign that he has left the country.”

“Then he is still either in Britain or has been smuggled out through their network. We’ve got to penetrate it!”

Churchill paused briefly, then glanced seriously toward his youthful aide.

“I want you to devote even greater attention to this matter than previously, Lieutenant,” he said. “Pull out every file. Start over. Investigate everything we have on this security problem . . . the moles, the apparent spy network, the M.P. Beauchamp and his disappearance. Meet again with Jack Whyte. Whatever files of theirs he can open to you, ask him to do so. I want to know what they’ve got. And you are acquainted with Colonel Forsythe—the army’s intelligence expert. Talk to him as well. We have to regain command of the seas and put a stop to this U-boat infiltration. Somewhere there have to be clues we have missed. I want you to make this your personal mission on my behalf.”

“I understand, sir,” said Langham.

“No one else has been able to find where they are coming in, or how the messages are wreaking havoc with our communications. Maybe you will have better luck.”