Alex Lansdowne was still awake at 4:00 a.m. when he heard the buzzer for his front gate. He had installed a security fence and gate with a key code years ago, after he tired of trespassers trying to steal or deface items in his collection. Now, someone pressed the buzzer in the middle of the night about once a week. Some local residents wanted to make his life unpleasant so he would move; some curiosity seekers wanted to wander around his grounds to glimpse the row of Panzer tanks they had spotted on Google Earth; and some skinheads and neo-Nazis came to pay homage. Alex ignored all such visitors, and every time the buzzer woke him from his sleep or disturbed his thoughts as he lay awake, he considered disconnecting it. But for some reason he never did. Later, he would think perhaps tonight was that reason.

He went downstairs to look at the grainy black-and-white video screen connected to his security camera by the gate and saw not a hooded teenager running into the night or a tattooed skinhead contemplating climbing the fence, but Ruthie Drinkwater standing by the driver’s side of her Mini Cooper, staring straight into the camera. He didn’t wait to see what she wanted but immediately pressed the button that opened the gate.

Alex had met Ruthie several years ago on one of his many trips to Bletchley. He constantly compared their collection of Enigma machines and related devices to his own and had worked with their restoration team to share some of his knowledge and even provided them with some parts cannibalized from one of his machines that was so far beyond repair it was only useful as a source for rotors and keys. While Alex only collected German machines (he had three fully restored Enigmas) the Allied machines on display at Bletchley fascinated him, particularly the re-created Bombe. Ruthie had been the volunteer operating the Bombe on the day Alex first saw Phoenix, and the two had struck up a friendship, occasionally meeting for tea in the Bletchley Park café. He had often invited her to view his collection, but she had always demurred. Now she stood in his kitchen, sipping tea from a cup that had once been used at the Eagle’s Nest, Hitler’s private retreat near Berchtesgaden.

Ruthie had calmed down on the drive to Hambleden, largely due to Patton’s attentions. Though still a bit pale, she seemed to have forgotten about the horrors of earlier in the night and stood chatting amiably with Alex. She had introduced Nemo and Patton simply as old friends interested in his collection. She had made no mention of Enigma.