“I have orders to inform you of the change. Nothing more.” Boar turned again to Susan and rubbed his hands as if he were spreading ointment. “My regrets for the misunderstanding. The train was crowded, and I was merely trying to speak with you. I meant you no harm.”

Susan crossed her arms. The crack of a hammer, striking a board in a loft, caused her to flinch.

“The men will be finished in a few hours,” Boar said. “A team will arrive in the morning for pickup.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “Again, my sincere apologies.”

“Very well,” Bertie said. “You’ve informed us of the orders and spoken your piece. I believe it’s best that you leave.”

Flight Lieutenant Boar stood.

Bertie struggled to get up from his chair.

“No need,” Boar said. “I’ll show myself out.”

Susan stayed with Bertie while Ollie followed the lieutenant to his vehicle. Ollie watched Boar produce a cigarette, strike a match with his thumb, and take a deep drag.

“You’re very lucky, Yank,” Boar said.

Ollie watched smoke flow from the lieutenant’s nose.

“If it weren’t for Susan’s grandfather, you’d be rotting in the Glasshouse. And with last night’s bombing, your release to Church Fenton may even have accelerated. Assuming you don’t do something foolish, like striking another officer, you just might join the fight.”

“I plan to fly,” Ollie said.

“Of course you do.” The lieutenant got in his vehicle, started the engine, and rolled down the window. “I suggest you stick to shoveling pigeon shit.” He flicked his cigarette.

Ollie felt the butt bounce off his chest and noticed his shirt was speckled with turds. He pressed the smoldering cigarette under his boot. As Ollie watched the lieutenant drive away, determination flared in his belly, like a fire stoked with kerosene.

CHAPTER 15 - EPPING, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 15

EPPING, ENGLAND

Susan and Ollie followed Bertie as he hobbled over a web of wires. From loft to loft, he examined the alarms the soldiers had installed. Thin metal rods, approximately twelve inches in length, dangled from each pigeon entrance, like a curtain of beads strung over a doorway.

“Security?” Bertie raised his arms and looked across the pasture. “Do they think this place is swarming with Nazis?” Bertie poked the curtain with his walking stick. The rods clanged together like a cheap wind chime, and a faint ringing came from a tent the soldiers had set up near the bomb shelter.