A few minutes later he’d fixed his tea as well and sat at the table, papers spread out before him. DID had sent a bit of everything home with Dot this week, obviously trying to discover what Drake could best do here at his sister’s house rather than in the field. This latest packet didn’t have any codes that needed to be cracked—he could muddle through when he had the key, but how they ever managed to break one without that he honestly didn’t know. But Hall apparently thought he did a decent enough job of analyzing what others had put into plain script, because there were quite a few decrypts here.

The challenge, as always, was determining what to do with them. What they meant—not in terms of what the words said, but in terms of what impact they could and would have on British operations.

Drake flipped through the first few pages as he ate a spoonful of porridge that might as well be tasteless. No butter, no sugar. What he wouldn’t give for a dollop of Mother’s favorite strawberry preserves to swirl through the gruel. Anything would help.

He tried not to think of the spiced sausage and eggs that would have been on Abuelo’s table this morning.

Dot had brought the newspaper in as well. When he moved a few of the decrypts aside, the headline caught his eye. ACE PILOT GROUNDED AND FACING COURT-MARTIAL. His eyes went wide when he saw the grainy photograph. He hadn’t seen his old school chum in years, but there was no mistaking the face of Phillip Camden. Or, as the article called him, Black Heart.

He read all the way through the piece before pushing himself to his feet and moving to the telephone. The article still clutched in one hand, he waited to be patched through to Admiral Hall.

“Yes?”

“Morning, sir. It’s Elton.” When his side protested his standing so long in one position, Drake granted it a reprieve and sank to the hard wooden chair Dot kept beside the telephone table. “Did you see that article in yesterday’s Evening Standard? About the ace who’s been grounded?”

“Mm. Camden, wasn’t it? I couldn’t quite make sense of what had happened from the article. Had half a mind to pull a few strings just to satisfy my curiosity.”

Drake wouldn’t mind a few more answers either, but that was hardly his point in calling. “Sir, if you’ve the power, may I suggest you arrange to have him allocated to your command rather than put on trial? I know Camden rather well—we were at school together as boys. I think you’d find him just your sort of chap.”

Though it was a bit hard to tell over the static-filled line, Drake thought the admiral’s snort sounded amused. “You think a criminal is my sort?”