plucked out of Cambridge and set down in the middle of
this nightmare? Was he still ill? Illness would certainly help
explain what happened later. Or was he so distracted by the thought
of Claire that he wasn’t thinking straight? All he remembered for
certain was an overwhelming feeling of annoyance. “You’re only here
for show, old love.” You’re only here to make up the numbers, so
Skynner can put on a good act for the Yanks. You’re only here to do
as you’re told, so keep your views to yourself, and don’t ask
questions. He was suddenly sick of it all, sick of everything—sick
ot the blackout, sick of the cold, sick of the chummy first-name
terms and the lime smell and the damp and the whale meat—whale
meat—at four o’clock in the morning…
“Actually, I’m not sure I am as optimistic as my
colleagues.”
Skynner interrupted him at once. You could almost hear the
klaxons going off in his mind, see the airmen sprinting across the
deck and the big guns swivelling skywards as HMS Skynner came under
threat. “Tom’s been ill, sir, I’m afraid. He’s been away from us
for the best part of a month.”
“Why not?” The admiral’s tone was dangerously friendly. “Why
aren’t you optimistic?”
“…so I’m not sure he’s altogether fully aut fait with the
situation. Wouldn’t you admit that, Tom?”
“Well, I’m certainly au fait with Enigma, ah, Leonard.” Jericho
could hardly believe his own words. He plunged on. “Enigma is a
very sophisticated cipher system. And Shark is its ultimate
refinement. I’ve spent the past eight hours reviewing the Shark
material and, ah, forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but it
seems to me we are in a very serious situation.”
“But you were breaking it successfully?”
“Yes, but we’d been given a key. The weather code was the key
that unlocked the door. The Germans have now changed the weather
code. That means we’ve lost our key. Unless there’s been some
development I’m not aware of, I don’t understand how we’re going
to…” Jericho searched for a metaphor. “…pick the lock.”
The other American naval officer, the one who hadn’t spoken so
far—Jericho had momentarily forgotten his name—said: “And you still
haven’t gotten those four-wheel bombes you promised us, Frank.”
“That’s a separate issue,” muttered Skynner. He gave Jericho a
murderous look.
“Is it?” Kramer—that was it. He was called Kramer. “Surely if we
had a few four-wheel bombes right now we wouldn’t need the weather
cribs?”
“Just stop there for a moment,” said the admiral, who had been
following this conversation with increasing impatience. “I’m a
sailor, and an old sailor at that. I don’t understand all
this—talk—about keys and cribs and bombs with wheels. We’re trying
to keep the sea-lanes open from America and if we can’t do that
we’re going to lose this war.”
“Hear, hear,” said Hammerbeck. “Well said, Jack.”
“Now will somebody please give me a straight answer to a
straight question? Will this blackout definitely be over in four
days” time or won’t it? Yes or no?
Skynner’s shoulders sagged. “No,” he said wearily. “If you put
it like that, sir, I can’t say definitely it will be over, no.”
“Thank you. So, if it isn’t over in four days, when will it be
over? You. You’re the pessimist. What do you think?”
Once again Jericho was conscious of everyone watching him.
He spoke carefully. Poor Logie was peering inside his tobacco
pouch as if he wished he could climb in and never come out “It’s
very hard to say. All we have to measure it by is the last
blackout.”
“And how long did that go on?”
“Ten months.”
It was as if he had detonated a bomb. Everybody made a noise.
The Navy men shouted. The admiral started coughing. Baxter and
Atwood said “No!” simultaneously. Logie groaned. Skynner, shaking
his head, said: “That really is defeatist of you, Tom.”
this nightmare? Was he still ill? Illness would certainly help
explain what happened later. Or was he so distracted by the thought
of Claire that he wasn’t thinking straight? All he remembered for
certain was an overwhelming feeling of annoyance. “You’re only here
for show, old love.” You’re only here to make up the numbers, so
Skynner can put on a good act for the Yanks. You’re only here to do
as you’re told, so keep your views to yourself, and don’t ask
questions. He was suddenly sick of it all, sick of everything—sick
ot the blackout, sick of the cold, sick of the chummy first-name
terms and the lime smell and the damp and the whale meat—whale
meat—at four o’clock in the morning…
“Actually, I’m not sure I am as optimistic as my
colleagues.”
Skynner interrupted him at once. You could almost hear the
klaxons going off in his mind, see the airmen sprinting across the
deck and the big guns swivelling skywards as HMS Skynner came under
threat. “Tom’s been ill, sir, I’m afraid. He’s been away from us
for the best part of a month.”
“Why not?” The admiral’s tone was dangerously friendly. “Why
aren’t you optimistic?”
“…so I’m not sure he’s altogether fully aut fait with the
situation. Wouldn’t you admit that, Tom?”
“Well, I’m certainly au fait with Enigma, ah, Leonard.” Jericho
could hardly believe his own words. He plunged on. “Enigma is a
very sophisticated cipher system. And Shark is its ultimate
refinement. I’ve spent the past eight hours reviewing the Shark
material and, ah, forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but it
seems to me we are in a very serious situation.”
“But you were breaking it successfully?”
“Yes, but we’d been given a key. The weather code was the key
that unlocked the door. The Germans have now changed the weather
code. That means we’ve lost our key. Unless there’s been some
development I’m not aware of, I don’t understand how we’re going
to…” Jericho searched for a metaphor. “…pick the lock.”
The other American naval officer, the one who hadn’t spoken so
far—Jericho had momentarily forgotten his name—said: “And you still
haven’t gotten those four-wheel bombes you promised us, Frank.”
“That’s a separate issue,” muttered Skynner. He gave Jericho a
murderous look.
“Is it?” Kramer—that was it. He was called Kramer. “Surely if we
had a few four-wheel bombes right now we wouldn’t need the weather
cribs?”
“Just stop there for a moment,” said the admiral, who had been
following this conversation with increasing impatience. “I’m a
sailor, and an old sailor at that. I don’t understand all
this—talk—about keys and cribs and bombs with wheels. We’re trying
to keep the sea-lanes open from America and if we can’t do that
we’re going to lose this war.”
“Hear, hear,” said Hammerbeck. “Well said, Jack.”
“Now will somebody please give me a straight answer to a
straight question? Will this blackout definitely be over in four
days” time or won’t it? Yes or no?
Skynner’s shoulders sagged. “No,” he said wearily. “If you put
it like that, sir, I can’t say definitely it will be over, no.”
“Thank you. So, if it isn’t over in four days, when will it be
over? You. You’re the pessimist. What do you think?”
Once again Jericho was conscious of everyone watching him.
He spoke carefully. Poor Logie was peering inside his tobacco
pouch as if he wished he could climb in and never come out “It’s
very hard to say. All we have to measure it by is the last
blackout.”
“And how long did that go on?”
“Ten months.”
It was as if he had detonated a bomb. Everybody made a noise.
The Navy men shouted. The admiral started coughing. Baxter and
Atwood said “No!” simultaneously. Logie groaned. Skynner, shaking
his head, said: “That really is defeatist of you, Tom.”
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