The room—or was it a submarine?—spun wildly.
“I… I don’t understand,” Margie mumbled, her forehead still smarting. She tried to focus on the Prime Minister, but all was a blur.
Churchill laughed. “My girl, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll be at sea for another 16 hours or so, and you’ll be briefed after we round Neuwerk. Until then, get some rest.”
Margie found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. In her mind, the face of Roger danced, warm and smiling one moment, a vile transmogrification the next. Her beloved was a Nazi spy. No, he was a cab driver from Sussex. No, he was an allied agent! It was all so confusing. Margie’s head swam, mistaken identities swirling madly with fragments of Enigma code and the anxiety of a secret mission into the heart of the greatest evil Europe had ever known. Finally she blacked out again.
When she awoke, the pain had subsided but her questions had multiplied. Churchill was standing over her.
“It’s time,” he said gravely. “Please step into my ready room.”