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Charity had a very similar copy, one with her name embossed in gold on the cover. It had been presented to MISS CHARITY HOCHE when she was fourteen and had completed her confirmation at St. Edmund’s Episcopal Church near Philly. The bishop who had performed the Order of Confirmation had also signed her book.
As she began flipping pages, she found what she expected, and her throat muscles involuntarily constricted.
Charity Hoche looked Bob Jamison in the eyes and she fought back the urge to cry.
“Thank you, Bob,” she said, softly, finding her voice. “This is exactly what I was looking for.”
Fleming nodded knowingly. He, too, recognized the book. It was the standard worship for various Anglican and Episcopal churches around the world, as well as the Church of England. The language was virtually identical to that of the Catholic Church.
“I think it would be appropriate to include some reference to the marriage ceremony in his writings,” Charity said. “Maybe even have him with a handwritten passage.”
“That’s credible,” Fleming put in. “If I recall correctly, the section for the marriage ceremony runs only a few pages—half the length of the section for the burial of the dead.” He paused, then added: “You can see which we Anglicans put the most faith in.”
There was light laughter.
“Just a short piece,” Charity said, scanning the pages. “Here. This: ‘I, William, take thee, Pamela, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold….’”
She looked at Jamison. “It should be in a man’s handwriting.”
He nodded.
When Jamison was finished, and the page added to the briefcase and to the inventory list, Charity reached out for the Book of Common Prayer.
She flipped to a page.
“Before we close, would there be any objection to me reading a short passage?”
“Please do,” Montagu said.
She looked to the pages, flipped quickly, then said, “This is from the Order for the Burial of the Dead.” She read:
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.
“Amen,” Charity then said, and all repeated it almost in unison.
Charity sniffed, then heard David Niven struggle to clear his throat.
When she looked at him, and then at the others, she saw there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
Jamison returned to the workshop with Ustinov just as the two Motor Transport Corps men were about to lower the top shell of the case over the bottom shell that contained Major Martin.
Ustinov noticed that everyone in the room appeared somber. Charity’s eyes were red, as though she had been crying or was on the verge of crying, and he wondered what might have triggered that.
He looked at the major in the case, resplendent in his Royal Marines uniform. The briefcase was in the case with him. The stainless steel cable had been looped around his waist, then handcuffed to the briefcase.
“And there you have it,” Ustinov said, trying to lighten the mood. “The ultimate double agent.”
“How do you figure that?” Niven said.
“He’s going to be doubled by the Spaniards,” Ustinov went on, undeterred.
“How the hell do you double a dead man?”
“You don’t! That’s what makes him the perfect one!”
“Oh, good God,” Niven said in disgust.
The others chuckled, and Ustinov’s eyes twinkled in delight.
