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“Think it’ll come to that?” Churchill’s voice was quiet, almost expressionless, his face like that of a benign bulldog.
“What’s to stop it?” Lucas asked.
“The damn British Navy!” Churchill snarled. “If we get the government to start building ships again. Dear God, I’ve tried!”
“But not as it is,” Lucas agreed.
“You’ve still got people of your own in Germany?” Churchill asked. “Ones you can trust?” He looked skeptical. He knew exactly what part Lucas had played in the war, and how long he had been out of any office in MI6. Lucas had not told him how many people still passed him information; what Churchill wanted to know was the weight of it. “What’s happening, Lucas? What’s really happening?”
“Hitler’s gaining more power all the time. He’s riding a wave of popularity, and it will get worse.”
Churchill grunted.
Lucas hesitated only a moment. “It’s going to be the hardest battle we’ve ever fought, and only God knows if we’ll win.”
Churchill glared at him. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Lucas?”
Lucas smiled at him. “Yes. Is it working? So help me God, I think it’s the truth.”
Churchill grunted again. He looked Lucas up and down, regarding his old shoes, well-worn and comfortable, the rather rumpled corduroy trousers, faded to no particular color at all, then lastly his leather-elbow-patched jacket, sagging a little at the pockets.
“Like to help me build my wall?” he offered.
“Delighted,” Lucas accepted, finding himself surprisingly emotional.
“Well, get on with it, then!” Churchill snapped. “There’s the brick and there’s the mortar.”
“I’ll need your help with my own wall, in time,” Lucas replied.
“You’ll have it. Now get on with the job.”
Lucas placed the mortar carefully, catching the dollop that slid down the side and replacing it where it should be. Then he gently placed the brick, edged it a half-inch back, and straightened it.
“Not bad,” Churchill granted with a nod.
Lucas looked at him. He was standing a little straighter than before. “The violence in the street is getting worse, especially against minorities: trade unionists, Gypsies, Jews, homosexuals, when they know them. There’s going to be a lot of suffering.”
Churchill’s eyebrows rose. “And you think that’s going to change minds here? Men like Mosley and his followers? Ditherers like Chamberlain? Bloody right-wing fanatics in the highest of places? Idealists like Eden. He was a damn good officer, you know? Broke his heart to see so many of his own men blown to pieces.” His voice was bitter, almost as if he was on the edge of tears, but there was a challenge in his eyes. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
“No…not exactly.” Lucas gave a very slight smile. “Although I suppose it’s close.”
“So, what, then?”
“To warn you that I think we have a turncoat in the British Embassy in Berlin. Be careful what you might hear from the ambassador, or tell him.”
“I think that unlikely,” Churchill said slowly. “But the warning is timely. Although I imagine you came to tell me just to let me know the battle is real…and it’s already well started.”
“More or less,” Lucas agreed.
“What the devil can I do about it?”
“Today, nothing. But tomorrow or the day after…” He shrugged. “God knows. Be ready…”
Churchill grunted again. “Come inside and have a decent whisky.”
“Thank you,” Lucas accepted, and fell into step with him.
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