Reginald Featherstone read the coded message
a second time. He stroked his
smooth-shaven chin nervously. He
was a tall well-dressed man, impeccably attired in an expensively tailored
blue suit. Absent-mindedly he
took out his gold-plated cigarette case and tapped a cigarette against
it. So, he mused,
the British government has chosen to use
He knew a little bit about the famous female archeologist and adventuress, having met her on her visit to the embassy a few weeks ago. He would have to be careful or he would blow his cover. It had taken him years to work his way into a position of confidence in the embassy. He had been a supporter of the policies of fascism from the start, believing that only an ideology espousing elite leadership could triumph over the worldwide threat of communism. When Hitler had risen to power in German, he had seen it as a godsend.
Of course, he had kept his opinions to himself. It would not do for a senior diplomat to openly support the ideas of nations opposed to the entire concept of democracy. But that had been all to the good. He had managed to work his way up the diplomatic ladder to a point where he was trusted even with the most secret of information. He made sure that all information of importance made it straight through to his German contacts.
The message he was studying this time, however, was special. It had not been sent to the embassy, but to him personally. It was in a special code that was known only to him and the sender. He had received it an everyday radio broadcast. It was part of a commercial for a well-known soap product. Anyone who noticed he was listening to the broadcast would suppose that he was merely a fan of the radio show not and not give it a second thought.
He frowned as he crumpled the piece of paper he had scribbled the coded message on. He would have to apply for a leave of absence, and he would have to move fast.