Page 65 of The Librarian Spy

Peggy was far better at accessorizing her home than Ava. The small space appeared nearly the same now as it had when Ava first moved in, with the exception of a neat row of books on the shelf and a green sweater slung over the back of a dining room chair.

“I’m not much of a decorator.” Ava self-consciously grabbed the sweater and pulled it on for lack of a place to stow it before motioning for him to join her at the table.

A notepad and pen were there waiting, perfectly parallel to one another with each number of the alphabet for the fifty-eight letters printed neatly along the top. Below that was the sixteenth-century poem.

“If you prefer to decorate with books rather than scattered jackets and shoes, I assure you, I shan’t judge.” He gave her an easy smile and slid into one of the chairs at the dining room table.

Ava sat next to James who leaned back to allow room for her to watch as he unraveled the code. He smelled like soap and warm sunshine despite the chilly November day.

Head lowered, he got to work. He used the first five letters, assigning numbers to where they lay in the standard alphabet. From there, he found the corresponding word in the poem that matched that number. Those five words were written out and somehow James deduced a fresh alphabet based off that order.

Ava watched, equal parts perplexed by the complexity and awed by how quickly he worked through it. He wrote a new line beneath the block of squares he’d created for the new alphabet, his writing messy and bold.

As it turned out, James really was the better Sherlock to her Watson, which Ava attributed solely to her disinclination toward math. His strokes were confident and sure with the calculated code he’d broken down and rebuilt into a string of text. It was a long, jumbled line that he separated with a slash of the pen tip, partitioning the text into words that suddenly made sense.

Jewish mother and child need transport to America.

They stared down at the note and then looked at each other.

There were many people who did not believe in fate. Ava’s father for one, claiming anyone educated should be sure enough in his footing to navigate his own life. But Ava was never one to let someone think for her and had developed her own interpretation of destiny. She wasn’t a fatalist by any means, assuming her life entirely predestined, but she wasn’t above appreciating a miracle when it shone upon her either.

Like the one she now experienced.

She had been introduced to this precise newspaper where the code had been placed. She happened to run into James, who knew how to crack it. The mother and child needed to go to America, which was where she was from. And the best way to do that would be to ask for the assistance of the British agents flying into France, of which she had the perfect contact in James.

And this was where fate took a back seat. This was where action came into play.

“We have to do something,” Ava said.

James scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “It isn’t that easy. Besides, there are plenty of organizations that can get them into a safe house.”

“If that was possible, they’d likely have done it by now. They’re probably in danger, James.” She fidgeted in her chair, agitated at his hesitation. “You’ve seen the refugees here in Lisbon. You’ve heard their stories. Don’t you dare tell me you are casting what they’ve said as mere war rumors.” She stared at him, daring him to deny her. “You’re too smart for that.”

He exhaled a frustrated breath.

She pointed to the translated code. “They want to go to America. I can help them get there.” Or at least she hoped she could. “Surely, there is someone in England who would know where the printing press is located. The Resistance receives goods from Britain all the time.”

He jerked his head back and looked at her. “How do you know that?”

“Because I don’t simply photograph the papers, I read them as well. Britain is working closely with the Resistance.”

James twisted his lips to the side in thought. “You think you can coordinate access to America for them.”

“Yes,” Ava answered immediately. Doubt squeezed at her chest. It had not gone well when she’d tried to aid Lamant. But he was a man, not a woman and child. And after watching Peggy work magic through phone calls to DC, Ava was sure she could ask her for some advice.

She was nothing if not determined.

James drummed his fingers on the table. “How do we know they haven’t been relocated yet?” Sitting up, he gestured to the paper. “This was published almost a week ago.”

“Imagine if they haven’t, if we could have done something.” Ava stared at him, beseeching with her eyes as much as her words. “What if in this time of vacillation and indecision, they die when they could have lived? Because of us.”

James studied her, then shook his head. “If they allow women to become president in America, you should run.” James smirked. “You’d win.”

“So, you’re saying you’ll help?” Hope swelled in her chest, but she kept her little cry of delight contained until he confirmed.

“I will see what I can do.” He put his hand on the table, so it hit with a soft thud. “That isn’t the same as promising to help.”

No, it wasn’t, but it was still enough. For now, that is.