How I Became a Spy Read online

  Little Roo stopped to lap water from a bowl in the corner, making a noisy mess. No one would mind. She was the post’s mascot. In the back office, the two senior wardens studied a large map of London that covered almost the entire wall, with an insert for our section. They marked active fires and bombing incidents on a chalkboard.

  On the desk sat a phone, though it wasn’t always reliable during air raids since the phone lines often went down. That’s why we messengers were needed. And that’s why I was in trouble.

  “Get to the command post as soon as you can,” they’d said during training. “Messengers carry critical information to rescue and fire crews and ambulance stations. Your work is dangerous, but it helps save lives.”

  I’d been too young to volunteer during the Blitz, three years ago. And I guess technically I should’ve been fourteen. But after I turned thirteen in August, I’d begged Dad to put in a good word for me, and I got in. I think he agreed to let me join only because no one had expected the attacks to start up again. But then, a few weeks into the new year, there’d been a raid. Then another. And now, tonight, another. Hitler hadn’t forgotten about us. Would 1944 turn out to be as bad as 1940 and 1941?

  “Um—um, excuse me,” I stammered. I wondered if they’d send me home and tell me not to come back. Messengers weren’t supposed to report for duty after the all-clear siren.

  “Well, look who finally decided to show his face.” The short older man, Warden Hawksworth, turned his keen gaze on me. Everyone called him Warden Hawk, and it wasn’t just because of his name. The wizened old police officer had sharp blue eyes and a beaklike nose.

  “What’s wrong, Bertie?” Warden Ita stepped toward me. “Did you come across incendiary bombs? Do we need to call in a fire crew?”

  Warden Ita was tall and handsome, with a warm smile, soft brown eyes, and glowing dark skin. Even though the two wardens looked so different on the outside, I always thought of them as being alike. They were so dedicated to their work and to the people of London. They helped us believe we’d all get through this together.

  On the first day of our messenger training, Warden Hawk had welcomed us to the civil defense. “You’re leaders now, and the community will look up to you. When you pin on that civil defense badge, you pledge yourself to be diligent and fearless.”

  “Now, we don’t expect messengers to perform heroic deeds, of course. We just ask that you do your best. And remember, each of us is brave in our own way,” Warden Ita had added, in his deep, elegant voice. “Sometimes being brave is just taking one step at a time.”

  I’d almost run out of the room at that point. Someone like me didn’t belong in the civil defense. I wasn’t courageous. I most definitely wasn’t a hero. And because of that, bad things had happened to my family. My brother had almost died because of me.

  “Bertie?” Warden Ita asked again.

  “No, sir. It’s not a fire,” I said. “I found…that is, Little Roo found a woman.”

  “Do you know the address—or at least the street?” Warden Hawk barked, grabbing a pin to mark the incident location on his map.

  “Um…I’m not really sure, sir.” Street signs had been removed early in the war, to confuse the Germans if they did invade. “It’s a small street off Maddox, right before a bend. It’s just before the big old stone church with the columns—”

  “St. George’s, Hanover Square,” they finished for me.

  Warden Ita glanced at the map for a second. “Yes. I think you must’ve been on Mill Street, Bertie.”

  Warden Hawk nodded his agreement. Like Dad, the wardens knew almost every street in London. Warden Hawk had walked them for years as a police officer. And since arriving in England from Nigeria, Warden Ita had worked part-time as a postman.

  “That’s strange, though. We received a call about an incident closer to Hanover Square,” said Warden Hawk, walking over to join Warden Ita at the map. “But we don’t have any reports of damage on Mill Street.”

  “No, sir. I should have said that first,” I told them. “She isn’t…that is, I don’t think she’s a bomb victim. She’s not trapped in rubble. The woman’s not inside at all. She’s just lying on the pavement, on the side of the street. Huddled against a building, really. And I didn’t…I didn’t see any blood.”

  “Is she dead, Bertie?” Warden Ita asked gently.

  “No, sir.” I shook my head. “But her eyes were closed and she didn’t respond to my questions. I did remember to tell her to keep calm, sir.”

  Warden Ita raised his eyebrows and I saw his lips twitch. “Good work, Bertie. I’ll call the police station and the ambulance service and ask them to send someone over. Luckily, the phone lines weren’t hit tonight.”

  He was already moving toward the desk. “Funny, I can’t recall any young woman living on Mill Street. Mostly shops and offices there. She might be just a passing pedestrian who fainted.”

  “Come on, then. I’ll pedal back with you, Bertie.” Warden Hawk pulled his coat off a hook. Reaching into a pocket, he slipped LR a biscuit.

  Warden Hawk might be crusty, but he had a soft spot for LR. Sometimes I wondered if he wished he had taken her in himself when her owners moved away. “They want her to keep on as a rescue dog,” Warden Hawk had said when he’d brought her to our flat in the fall. “They asked me to find a happy home for her.”

  Warden Hawk had glanced at Dad. “Now that Bertie has finished his civil defense training, I thought he might be just the one to care for her. The lady who owned her was a children’s librarian. That’s how she got her name, from Roo in Winnie-the-Pooh. Anyway, she’s about three now, so they’ve asked that her name not be changed.”

  Little Roo had snuggled into my arms like she belonged there. Her eyes were wide and brown and trusting. She’d tucked her warm, wet muzzle under my chin and heaved a little sigh.

  Warden Hawk had known me since I was a baby. He’d been Dad’s mentor in the police force. He was good at asking questions and prying out information. And as we hurried out of the command post, I found myself dreading the bicycle ride ahead—and the interrogation I’d probably face.

  Warden Hawk might have brought LR to us. But he definitely knew our home was not a happy one.

  CHAPTER THREE

  [The agent] should not only observe things but also make deductions from them.

  —SOE Manual

  Happy. Little Roo was far from it. She’d had enough of riding in the bike basket for one night.

  “Stay put, LR,” I snapped. I was anxious and restless too. What if I’d been gone too long? Would the woman still be alive?

  I stole a glance at Warden Hawk, riding beside me on a bicycle not much bigger than mine. If I didn’t want to be questioned about how things were going at home, I’d have to steer the conversation to something else. And I knew just how to distract him. You could always get Warden Hawk to talk about military strategy.

  “Uh, Warden,” I began, “do you…do you think these new bombing raids will turn out to be as bad as the Blitz?”

  “I don’t think so, Bertie. More like a little Blitz, if you ask me,” he replied, reaching up one hand to adjust his tin helmet. “Hitler’s just trying to get revenge. But he’s running out of planes.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Allied pilots have been hitting German cities hard for months now. We’ve put the German air force on the defensive, no doubt about it. As I understand it, we’re hoping to weaken the Luftwaffe before the invasion. We don’t want those German bombers buzzing overhead when our boys land in France.”

  “Do you think the invasion will be soon, sir?”

  “Ah, well, I read in the Times that Dwight D. Eisenhower has arrived to take charge as supreme commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force. Quite a mouthful, ain’t it? Though if you want my opinion, nothing will happen till spring,” Warden Hawk we
nt on. “That should give him time enough to put the finishing touches on the operation.”

  I smiled a little. My plan to distract him was working. Warden Hawk reminded me of our history teacher, Mr. Turner, an elderly gentleman who’d returned to teaching when our regular instructor had joined the Royal Navy. All you had to do was ask Mr. Turner one question about the war, and he’d be off like a runaway horse.

  “The invasion has to wait until spring or early summer. It’s just common sense if you think about it: The English Channel is simply too rough in winter,” Warden Hawk was saying. “If you tried to ferry thousands of troops across to France in high seas, why, they’d be too seasick to fight when they hit the beaches. No, you need calm seas and fair weather.”

  “But won’t the Germans know it too?” I wondered. “Won’t they be waiting for the Allied troops?”

  “Oh, they know an assault is coming; make no mistake about that,” Warden Hawk replied. “Hitler’s built his Atlantic Wall of defenses up and down the coast of France and then some. But here’s the thing: The Nazis don’t know precisely when or where we will invade. And I’ll tell you something else, Bertie. I sure wouldn’t want to be in charge of keeping that information secret.”

  * * *

  —

  When we reached Mill Street, we parked our bicycles. I’d been hoping Warden Hawk’s lecture on the Allied invasion might keep him from noticing I didn’t have my torch. No such luck.

  “It’s a wonder you could see anything in that alleyway,” he said. “Look at you: No helmet. No torch. No civil defense badge or whistle either. You have to do better next time, Bertie.”

  “Yes, sir. I know. I was just so excited to be on duty….” My voice trailed off. Even I had to admit my excuse sounded pretty lame. At least there would be a next time.

  I lifted LR out of the basket and she raced over to where a young policeman stood on the corner. Planting her paws, she began to bark.

  I tried to pull her back while Warden Hawk stepped forward to shake the man’s hand. “You got here quick enough.”

  “Good evening, Warden Hawk,” said Constable Jimmy Wilson. “Hullo there, Bertie.”

  “Hi, Jimmy. Stop barking, LR!” Jimmy was new to the police force, but he was already one of my favorites. “Sorry. She’s all riled up tonight. I guess because it’s our first raid together.”

  At that moment, another figure emerged from the shadows of Mill Street.

  “Is she all right?” I asked.

  “Is who all right?” Constable George Morton scowled as he strode over to me, hands on hips.

  “The woman—” I began.

  “Come on, Bertie. What are you on about?” George cut me off. “Warden Ita called us to say one of his messengers found a victim. We don’t have time for wild goose chases.”

  My mouth flew open. Before I could say a word, George turned to Warden Hawk. “There’s no one here, Warden.”

  “But…but there was! I swear there was a woman.” I felt my face get hot. “I wouldn’t lie about it.”

  George spoke in a low voice to Jimmy and Warden Hawk. I caught only bits and pieces, but it was enough to make me clench my fists. “His dad says…having a hard time…”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Well, maybe Bertie did see someone. She might’ve just got to her feet and left.”

  “Wait!” I cried. I’d been pedaling so hard I hadn’t been cold, but now I remembered. “I put my jacket over her. Is it there?”

  George shrugged. “Don’t think so. And there’s no sign of any neighbors out and about. Mostly shops on this street, anyway.”

  “Go on and look for your jacket, Bertie.” Warden Hawk handed me his torch.

  I trotted off. I swept the narrow passage with my light, making eerie shadows on the old brick buildings. There were the bins. But nothing lay near them. No jacket. No young woman. No body. But she had been here. Could she have just walked off?

  Back on Maddox Street, an ambulance had pulled up. I heard Warden Hawk tell the driver it was a false alarm. “That’s all right, Warden,” I heard her say through the window. “It’s always nice to see you. Besides, we’re headed to the morgue and it was on our way.”

  She stepped on the gas and the vehicle rumbled off, its hooded headlights just tiny slits. The morgue. My mind whirled with another possibility. Maybe the woman had died. Could someone have moved her body in the short time I was gone? But she hadn’t been dead when I’d found her. I was sure of that.

  I found myself looking at George Morton. He’d emerged alone out of the darkness. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. George didn’t know her. He couldn’t have had anything to do with this.

  But I trusted what I’d seen. Little Roo had found a young woman. I’d draped my jacket over her. And now she had disappeared, along with my coat.

  There had to be an answer to this puzzle. I just had no idea what it was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The agent…has only his alertness, initiative and observation to help him. He has to look after himself but we can prepare him for this by training.

  —SOE Manual

  “Hullo, Bertie, you’re back late.” The young constable at the reception desk at Trenchard House called out a greeting. “Did the little dog rescue anyone?”

  “No, we were lucky tonight. No rescues needed.” I waved good night and pushed my bicycle along the hallway, LR trotting behind.

  Our flat was on the main floor, close to the reception desk, since Dad was the building caretaker as well as a police sergeant. When I’d first told friends at school that I lived in a boardinghouse with more than a hundred policemen, they’d made stupid jokes about it. “You better be careful, Bertie, or you’ll get hauled off to jail for not doing your homework.” Or “I’m not coming to your house, Bertie. I don’t want to get put in prison.”

  David was the only friend who’d ever visited me here. It wasn’t just that he lived close by, on Berwick Street. David dreamed of being a detective one day. He liked to hang about Trenchard House, hoping to pick up some tips.

  “These aren’t real detective inspectors,” I told him. “They’re just young constables who complain about how their feet hurt from walking all over the city.”

  “You can never tell what you might learn from just listening,” David replied. “As the great detective himself said, ‘You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.’ That’s from ‘The Boscombe Valley Mystery.’ ”

  I’d never be a Sherlock Holmes expert like David. Or like my brother, Will.

  Trenchard House wasn’t a good place to learn to be a detective. And it wasn’t much of a home either. We’d moved here only after we lost our own house. I knew not to complain. “No one in London can count on having a roof overhead from one day to the next,” Dad said. “We’re lucky we found a place to stay, unlike some of our neighbors.”

  Our flat had two small bedrooms off the kitchen, and a tiny parlor where Dad sat in a bulky old armchair to read the newspaper. We didn’t even have room for an indoor Morrison shelter. Some people put these cagelike metal structures under dining tables, but our table sat only four. It didn’t matter much. Since so many people lived in Trenchard House, we had a designated underground shelter in Soho Square.

  At our old house, Dad had installed an Anderson shelter in the back garden. He’d had to dig down four feet and cover the corrugated metal roof with soil. We all fit fine. It was six feet tall, about that same length, and four and a half feet wide. I remembered, because Will and I had helped Dad measure out the space. Anderson shelters were good protection, unless there was a direct hit.

  But, of course, you had to get there in time. I tried not to think about our old Anderson shelter. And how we weren’t in it on the one night that mattered.

  * * *

  —

  LR shot through the door of
the flat and curled up on her bed in the kitchen. It still surprised me—how quiet and empty it always seemed. Before, Mum would have had the kettle whistling. “Tea and toast. That’s what you need,” she always said.

  Mum had always had tea and toast and homemade berry jam ready after school, or when Dad returned from patrol with red, chafed cheeks and tiny icicles on the ends of his long mustache. Now I made my own tea and toast, though we’d finished the last of the jam. Sometimes the toast came out burnt and hard. Not even Little Roo would eat that. When we first got her, I’d worried about having enough to feed her. But she gobbled most anything. Once, she seized an egg that fell and broke. LR chewed it up, shell and all, before I could pry it out of her mouth. I almost laughed, but since we each got only one real egg every week, it wasn’t that funny.

  I felt hungry, but too tired to bother. It would be easier just to go to bed. I didn’t want to sit alone with my thoughts—the American girl, the missing woman in the alley, our empty flat. I didn’t want to think about how lonely it was without Mum and Will.

  Dad had left a note on the kitchen table saying he’d be late. These days he spent most of his time on duty making sure people weren’t looting. If anything big happened, he had to call the real detectives from Scotland Yard to take charge.

  I didn’t need to ask Scotland Yard what was wrong in our family. That’s another thing the war had taught me. Some things can’t be fixed by tea and toast.

  SATURDAY

  I woke early. LR had moved from the foot of the bed to stick her wet nose in my face. “It’s Saturday,” I cried. “Let me sleep a little longer.”

  But as I lay there, everything from the night before came rushing back. The missing woman. The American girl. The notebook. The notebook! I reached to the floor and pulled it out of my trousers.