Enigma

attached.'
    'Eleven main buildings,' said the inspector. 'Eight of them with kilns, four with chimneys still standing. Rail spur here with sidings, linking into the main line, and a branch going off here, right through the site.'
    They were outside now, at the spot where the second shoe had been found, and the map was spread over a rusting water rank. Hester stood away from them, Leveret watching her, his hands hanging loosely by his sides. There were more men moving down by the water's edge, torches stabbing the night.
    'Local fishing club use a shed here, near the jetty. Three rowing boats usually stored.'
    'Usually?'
    'Door's been kicked in, sir. Season's over. That's why nobody discovered it. A boat's missing."
    'Since?'
    'Well, there was some fishing on Sunday. Deep ledgering for carp. That was the last day of the season. Everything was all right then. So any time from Sunday night onwards.'
    'Sunday. And we're now into Wednesday.' Wigram sighed and shook his head.
    The inspector spread his hands. 'With respect, sir, I have three men stationed in Bletchley. Bedford lent us six, Buckingham nine. We're two miles from the centre of town. There is a limit. Sir.'
    Wigram didn't seem to hear him. 'And how big's the lake?'
    'About a quarter of a mile across.'
    'Deep?'
    'Yes, sir.'
    'What—twenty, thirty feet?'
    'At the edges. Shelving to sixty. Could be seventy. It's an old working. They built the town with what they dug out here.'
    'Did they really?' Wigram flashed his light across the lake. 'Makes sense, I suppose. Making one hole out of another.' Mist was rising, swirling in the breeze like steam above a cauldron. He swung the beam round and pointed it back at the building. 'So what happened here?' he said softly. 'Our man lures her out for a shag on Sunday night. Kills her, probably with that brick. Drags her down here . . .' The beam traced the path from the kilns to the water. 'Strong man—must have been, she was a big girl. Then what? Gets a boat. Stuffs the body in a sack maybe. Weights it with bricks. That's obvious. Rows it out. Dumps it. A muffled splash at midnight, just like in the pictures . . . He probably meant to come back for the clothes as well, but something put him off. Perhaps the next pair of lovebirds had already arrived.' He played the light over the mist again. 'Seventy feet deep. Frigging hell! We'll need to put a submarine down there to find her.'
    'May I go now?' said Hester. She had kept herself very quiet and composed so far, but now the tears had started and she was drawing in great gulps of air.
    Wigram aimed the beam at her wet face. 'No,' he said sadly. 'I'm rather afraid you can't.'
    Jericho was replugging the cipher machine as quickly as his numb fingers would permit him.
    Enigma settings for German Army key Vulture, 6 February 1943:
    I V III DMR EY JL AK NV FZ CT HP MX BQ GS
    The final four cryptograms were hopeless, a disaster, mere chaos out of chaos. He had wasted too much time on them already. He would begin again, this time with the first signal. E to Y, J to L. And if this didn't work? Don't even think it. A to K, N to V ... He lifted the lid, unfastened the spindle, slid off the rotors. Above his head, the great house was silent. He was too deeply entombed to hear a footstep. He wondered what they were doing up there. Looking for him? Probably. And if they woke up Logie it wouldn't take them long to find him. He slid the rotors into place—first, fifth, third—and clicked them round to DMR.
    Almost at once he began to sense success. First C and X, which were nulls, and then A, N, O, K, H.
    An OKH...
    To OKH. Oberkommando des Heeres. The High Command of the Army.
    A miracle.
    His finger hammered away at the key. The lights flashed.
    An OKH/BEFEHL To the office of the Commander-in-Chief.
    Dringend.
    Urgent.
    Melde Auffindung zahlreicher menschlicher Uberreste zwolfKm westlich Smolensk. . .
    Discovered yesterday twelve kilometres west Smolensk human remains ...
    Hester was locked in the car with Wigram, Leveret standing guard outside.
    Jericho. He was asking her about Jericho. Where was he? What was he doing? When did she last see him?
    'He's left the hut. He's not at his digs. He's not at the cottage. I ask you: Where the hell else is there to go in this frigging town?'
    She said nothing.
    He tried shouting at her, pounding his fist on the seat in front, and then, when that didn't work, he gave her his handkerchief and tried sympathy, but the scent of cologne on the silk