Enigma

Porpoise. And this charming young lady here, I believe'—he bowed to her—'has Shark. May we?'
    She was young, about eighteen, with curly red hair and wide hazel eyes. She looked up and smiled at him, a dazzling Tatler smile, and he leaned across her and began uncoiling the strip of tape from the cylinder. Jericho noticed as he did so that he left one hand resting casually on her shoulder, just as simply as that, and he thought how much he envied Puck the ease of that gesture. It would have taken him a week to pluck up the nerve. Puck beckoned him down to read the decrypt.
    VONSCHULZEQU8 8521DAMPFER1TANKERWAHRSCHEINLICHAM6 3TANKERFACKEL ...
    Jericho ran his finger along it, separating the words and translating it in his mind: U-boat commander von Schulze was in grid square 8852 and had sunk one steamship (for certain) and one tanker (probably) and had set one other tanker on fire . . .
    'What date is this?'
    'You can see it there,' said Puck. 'Sechs drei. The sixth of March. We've broken everything from this week up to the code change on Wednesday night, so now we go back and pick up the intercepts we missed earlier in the month. This is—what?—six days old. Herr Kapitan von Schulze may be five hundred miles away by now. It is of academic interest only, I fear.'
    'Poor devils,' said Jericho, passing his finger along the tape for a second time. IDAMPFERITANKER ... What freezing and drowning and burning were concentrated in that one line! What were the ships called, he wondered, and had the families of the crews been told?
    'We have approximately a further eighty messages from the sixth still to run through the Type-Xs. I shall put two more operators on to it. A couple of hours and we should be finished.'
    'And then what?'
    'Then, my dear Tom? Then I suppose we shall make a start on back-breaks from February. But that barely qualifies even as history. February? February in the Atlantic? Archaeology!'
    'Any progress on the four-wheel bombe?'
    Puck shook his head. 'First, it is impossible. It is out of the question. Then there is a design, but the design is theoretical nonsense. Then there is a design that should work, but doesn't. Then there is a shortage of materials. Then there is a shortage of engineers. . .' He made a weary gesture with his hand, as if he were pushing it all out of the way.
    'Has anything else changed?'
    'Nothing that affects us. According to the direction finders, U-boat HQ has moved from Paris to Berlin. They have some wonderful new transmitter at Magdeburg they say will reach a U-boat forty-five feet under water at a range of two thousand miles.,'
    Jericho murmured: 'How very ingenious of them.'
    The red-headed girl had finished deciphering the message. She tore off the tape, stuck it on the back of the cryptogram and handed it to another girl, who rushed out of the room. Now it would be turned into recognisable English and teleprintered to the Admiralty.
    Puck touched Jericho's arm. 'You must be tired. Why don't you go now and rest?'
    But Jericho didn't feel like sleeping. 'I'd like to see all the Shark traffic we haven't been able to break. Everything since midnight on Wednesday.'
    Puck gave a puzzled smile. 'Why? There's nothing you can do with it.'
    'Maybe so. But I'd like to see it.'
    'Why?'
    'I don't know.' Jericho shrugged. 'Just to handle it. To get a feel of it. I've been out of the game for a month.'
    'You think we may have missed something, perhaps?'
    'Not at all. But Logie has asked me.'
    'Ah yes. The celebrated Jericho “inspiration” and “intuition”.' Puck couldn't conceal his irritation. 'And so from science and logic we descend to superstition and “feelings”.'
    'For heaven's sake, Puck!' Jericho was starting to become annoyed himself. 'Just humour me, if that's how you prefer to look at it.'
    Puck glared at him for a moment, and then, as quickly as they had arisen, the clouds seemed to pass. 'Of course.' He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 'You must see it all. Forgive me. I'm tired. We're all tired.'
    Five minutes later, when Jericho walked into the Big Room carrying the folder of Shark cryptograms, he found his old seat had been vacated. Someone had also laid out in his place a new pile of jotting paper and three freshly sharpened pencils. He looked around, but nobody seemed to be paying him any attention.
    He laid the intercepts out on the table. He loosened his scarf. He felt the radiator—as ever, it was lukewarm. He blew some warmth on to his