His Majesty's Hope by Susan Elia MacNeal

Windsor case, they’d discovered that Maggie’s mother had been a German Sektion agent, one who’d killed Hugh’s father, an MI-5 operative, among others. Hugh didn’t hold what he’d learned against Maggie; after all, she’d never known her mother. Still, he was having a hard time grappling with the truth about his father’s murder, battling insomnia and lack of appetite.
    “You know Robertson.”
    “Of course.” Lieutenant Colonel T. A. Robertson was the MI-5 agent in charge of finding and turning over German spies captured in Britain.
    “Robertson works with a chap named John Cecil Masterman, who’s the chairman of the Twenty Committee. Do you know about the Twenty Committee?”
    “No, sir. At least, only rumors.”
    “The Twenty Committee is known by the Roman numerals XX—Operation Double Cross, you see.” Frain rolled his eyes. “Masterman thinks he’s quite clever. It’s an anti-espionage operation. Nazi agents in Britain who are captured by Robertson are used to broadcast disinformation to their Nazi controllers. I want you to meet with him.”
    “Sir?”
    “Tomorrow. Eight A.M. , at Tower Bridge.”
    Hugh felt a prickle of excitement on the back of his neck. He’d been so depressed for so long. But the Twenty Committee was real, and he’d be part of it. “Meet with John Cecil Masterman tomorrow. I understand, sir.” He beamed.
    “Wipe that idiotic grin off your face,” Frain muttered, before turning his attention back to the game. “Oh, Chelsea, you’re breaking my heart,” he yelled. “Get the damned ball!”
    It was late morning and Patient No. 1564, also known as Herr Mystery, opened his eyes for the first time since his latest surgery.
    He took in his surroundings: the whitewashed ceilings, the gray walls, the glossy wainscoting. He looked up and down lines of narrow beds inhabited by wounded men. Some were sleeping; some were conversing quietly. A few moaned in pain. The air was pungent with the scents of rubbing alcohol and bleach. High windows admitted shafts of yellow sunlight.
    Still groggy from pain medication, he didn’t remember where he was—and then, all at once, he did. Terror twisted at his guts. He tried to move and pain washed over him. A groan escaped from his parched lips; he didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.
    Flight Lieutenant Eggers turned over in his bed. “Steady there,” he said to the man. “You’ve had a rough time of it.” He looked around and spied Elise passing by in the hallway. “Nurse!”
    Elise, still in her black dress from the memorial service, looked in. “Yes?”
    “Oh, it
is
you—almost didn’t recognize you in civilian clothing.”
    Elise wanted nothing more than to get to Gretel’s files, but she was nothing if not professional. “Yes, Lieutenant Eggers?”
    Eggers pointed to the man in the bed next to his. “Our ‘Herr Mystery’—he’s awake!”
    Elise walked quickly to Patient No. 1564, heels tapping on the floor. At his bedside, she checked the size of his pupils and how they reacted to light. “Hello,” she said in soothing tones. “You’re in Berlin, at Charité Mitte Hospital. You were in a plane crash and sustained a number of internal injuries. You’ve had two surgeries to repair them.” Nothing. Just a blank, almost panicked look.
    She took his temperature; it was normal. Whatever infection he’d had, he’d fought it off. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked.
    His eyes darted around, as though looking for the nearest escape.
    “I’ll let the doctors know you’re awake now,” she said, tucking the blanket around him. “They’ll be so pleased. We all are.”
    The man blinked, his eyes struggling to focus on Elise’s.
    “Don’t let this one get you in any trouble.” Elise indicated Eggers with her thumb. “And I’ll be right back with the doctor.” She patted his shoulder. “Hold tight.”
    His hand grabbed for hers, gripping it as his eyes searched hers. It was as if he recognized