Launch Code

FOUR

As Bill ushered Sam Bowen out of the front door, Toby went back to the kitchen where Alice’s sister Brooke was helping her with vegetables. The two sisters were talking over one another in their excitement to see each other.

‘Hey, Toby!’ said Brooke, flashing her broad white smile. She put down her knife and gave him a hug. This was only the third time they had met, but she had always been very welcoming. Of the three sisters, Brooke was probably the one Alice was closest to. She was smaller than Alice, at twenty-nine a year younger, and her blonde hair was longer and curlier. She was a dentist in a suburb of Chicago: whether that was a cause or effect of her brilliant white teeth, Toby wasn’t sure.

‘Did you just get here?’ he asked.

‘About a half hour ago. We’re staying in the Cottage. With Uncle Lars. Justin’s there now.’

The Cottage was the nearest of a row of four small dwellings a few yards further back along the lane, with its own tiny garden. Bill had bought it to provide enough space for his large family when they were all together. The idea was to rent it out as a holiday cottage during the summer whenever it wasn’t being used.

‘Well?’ said Alice. ‘Did the historian tell you about how Dad’s submarine nearly blew up the world?’

‘He did! And about how your dad stopped them. It’s an incredible story! Is it true?’

‘I guess so. Dad will never confirm it, but Mom told us about it before she died. It’s all Classified. I bet Dad didn’t say anything to the historian, did he?’

‘No.’ Toby smiled. ‘But he didn’t deny it either. Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘Dad’s very serious about none of us talking. Which is why I was pleased he asked you to join him. It’s his way of telling you.’

‘It makes him quite a hero.’

Alice smiled with pride. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

‘One thing I don’t understand. Sam Bowen talked about an officer who died on the boat. Lieutenant Naylor. He said his son was going to be at dinner.’

Alice glanced at her sister, who was boiling some water in a pan.

Brooke looked up. Her married name was Opizzi, not Naylor. ‘Yeah. That’s Justin.’

She attacked a sweet potato with her vegetable knife.

‘Craig Naylor was his father,’ she went on. ‘Dad, Uncle Lars and Craig were buddies on the sub. Justin wasn’t born until after the patrol. After Craig died, Dad kept in touch with Justin and his mother – in fact, Justin used to come on vacation with us sometimes when we were kids.’

‘So that’s how you met?’

‘You could say so. Although I didn’t see him after the age of fourteen. Until I went to dental school in Chicago and he got in touch. He was working there.’ Brooke moved the sweet potato slices to one side and reached for another. ‘Best not to mention Craig, though, to Justin. He still gets upset about it.’

‘OK,’ said Toby. ‘You didn’t tell me any of this, Alice?’

‘No,’ said Alice, opening a can of mushroom soup. ‘It never came up.’ She frowned. ‘Did this guy say he had found something out about Craig?’

‘Not really. He had checked the date of his death, wanted to make sure it had nothing to do with the launch. Or near-launch. I got the impression it was something he was going to research. He’s very thorough. He also mentioned a woman named Pat Greenberg? Something like that. Your dad said he didn’t know her.’

Before Alice or Brooke could respond, Toby’s phone chirped. It was Piet.

Toby answered. Piet wanted to schedule interviews with Toby for the following Monday. Beachwallet was hiring as fast as they could.

‘How’s Beachwallet doing?’ asked Brooke when he had hung up.

‘Good,’ said Toby with a grin. ‘It’s been a struggle, but we’re getting there. It looks like we’ve got a venture capitalist on board for a couple of million. We’ll see.’

Piet and Toby had set up Beachwallet a year before, with some advice from Bill. The company was developing an app for young travellers to budget their holidays abroad, and to make payments in the necessary foreign currencies.

‘Is Dad investing?’ Brooke asked.

‘Toby won’t let him,’ said Alice. ‘He’d rather take money from evil venture capitalists instead.’

‘Why’s that, Toby?’ said Brooke, pausing her chopping. She seemed genuinely interested.

‘I suppose I’m just wary of mixing family and business.’

‘Dad would love to do it,’ said Alice.

Toby had been reluctant to take money from his new father-in-law only a few months into his marriage. He owed him enough already: although Toby and Alice split the mortgage payments equally on their one-bedroom flat in King’s Cross, it had been bought with a deposit from Bill. Accepting that had pained Toby, but it had seemed pig-headed to refuse.

From the beginning of their relationship, Toby had vowed that he wouldn’t become dependent on Alice’s wealth, on Alice’s father. It was a vow Alice had understood and respected. Between them, they had created a marriage of equals, something Toby was proud of, and he thought Alice was too. They both had serious jobs, they split the mortgage, they shared domestic chores, Toby intended to do his share when children came along.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his father-in-law’s business acumen. After working all over the world for a US multinational, Bill had settled in London and invested in and managed a series of smallish defence communications companies in Britain and the rest of Europe. He had made good money out of it, many millions, exactly how many millions neither Alice nor Toby knew. And he had also learned how to keep small companies afloat.

But Toby was hesitant about binding his wife’s family into his own precarious business affairs. It wasn’t just pride in avoiding hand-outs. It seemed risky for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down, something to do with a screw-up in one relationship leading to a screw-up in the other.

‘I can see why you might want to be careful,’ said Brooke.

Toby gave her a grateful smile.

Bill popped his head around the door. ‘Can you manage another one for dinner, Alice? I know you can. There’s no way you haven’t made enough food.’

Alice grinned sheepishly, surveying the piles of food scattered around the kitchen. ‘What do you think, Brooke?’

‘I think we’ll be OK.’