Jean-Pierre had dismantled one of the test rotors again, muttering as he inspected the alignment of the contacts.
Luc was bent over the wiring jig, threading thin wires with surgeon's precision, while Henri rattled away at the typewriter, pulling intercepts into fresh stacks.
Alan Turing stood at the chalkboard, coat discarded, sleeves rolled up, his handwriting sprawling in wide columns of numbers and letters.
The Frenchmen had begun to joke that the board itself was his second laboratory half mathematics, half battlefield map.
"Henri," Turing said without turning, "how many intercepts today from Stuttgart?"
Henri pulled a sheet from the stack. "Five so far. All in five-letter groups, none broken. One looks like a weather report 'wolken' appears twice."
"Bring it here," Turing said.
Henri rose with the sheet, but before he could hand it over, the door swung open.
"Gentlemen!" boomed a familiar voice.
Renaud stepped inside.
