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June, 1958 - Norfolk, United Kingdom           (FLASHBACK)
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A jet black Rolls Royce swept sedately through the English countryside, the late afternoon sunshine glinting off the chrome bumper and hubcaps. On either side of the laneway towered great English Oaks, their huge branches reaching across the ancient track to join in an never ending tunnel of bright green, shot through with sunlight here and there. Beyond the trees grazed herds of cattle and sheep, watched over by shepherds who watched the vehicle pass with more than a slight interest.

Rowan Hogan, who was seated alone in the rear of the Rolls Royce, stared back. To the general public, Wolterton Manor House was the stately home of Lord Astleys, an elderly gentlemen who lived most of his time in London and only visited during the hunting season. The ancient red brick mansion dated back to the 1500's and had been significantly modernized since then. 

The Rolls slowed as it approached the entrance to the Mansion, an imposing brick archway that was almost completely hidden by the heavy oak trees. A footman, who was quite young and very fit, stepped out into the roadway to greet the vehicle. The driver slowed and then came to a stop, rolling down his window to speak to the footman. Rowan could not hear what was said but she saw the driver speak her name in the rearview mirror. What else he said she could not make out.

The footman glanced in, offering her a smile and a wave as the Rolls passed into the gravel courtyard. More Mansion staff were moving about the courtyard, men and women, all of them watching her without trying to look like there were. 

The car ground to a halt before the front door of the building, a huge set of double doors inlaid with the Astleys crest. Another footman, as fit and formidable as the first, appeared and opened the door of the vehicle. The smell of the countryside, fresh cut grass, flowering oak trees, manure in the fields beyond, all of it rolled into the vehicle to greet her as she clambered out.

Rowans style was clean, simple, well fitted, with perfectly matched accessories. She wore a green dress without collar, and a blue jacket. She wore sensible low heel shoes that were ideal for quick movement. She dressed so that you would notice her, but then forget her the moment she was gone. 

"This way ma'am." Said the footman as he led her up the short stone steps to the great wooden doorway. She had counted the watchers in the courtyard now and was beginning to feel a sense of excitement building in her gut. There were normally fewer here and she could detect a distinct division between them, as if there were two separate groups brought together. Something was up. 

The interior of the Mansion had been redone in a tasteful white plaster, the roof properly resealed, and everything still looked as one might expect the home of a Country Squire to look. More servants, far more than was practical in such an older home, seemed to be everywhere, cleaning rooms that did not need cleaning, moving items from one room to the next. All of it purposeless bustle. 

The footman who led her turned left into a small sitting room where a fire burned in the hearth despite the heat of the spring day. Two large arm chairs sat facing the fire, a small table between them shared a pair of empty Scotch glasses, and an ashtray held the stub of a cigar. Those small clues, plus the increased security of the mansion, led her to conclude that the Prime Minister was in the building. The identity of his guest would remain a mystery for a few minutes more. 

Through the sitting room was a final wooden door, currently closed, with two soldiers in uniform, pistols on their hips, sub-machine guns across their chests. They nodded to the footman, glanced her over, and then the one on the left stepped back to push open the door. Two men stood in the room, their backs to her, and they both turned toward her as the door closed behind her.

The man on the left she knew very well, Winston Churchill, his scowling visage and trademark cigar exactly as she had pictured him. The second man however brought her up short. It completely explained the increased security, not to mention the strange sense of division amongst the security forces. This second man was none other than Dwight Eisenhower, President of the United States of America.

"Ah, Miss Hogan, please, come in." Churchill waved her forward. He was leaning heavily on a large chair for support but gestured her to sit in it. Eisenhower simply smiled and Rowan had the distinct impression that she was being very severely judged. 

"Thank you, m'lord." She said as she sat in the offered chair. Eisenhower sank into another while Churchill painfully shuffled his way to a third chair and slowly sat with a thankful sigh. He puffed at his cigar for a moment and then looked over at Eisenhower with a raised eyebrow. 

The American President sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and looked very keenly at her. It was a strange moment for a simple Irish farm girl from Dún Laoghaire, to be seated in the same room as the two most powerful men in the free world. Eisenhower seemed to be weighing her for a moment before, finally, he began to speak.

"Miss Hogan. As you are no doubt aware, a current Cold War exists between the Allies and the German Reich. This entire state of affairs is based on the assumption that, should one or the other resort to nuclear warfare, the other would retaliate and doom us all."

The room suddenly seemed cold. Rowan had seen the images from Russia and Japan, of huge cities turned to rubble in an instant, hundreds of thousands dead. There was no greater fear for people of her generation than to know that they could be next. She felt her fingers digging into the soft fabric of the armchair as the President continued to speak.

"What we are about discuss cannot, ever, be discussed again outside of this room." Eisenhower sat back slightly and regraded her carefully through his glasses. "You have been selected for a mission, perhaps the most vital one ever undertaken by an agent of the Allied powers. I will not bore you with the process. But you have been chosen for your ability to speak four languages, your determination, flexibility in crisis, and complete loyalty to the Allied cause."

Rowan nodded and sat up straighter in her chair. Churchill was watching her like a hawk and she had no doubt he was the reason she was sitting in front of them. He had known her father during the war, he had been killed during an SAS raid on Nazi Occupied France. Since that time she had found a powerful friend in the Prime Minister, a secret friend, who had opened many doors for her that might have otherwise remained closed because of her gender.

"I need to know, we, need to know, that what I am about to tell you will never pass between your lips. The mission, should you choose to accept it, will end one of two ways. With your success, or your death. There can be no capture. Your mission will not be acknowledged by the Allies, and you will report directly to us. Are you prepared to do that?"

Eisenhower stared at her intently, Churchill puffed on his cigar, a log popped in the fireplace and somewhere outside a hound gave a long low howl. All of it seemed suddenly very intense. Rowan stared into the flames. She had served the Allied cause as an agent for the last seven years, moving effortlessly through the German Reich under any number of aliases, gathering intelligence on German troops movements and dispositions. She had waited her entire life for this type of opportunity, and, if she was honest with herself, she didn't anything else to do. Her father was dead, killed in the war, and her mother had been killed in an automobile crash five years ago. 

"Okay, Mr. President. I won't say a word." She brought her gaze back up to meet his, and then transferred it to Churchill. "You can continue to have faith in me."

Churchill smiled and nodded. Eisenhower allowed a flicker of a smile before the deadly seriousness came rushing back. He sat back fully now and gave a deep sigh. It was Churchills' turn to sit forward and take up the narrative.

"Miss Hogan, I will be blunt. The only thing that has prevented the Nazi's from invading our fair Island and, indeed, conquering the world, is the threat of a nuclear strike on their own territory." He paused now and such was the look on his face that she had to fight the urge to jump up and run from the room. He suddenly looked wasted, tired, spent, defeated, and, worst of all, afraid.

"Miss Hogan," His eyes met hers and she saw the weight of the world in them. "The Allied powers do not posses the atomic bomb."