Messages

The two of them sat around the receiver of the shortwave radio station set up in her grandfather’s garage. Next to the garage stood a twenty foot radio antenna they called the tower to god. If you laid down at the base and looked up on a dark starry night the tower seemed to pierce the heavens and let out all the stars. Tonight was no different than the rest of the summer as they sat late in to the night listening to the static of radio waves bouncing off of the ionosphere.

“It's definitely them.”

“You sure? Do you think its code?”

“Could be.”

“Do you think you can crack the code?” She smiled knowing he loved a challenge.

The summer of forty three at the Jersey shore was filled with tourists, waves, sun, submarine sightings and spies. The war had raged for almost two years now and on dark moonless nights if you sat along the Jersey shoreline you would swear that you saw enemy submarines break the surface and linger about.

“There it is again.”

“Just like before?”

“Every time there is a new moon.” He pushed the headphone to his ear.

“You think its spies?”

“Could be.”

The whole country was caught up in spy fever. Spies were everywhere. Loose lips sink ships. Second to the war news the spy hunt became a national past time passing baseball in importance.

“I bet it's all about ship convoys, troop movements.”

“What if it's an invasion? The filthy traitor.”

“He's probably not from here.”

“Maybe it's a she. Ever hear of Mata Hari?”

“Okay, okay could be a she.” He sighed. “It’s gone. Nothing exciting ever happens around here.”

About a half mile away a rubber raft broke the surf and a lone man snuck ashore.