As Margie followed the Prime Minister through the confines of the U-boat, she observed the crew at work. Fifty men, clad in the kleiner Dienstanzuge of the German Navy, worked silently at posts around the vessel. Occasionally one would whisper an order in German, but for the most part the air was filled with a heavy stillness. All were focused on the equipment before them.

Margie wasn’t sure whose ship she was on, but none of this felt in the least bit right. She was beginning to wonder if this “Churchill” person was who he said he was.

“Please enter,” he whispered, and motioned towards a makeshift ready room fashioned at one end of his quarters. Margie ducked into the claustrophobic space and sat down; Churchill followed, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Who are you, really?” Margie asked.

“You’ve been through a great deal,” he whispered, “and it’s no wonder you’re not feeling terribly trusting right now.”

“Are you or are you not Prime Minister Churchill?”

“Very well. I am not. I am his double.”