It was 1981 and my grandmother had just died, I was on my way to England to go through her things. When I arrived I met a cousin I had not seen since a child. She let me in with her key and we went up to the attic of my grandmother’s little two story yellow cottage in Surrey, England. I pulled open boxes; all of them were from my grandfather that had died long ago. I knew nothing of him really; he died before I was born. My cousin and I pulled out boxes and boxes of letters and photos, then drug them downstairs. The old desk that I was never allowed to touch as a child was just sitting there in the parlor. What was in the locked drawers? I was going to find out. I picked up the key sitting in the metal dish on top of the mahogany desk and put it into the lock. When I opened it, my life and my cousins’ live were changed forever. This is my grandfathers’ story; he was a spy for the English government during World War 11. Why did he die with his secrets? What was he hiding from his family? Where was his other family? He told my grandmother he worked for the railroad. I read on and this is his remarkable story.