CHAPTER ▪ FOURTEEN
“NO, BOYLE, YOU CANNOT question the king!”
I was sitting across from Major Harding, who was at his desk in the map room. He was sitting upright in his chair, not a wrinkle showing on his uniform, his clear brown eyes drilling me dead center. I was trying not to slouch, my uniform jacket smelled faintly of ale and smoke, and last time I looked in the mirror my eyes were more red than their usual blue. I was trying to ignore the jackhammer going off in my head and concentrate on being told off. I vaguely remembered buying some more pints the night before, someone, maybe me, singing; and Daphne driving us home. Wait, make that an angry Daphne driving us back, and it was me and Kaz singing.
By the number of pound notes left in my wallet, we must’ve had a really good night. I know Robert, the innkeeper, did. Harding wasn’t too happy about us having taken the car without permission, but he was more interested in learning how the investigation was going. He must’ve been in a fairly good mood, though, since there was coffee for two. On the other hand, it was six thirty in the morning, or rather 0630 hours, as the orderly who knocked on my door a while ago had informed me. But that was pure Harding. He must’ve been up early playing another round of switch the maps.
After the first cup of joe had cleared the fur off my tongue, I told Harding I needed to speak to the king. Rolf had gone up to the base at Southwold, and I needed to know if he and the king had run across anything suspicious. They were the first ones up and about the house, I explained to Harding, as if that was enough reason to question royalty.
“King Haakon is off limits to you, soldier, and that’s an order. Understand?”
“What I understand is that I’ve got one hand tied behind my back. I’ve got nothing new to report because you won’t let me do what I need to do.”
“You’ve got nothing because you’re sitting on your ass around here whining to me. Get out of here and question Rolf if you want. Do something useful, but keep out of my way. And away from the king.”
“That settles that. Sir.” I reached for the silver coffee pot and poured myself another cup. No reason to try another frontal assault. I added a sugar cube and thought maybe I should ease off a bit. After all, here I was, pouring coffee from a silver service and stirring in real sugar, not that saccharin stuff they were using since sugar got rationed. Why rock the boat? I could end up living in a tent somewhere, standing in line for chow slopped into a tin mess kit.
“I didn’t expect you to give up so easily, Boyle, but I’m glad you’re wising up to how we do things around here. You may end up being useful after all.”
Damn! I had just about talked myself into going along. It would’ve been fine because I was ready to believe it was my own idea. Now I had to respond, even though it was to a know-it-all superior officer spouting off at me. I always hated being told what I had to do. Probably why I never did well in school. Looked like I wasn’t going to do any better in the army. I took a gulp and let the hot, sweet black coffee kick in.
“Yeah, I’m beginning to get the picture. But there’s one thing I don’t quite understand, Major.”
Harding set down his coffee cup with a little clink as the cup hit the saucer. A delicate sound, and it made me think of coffee cooked in the field, served in a tin cup in the rain. No clink, just the pitter-patter of rain on your helmet, rain in your coffee, water squishing in your boots. Harding looked pleased, like his slowest pupil had finally come around. I set my cup down, the coffee swishing around and spilling over the edge, hot on my fingers and overflowing the saucer. A real mess.
“What’s that, Lieutenant?”
“What are you and Major Cosgrove setting me up for?”
There it was. The slightest blink registered and his pupils widened. In just a second everything was back to normal. Hard-ass Harding with the frozen face.
“We’ve been over this, Boyle. Just because we can’t tell you everything—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Major, and you know it. Or is Cosgrove running this little game all by himself?”
Harding half stood and slammed his right hand, palm down, on the desk. His coffee cup rattled and now he had coffee spilling into his saucer.
“Listen, you insubordinate son of a bitch—”
“No, you just listen, Major, sir!” We were both up on our feet now, spilt coffee forgotten. “When we first got here, Cosgrove and I were perfect strangers. So how did he know right away that I was just in from the States and that I came from Boston?”
“I don’t know, Boyle, and what the hell would that mean anyway?”
“It means that Cosgrove knew about me, and then pretended not to.
He lied. Why would he do that? More important, why would a lowly American lieutenant be involved with the schemes of cloak-and-dagger officers like you and Cosgrove?”
“What schemes? Maybe Cosgrove saw your file somewhere. He’s very well informed.”
“Why would MI-5 have my file?”
“Major Cosgrove works for the British General Staff, as special liaison to various governments in exile, not MI-5.”
“Or at least that’s the party line for those without need to know.”
“Have it your way, Boyle: you’re the center of a conspiracy by the British secret service, the proof of which is that Major Cosgrove knows you’re from Boston.”
Harding sat down again, gave out a little sharp laugh, and reached for a pack of Luckies. Lucky Strike Green, “Lucky Strike Green has gone to war.” Just like me. Shake one out whenever you need it, use it up, grind it under your heel. Harding tapped the pack against two fingers and drew a cigarette out. He looked at me while he snapped his Zippo open and flicked the wheel, a tiny spark hitting the flint and producing a fine blue flame. He blew out a stream of smoke and spat out a stray bit of tobacco, shutting the Zippo with a metallic click and playing with it, turning it over in his right hand as he smoked. He shook his head and laughed again, but he didn’t fool me. I had seen his tell, that little blink.
“Joke about it all you want, sir. I know something’s not right here.”
“Damn right, Boyle! One dead government official, one active spy, and your investigation is a bust. When are you going to uncover the truth about what’s going on here?”
“Let me share a little professional secret with you, Major.” I sat on the corner of his desk and leaned forward. “It’s something my dad taught me about investigations. He’s a cop too, better than I’ll ever be. Last year I was banging my head against a wall, trying to find out the truth about a killing. Know what he told me?”
“What?” Harding sounded interested, and maybe a little worried.
“Never go after the truth; that’s a waste of time. Chase the lie, and let it lead you to the truth. And I know where the lie is here.” I pushed off from his desk and stood at attention. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Sure, Boyle,” Harding said, shrugging as if all this made no difference at all. He stopped playing with the Zippo, set it down, and pointed at me with two fingers holding his cigarette. “But first, tell me, did you ever find that killer?”
“Yeah. The guy’s wife shot him in the chest, then blamed it on a burglar.”
“What’d you do, send her to the chair?” He smiled as if the thought amused him. I heard a door open behind me, and the sound of footsteps stopping, like when you walk into a room in the middle of an argument and realize you should have knocked. Two more footsteps backward, the door shut, and we were alone again.
“No, I didn’t send her anywhere. Far as I know, she’s still back home, looking after her two kids.”
“So you didn’t have enough evidence to arrest her?”
“I had plenty.”
Harding stubbed out his cigarette, another little soldier gone. Don’t worry, plenty more where that one came from. Lucky Strike Green has gone to war. Now he was irritated. This little story wasn’t working out the way he thought it would.
“Damn it, Boyle, spit it out! Why didn’t you take her in?”
“The bastard was screwing his own ten-year-old daughter. The wife caught him. First time the kids were out of the house she plugged him good. Two shots in the chest and he was toes up. She and her kids had been through enough, as far as I could figure it, and the guy would’ve got worse in prison anyway. Not a happy ending, but the best one I could come up with under the circumstances. I found the piece in the icebox, not exactly the hiding place of a master criminal. I dumped it in the Charles River and wrote it up as a burglary gone bad, the story she gave us.”
Harding drummed his fingers on the desk, then picked up the Zippo again. He stopped and looked me straight in the eye. “What was the lie?”
“The burglary story. They didn’t have a damn thing worth stealing.” Harding slammed the Zippo down, turned away from me, got up, and walked over to the window and looked out over the heath.
“Have Daphne drive you up to Southwold. Talk to Rolf Kayser. And be careful, Boyle.”
I left, confused by his change in attitude. He sounded like he suddenly gave a damn. I mentally shrugged, chalking it up to the inscrutable ways of senior officers. I went off to find Daphne and Kaz, to begin to chase down a different lie. Time I took my own advice.
“Pack your bags, kids, we’re blowing this joint.”
I found Daphne and Kaz working their way through breakfast in the mess. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down with them. They both looked at me quizzically.
“I understand that we are leaving, Billy, but what are we blowing up?” Kaz asked, as if he were totally ready to set off explosives at my request.
“No, wait, we heard Humphrey Bogart say that in a film!” Daphne said excitedly, turning to Kaz and grasping his hand. “Remember, dear? This house is a joint, and we’re leaving quickly, blowing out!” Her brown eyes gleamed with excitement at deciphering American slang. I was glad she liked it, since my supply of ten-dollar words was pretty short.
“Close enough, Daphne, and pretty good for an English gal. Harding gave his OK for you to drive me up to the base at Southwold. I’m going to question Rolf about what he might’ve seen that morning. The king, apparently, is off limits.”
“You didn’t ask Harding if you could interrogate King Haakon?” asked Kaz.
“Yep, and I’ve got the imprint of his boot on my backside to prove it. So, the next step is to talk to our friend Rolf and see what further confusion he can add to this investigation.”
“I’ll draft some orders for Majors Harding and Cosgrove to sign,” Daphne said, warming to the idea of an excursion. “We’ll need clearance just to get through the gate. It won’t hurt to have English and American officers co-signing.”
“Good idea. Add something about authorizing us to draw supplies while we’re there. I only packed for a couple of days up here. I’m wearing out my Class A’s and my only two shirts.”
“What am I to do, Billy?”
“I need you to check out something for me, Kaz. We need a way to get you back to London to investigate Birkeland’s business records. I want you to go through his bank accounts in England and look for any large deposits or withdrawals. Go to Lloyd’s of London and see if he has insurance on his business and on himself. If so, who’s the beneficiary? Go to SOE headquarters and find confirmation of damage done to his fishing business by the commando raids. Was that for real or just a sob story? Find out everything you can about his business and anyone who stands to benefit now that he’s dead.”
“The Special Operations Executive, not to mention Lloyd’s or the banks, is not likely to let me walk in and go through its records,” Kaz pointed out.
“I’ll add a directive to the orders,” Daphne spoke up, clearly taking charge of the planning, “giving permission to Lieutenant the Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz to review such records. I’ll list it as a direct order from Major Cosgrove of the Imperial General Staff. The combination of continental aristocracy and the British General Staff should open doors for you, darling. That and your charm, of course.”
She smiled at Kaz, eagerness and intelligence showing on her face. Daphne was enjoying this assignment as much as Kaz. He wanted to do something important for the war effort, understandable after what the Nazis had done to his family and his country. Daphne had a natural ability to solve problems, and it was being put to better use here than filing security forms back at headquarters. I could tell she knew it, too. She was blossoming with the added responsibilities, happy to be using her talents.
“Between my title and your brains and beauty, we can do anything!” Kaz kissed her, and Daphne blushed, looking around in mock horror at this un-English display of emotion. I sighed to myself, wishing I had a couple of my more-experienced buddies from the force helping me instead of these two lovebirds. Still, I could do worse. And they were great company.
“OK. Calm down, you two. Let’s put our brains to work on how to get Kaz back to London quickly. Is there a train station around here?”
“No,” answered Daphne, “not close by. But I do have an idea.” She raised her eyebrow at Kaz. It took him a second, but he quickly brightened up.
“Oh, yes! Excellent idea, dear. Especially if I get to drive the Imp!”
Imp?
“OK, your turn to explain the lingo to me,” I said. Before he could even ask, Daphne answered Kaz’s unspoken question.
“Lingo means patois, dear,” she said helpfully as she turned to me. “The Imp, Billy, is not some sort of rascal, but a 1934 Riley Imp sports car. A red two-seater, and a complete delight to drive!”
“Where is this sports car, and how do we get gas for it?”
“It’s at my parents’ house, outside of Bury St. Edmonds, which is east of Cambridge. We can drive there today, pick up the Imp, and then Piotr can take the staff car to London.”
“That’s unfair,” Kaz protested. “Billy, as the officer in charge of this investigation, deserves to be delivered to Southwold in an official staff car. Billy, you must insist!” I just smiled and held up my hands in surrender, not wanting to get between them.
“Darling,” Daphne said soothingly, “I’m just thinking about the petrol. It’s a shorter drive to Southwold, and Father probably doesn’t have much to spare. Besides, the Imp is so much more fun to drive in the country.”
“Billy, see how she mistreats me,” Kaz appealed to me.
“Don’t look at me for help. I’m trying to figure out if she’ll let me drive!”
“Father gave me the Imp for my eighteenth birthday. I drive, Lieutenant!”
I didn’t dare argue. About an hour later Kaz and I were packed and waiting for Daphne by the front entrance. We were in the main hallway, sitting on a hard wooden bench, our bags on the floor beside us. Kaz had one leg draped over the other, the cut of his trousers making him look casually elegant, like Ronald Colman in a tux. I looked at my pants. Baggy, wrinkled. My wool socks were itchy, and my feet hurt in their standard-issue size nine cordovan service shoes. Kaz’s black shoes sparkled like he had just gotten a spit shine, and his socks didn’t look like army issue. He looked at home in this grand house, as if he owned the place. I felt like the house dick at the Copley Plaza Hotel, the kind of guy whose job it was to hang around and try to fit in, but who knew he never would. I glanced at my watch after fifteen minutes. Kaz was whistling softly to himself.
“This, Kaz,” I said, “is called cooling our heels. Get it?”
“Ah, yes. Since we are waiting, our feet are not moving and staying warm. Yes?”
“I guess so. The expression is used whenever you’re waiting for someone, but especially women.”
“Some things are worth cool heels, yes, Billy?”
“Yes, Kaz, especially in your case. Daphne is a beautiful woman.”
“Beauty is not as hard to find as intelligence and a certain charming independence. Daphne combines all those attributes. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
“How did you two meet?”
Kaz smiled slyly. “Do you really mean what does such a beautiful woman see in a little Polish man with a heart condition, even if he has ‘Baron’ in front of his name?”
“No, I was just curious, really,” I protested quickly, maybe too quickly. “But since you put it that way, tell me. How did you end up with Daphne?”
“You won’t believe me, Billy.”
“Try me. We’ve got time to kill.”
“Murdering time. I must file that one away, Billy. I like it, especially in light of our investigation. A race against time to find a killer and perhaps a spy, and here we are killing time. Ironic, yes?”
“Sure, Kaz. Now, back to Daphne.”
“Yes. It was one night at the Dorchester. I was dining alone and two couples were seated at the next table. Daphne and her younger sister, Diana. They were escorted by two young Royal Navy officers. They all looked elegant and quite dashing.”
Kaz stopped, a smile on his lips as he remembered. Then a look of embarrassment swept over his face and he reddened slightly.
“This sounds melodramatic, but our eyes met. I was frankly staring at her, and when she looked up at me, I didn’t look away. We just stared at each other, as if we were long-lost lovers who could not remember what the other looked like. It was actually quite uncomfortable, but I couldn’t look away. I think her sister noticed, but the young men didn’t. They were too busy trying to impress the girls. Then the air-raid warning sounded. Everyone got up to go into the shelter, but I stayed at my table.”
“Why?” I asked.
Kaz stared down at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. He took a minute before answering. A minute is a long time to wait when a guy has his eyeballs locked on to the linoleum.
“At the time, I had recently received word that my parents were dead. And I was recovering from an episode with my heart; I had been in hospital. There just didn’t seem to be much point in . . . life. I was commissioned in the Polish army, but they wouldn’t assign me any duties at all because of my condition.”
“You didn’t care if you lived or died.”
“No, I didn’t. It was quite inconsequential. Until that night, anyway.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“The most extraordinary thing. I heard Daphne tell her companions that she wasn’t going to the shelter with them, that she was going to drink champagne with the Polish officer. Me. I was stunned. They got into an awful row over it, but you’ve seen how determined she can be.”
“Uh huh. I assume she stayed?”
“Yes. I introduced myself as her sister dragged off the two officers. We sat by the light of a single candle, talked, and drank an excellent Cristal. I forget the vintage, but I remember her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. The bombing was mostly down by the docks, but a few strays dug up potatoes in Hyde Park across the way. I told her everything—about Poland, my family, my heart, my desires and fears . . . things I had never spoken out loud before. I tell you, Billy, it was as if an angel had floated down from heaven and sat beside me. When she touched my arm, it was as if all my burdens were lifted from me.”
I didn’t know what to say. My most romantic experiences usually took place after three or four Guinnesses wore down the resistance of whatever girl would go out with me. This was the real thing, the kind of moment I’d only heard about in the movies. I didn’t even know it actually happened. It made me feel strange, like an inexperienced high-school kid at his first dance. I struggled to find something to say to Kaz equal to the importance and depth of what he’d just told me. I came up with nothing.
“What did Daphne say?” popped out. “I mean it’s kinda forward. . . .”
“She told me that she couldn’t let the moment slip away and always wonder what would’ve happened if she had not spoken to me. And that if I thought that was improper, to tell her immediately, so she wouldn’t waste her time with a bloody fool.” He smiled fondly. “Pure Daphne. I told her I had always dreamed of a woman with her strength of character, and now that she was at my table, I wouldn’t dare let her leave. That was right when one of those stray bombs dropped in Hyde Park. We both jumped in our seats and laughed. It was excellent punctuation! We talked for hours, and didn’t even notice when the bombing stopped.”
“Did her date come back?”
“No, but her sister did. Diana had sent the naval officers to another club on their own. She said they were rather boring, and that she couldn’t wait for the bombing to end so she could come back and see what all the fuss was about. She’s a remarkable young woman in her own right. Since that night, I always go down to the shelter when a raid comes over.”
“So how did you guys both end up working for Ike?”
“Daphne was already assigned to the first American mission here, before General Eisenhower arrived. I was having no luck getting an assignment with the Polish Free Corps, so Daphne had her father contact the Foreign Office about securing the services of someone fluent in a number of European languages for the rapidly expanding American army headquarters staff. Suddenly I had an assignment, working for Major Harding, doing interpretation as needed, mostly of intelligence documents and memos to other governments in exile. And being with Daphne every day. It worked out rather well, don’t you think?”
Before I could even think about the fact that with a bad ticker, in exile, with all his family dead and gone, Kaz was content and happy while I was miserable here, we both heard the click-clack of Daphne’s heels coming down the hall.
“Ah! Daphne, and her heels are hot, right, Billy?”
“Don’t you know it, buddy.” I resisted the impulse to say it wasn’t just her heels. Kaz’s story must’ve softened me up a little bit.
“As usual, my dears,” Daphne said, standing in front of us, “you men lie about while I do the real work.” She flashed a sheaf of official papers at us.
“Daphne, are these orders all for us?” I asked in astonishment at the multitude of sheets in her grasp.
“Of course they are. In triplicate, of course, a full set for each of us.” She handed Kaz and me our copies. There was a cover sheet describing the issuing office—U.S. Army Command, European Theater of Operations—the effective duration of the orders, which was thirty days in this case, as well as the priority designation AAA.
The second sheet went into detail about the orders, numbered one through four. The first granted Daphne and me permission to enter the Southwold base. The second directed the base commander to make Lieutenant Rolf Kayser available to assist us, which was a nice way of saying we needed to question him. The third order directed the base commander to allow me to draw supplies from the quartermaster as needed. The fourth order was the longest, detailing Kaz’s duties in London at the request of the Imperial General Staff, as ordered by Major Charles Cosgrove.
The orders spilled over onto a third page, with a final directive to all Allied personnel to assist us, named individually, in pursuit of our specific orders. Below that item were the scrawled signatures of Majors Harding and Cosgrove, as the authorizing parties. Pretty impressive.
“Looks like these could get us into Buckingham Palace,” I said. “Nice work, Daphne. Let’s hit the road.”
Kaz took Daphne’s bag and grabbed his own. As I headed out the door I heard him ask Daphne, “Explain to me, why must we hit the road? Has it been unruly?”
As I turned around to explain what I meant, I caught Kaz winking at Daphne and stifling a laugh.
“Oh, it’s time to make fun of the Yank and the funny way he talks, is it?”
“What do you mean, Billy?” Kaz said, almost dissolving into laughter, “we’d love to assault the roadway with you!”
OK, I thought, as I dug down into my memory of gang talk from South Boston, you asked for it. “Look, I may be tooting the wrong wringer, but if we don’t take a powder quick and tighten the screws on this jasper, it’ll be a trip for biscuits.”
I winked back at them and went out to the car, hoping indeed that this wouldn’t be a trip for biscuits: a trip somewhere with no clear purpose and no results.