Once Upon a Boston Christmas.
If memory does not
deceive me, and it rarely does even now, the winter of 1947 was one of the
coldest on record. Sir Bartholomew and I had both been safely discharged from
our wartime duties, and as quickly as the post-war period of austerity, and a
Labour government would allow were attempting to revive something of our
pre-war lifestyle. Such endeavours,
however, were not helping to fill the gnawing emptiness we both so keenly felt.
It had been my idea
that an extended winter vacation in the United States visiting old friends
might take both our minds off of recent events. The efforts we had put in while
working in the European theatre had taken much from both of us, especially the sights
we saw in that stockade in the Bavarian forest. Lady Rhymaes
had been a tower of strength during those post-war days, but then when Lady
Gladys had been stricken with tuberculosis, she had on the advice of her
physician gone to a sanitorium in the Swiss Alps,
accompanied by her sister.
Her absence was keenly
felt by both Sir Bartholomew and myself, and even such
actions as lifting the Bartlett Diamonds from the premises of Messer’s Anderson
and Cartwright had been unable to alleviate that gap in our lives. When I
had communicated with her, she had strongly agreed with my suggestion of an
extended break amongst friends, and communicated as much to her husband.
So it was, and with no
particular destination in mind, that we had embarked upon the Queen Elizabeth
at Southampton bound for New York. The ship was only really just regaining its
former glory after its wartime service, and though the master and I were fully
appreciative of the luxury, and standard of service, it did little to alleviate
our moods of gloom.
New York - well it was
as ever still New York. Garish, flashy, but throbbing even in
deep winter with a heartbeat that pulsated. Despite the usual feelings
of disorientation that any traveller will feel when alighting in the early
hours of a December morning, we soon began to be lifted by the atmosphere which
we had not sampled for many years.
Our original plans had
been to take a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria and see what might develop, and we
spent an interesting week there both visiting old friends and accomplices, and
visiting the many new night clubs and similar establishments that had sprung up
since our last visit before the lights had gone out in Europe.
It was about 7 days
after our arrival that I took at the door of the suite a cablegram addressed to
“Sir Barty, Waldorf-Astoria.”
“A telegram for you,
sir,” I said as I brought the missive to Sir Bartholomew, who was relaxing with
his after-breakfast cigarette. He was
wearing a tweed three piece suit with white shirt and blue tie, with black
Oxfords – a suitable choice of clothing which I had laid out.
“Now this is
interesting Jayes old chap,” he spoke after reading
the missive. “It’s from Jane Huntingdown, she’s requesting our help with a mystery she is trying to
solve. Can you believe the great forensic detective is requesting OUR aid?”
I was busy making sure
the ornaments were properly arranged as I said “Well if I might say so sir, as
varied as the talents of Dr. Huntingdown are, we do
possess certain advantages that she does not possess.”
“She says,” he continued, “that Annabel and Rocky are driving up tonight
and that would we be dears and accompany them?”
“Well,” I said with a
small smile, “I will admit that making the re-acquaintance of Mrs. Rockland and
her husband would be a pleasure sir.”
“Do you think the
divine Annabel still…?”
“I’m sure she is as
beautiful as ever sir.”
“You know bally well
that isn’t what I mean Jayes, I was wondering if she
still ventures out to…”
“From one or two
reports that I read during the war in American newspapers sir, I believe it is
safe to say that Mrs. Rockland has kept her hand in so to speak.”
“Jayes,”
he said as he stood up, “proceed with the packing of suitable clothing. In addition, I believe we will both need a stiff
whisky and soda before they arrive.”
“Very good sir,” I
said, “but may I enquire as to why we might need the fortifying liquids?”
“Because if you’ve
forgotten how Annabel drives,” he said, “I dashed well haven’t.”
“Ah,” I said
quietly. Occasionally, Sir Bartholomew
showed a wisdom those who only knew him socially did not believe was
possible. “I do take your point then sir, yes maybe we should partake before our journey.”
Mrs. Rockland was as
always like a breath of fresh air, lively, vivacious, and still stunning. Mr.
Rockland was also as always, solid, dependable, and totally besotted with his
wife. She was wearing a Dior suit and white blouse, the collar over the neck of
her jacket, while Rocky was wearing a double breasted suit with a hat set at
just the correct angle.
Their new Cadillac was
a sight to see for British eyes, a veritable monster, a kind of miniature
drawing room on wheels, and at least still to an eye still used to the
constraints of petrol rationing, a veritable guzzler of gasoline as they call
it in the USA.
The drive from New York
to Boston was marred only by two encounters with the forces of law enforcement
when Mrs. Richmond was pulled over for speeding, an occurrence that she faced
with total equanimity as though it was a totally everyday matter, which now
when I think back upon it, it probably was.
On our arrival in
Boston, we were greeted by Doctor Jane Huntingdown. Dr. Huntingdown
remained the handsome woman she had always been, just one or two little lines
to betray her age, but as always the soul of good manners and hospitality. She enquired after young Master Richmond,
pleased to hear he was settling in Yale.
“I was so shocked to
hear of Gladys’ illness Barty,” she spoke as she
ushered us into her combined laboratory and apartment on Beacon Street. I looked at her, in her blue jumper and
skirt, and wondered again at the ease with which she carried herself.
“Well her sister is
with her, and I was assured that my presence might have been more hindrance
then help, Jane.”
“Knowing your
propensity to worry, and how much you love each other,” she said with her shy
smile, ”why does that not surprise me in the least? Speaking of which how did
either of you cope while separated from each other by your various wartime
activities?”
“With
difficulty old thing.
With difficulty,” Sir Bartholomew said as he shook his head.
“By the way Barty,” she then said, “congrats on both yours and Gladys’
gongs, and of course to you on your rather splendid decoration Jayes.”
“Well one did one’s bit
Mrs. Rockland,” I found myself blushing. “And I’m sure your government found a
suitable way to recognize your work…”
“What for sitting
behind a desk in Washington as some kind of glorified secretaries?”
“Quite
so sir.” I had forgotten that
Mr. Rockland had not been privy to the activities of the two ladies on behalf
of the OSS during the late conflict.
“Now Rocky here
parachuted into Normandy on D-Day and fought his way all the way to Paris.”
Mrs. Rockland smiled proudly.
“Well as Jayes put it, one did ones bit.” It was Mr. Rockland’s turn
to blush.
That evening I had the
privilege of being treated as a guest as Miss Huntingdown
served us all a late supper, and refused my offer of assistance in helping
clean up. I found it all rather disconcerting to tell the truth, but these
modern times had led to many changes.
At some point in the
conversation Mr. Rockland stood up and yawned and announced he was taking his
leave of us and driving to the Copley Plaza, and that could we bring Mrs.
Rockland along with us in a cab.
As he left, Jane looked
round and said “Good - now we can talk seriously.”
“That sleeping draft
took forever to work Jane, I swear Rocky is developing
a tolerance for it.”
“I’ll need to make you
up some stronger doses.”
“Now if I might
interrupt ladies,” my employer said as he swirled his whisky round, “what was
so bally damn important that you felt you had to invite us up here the week
before Christmas Jane?”
“Did either of you,”
Jane said as she looked at us, “come across the name of the Princess Alexandra Malverino in the course of your wartime activities?”
“I’m afraid I did
Doctor,” I said quietly, “she was a leading member of both the Canaris Group and of the Catholic resistance, my activities
in Bavaria and Austria caused my path to cross hers on a couple of occasions.”
For a second I choked
back a memory, before I said ’It was truly a tragic day when she was reported
missing. She was a true lady, of amazing
courage.”
“Quite so Jayes, I also had met her.” the Doctor said in a small
voice. “I understand her niece has had
her death added to the charges she faces.”
“And this matter of
yours has what to do with her Jane old dear?”
“I have heard from an
unimpeachable source here in the Boston underworld Barty, that certain of the Malverino family jewels, including Lexa’s
legendary engagement ring are being offered for sale by some mysterious
European refugee currently here in Boston.”
“Wasn’t the main stone
in her ring the legendary Light of Venice?”
“You still remember your
jewels Barty,” Mrs. Rockland laughed her musical
little laugh. “Did you know the late Prince never told her of the diamonds name
or its provenance, in case it caused her to reject it as too ostentatious?”
“No, that I never knew
Annabel.”
“Well it’s my view that
the Princess’s jewellery rightfully belongs to her descendants, and that we
should somehow find a way to acquire…”
“Without
paying of course.”
Mrs. Rockland again laughed.
“…And return to her
family those precious objects.”
“Well I’m game for a
lark old girl.”
“And I’m fully in
agreement with Sir Bartholomew Doctor,” I said as I stood. “My meagre talents are at your disposal.”
“Good – there’s an old
friend of yours that I want you to call on tomorrow, Jayes. I think you’ll enjoy it...”
It was therefore not
without some degree of trepidation that the next day I found myself in the
offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Boston, awaiting the arrival
of one Special Agent Michael Kelly. It isn’t that I hold any particular grudge against
the officers of the law, it’s just that keeping my
distance from them has always in the past proved to be a prudent activity. On this occasion, however, all four of us
felt that this particular agent would be a useful contact for our endeavours.
On hearing the door to
the office I was sat in open, I stood and saluted the man who entered. It was a slightly incongruous sight, I grant
you – me in my dark suit, white shirt and tie, and the new arrival in a grey suit,
blue shirt and grey tie, the bulge in his jacket showing his weapon’s resting
place.
“Major Kelly…SIR!” I
clicked my heels as I spoke clearly.
“Sergeant-Major Jayes,” the American smiled as he returned my salute,
before he embraced me in a most alarming fashion. “Jayes
you old bastard, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you here and alive. The
last time I saw you, you were coming out of the window of the new Soviet
headquarters in East Berlin under fire from both sides. How the hell did you
escape that?”
“I regret to say, Major
Kelly, that is one of my little secrets.” He looked well, for a man who had exchanged
one form of government service for another.
“What’s this damn Major
thing,” he said as he indicated a chair, “we are both civilians now, just call
me Mike.”
“Very good Sir…I mean
Mike,” I half smiled as I sat. “I am here to see you in your official
capacity…”
“Oh?” his eyebrow
lifted, “that sounds like one of us still isn’t a civilian.”
“On the contrary Mike,
I am happily restored to my old position as Sir Bartholomew’s gentleman’s
gentleman.”
“How is Barty by the way? I heard about poor Gladys.”
“She is recovering
sir.” I could hear the concern in his
voice – as great the efforts that Sir Bartholomew and I had exerted, they paled
into insignificance when compared with the work Gladys undertook in occupied
France.
“Mike remember,” he grinned.
“So what’s the problem?”
“Quite,” I said as I
composed myself. “Well, to cut to the
chase as you say, while I am officially retired, an old acquaintance asked me
to look into the activities of someone who has entered the United States as a
refugee…Quite unofficially of course.”
“Oh of course VERY
unofficially,” Mike said as he leaned back.
“Well Jayes, if this someone is of interest to
His Majesty’s Government, chances are he is to mine too.”
“May I then call on you
for a little help?”
“Oh unofficially of
course,” he grinned broadly. “So who is
this person?”
Whilst I was renewing
my acquaintance with Major Kelly, Sir Bartholomew went shopping in the city
with Dr. Huntingdown. Whilst they did manage to
acquire some gifts for friends, the principal commodity that they were
seeking to purchase was information.
The magnificence and
sheer variety of goods available in the shops was, according to my master,
greater then he’d ever seen in Regent St. and Bond St. in the pre-war era, and
to eyes used to the scarcity back home, magnificence beyond dreams. I had to share his view when I saw the gown
he had purchased for Lady Gladys.
In company with Doctor Huntingdown, he had returned to find me making our hotel
suite habitable sometime towards afternoon teatime.
“Jayes,
your ability to make anywhere feel comfortable is beyond description.” Jane
sighed as she sat back on the sofa and relaxed as she accepted a cup of tea
from my hands. “If you should ever wish to leave Barty’s
service as I know that I have said more then once,
you can always find a home with me.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but
I am quite happy in my current position,” I said with a small bow.
“Hey Jane, doncha know it’s beyond bad taste to try steal a chaps
man?”
“I do,” she laughed,
“I’d probably find it easier to steal Gladys away from you then Jayes here.”
“Quite so Doctor,” I
allowed myself a small smile. “Might I be allowed to enquire as to the success
of your expedition?”
“Well there are
definitely some very hot rocks on offer here in old Beantown.”
“Yes as Jane quite
rightly says Jayes, we heard one or two of Jane’s
snitches as she calls them, positively bursting to tell us all about them.”
“And did they give you
a name for the vendor Sir?”
“A certain Laszlo
Victor…”
“Quite obviously an
alias Jayes,” the doctor sipped her tea, “how
immigration so stupidly let anyone in using such an obviously false name is
beyond me.”
“It is to be regretted
at times that those we trust to watch our borders can be so slapdash.” I shook
my head, at the same time admiring the audacity of this person, to use a
variation on a name from a classic film.
“Well anyway, he’s our chappy, can you set Mike Kelly and his bloodhounds on his
jolly old trail now?”
“Major Kelly was keen
to offer his help. For some reason he believes I may be acting on official
business…”
“Well you did enough of
it together during the war Jayes.” The doctor
finished her cup. “Is there more of this
please?”
“Of course Doctor – I
shall communicate with him in due course.”
“Well, until Mike comes
through, we may as well relax,” Jane said as she sat back. “Have you managed to talk to Annie?”
“I spoke with Mrs
Xavier before I came over,” I said as I sat down, “she has recently become a
grandmother again – her third.”
“I miss her, you know –
but her business has grown so much that I imagine she is unable to take much
time off.”
“Well, her boys have
joined the business now they are back as well.
I understand they are expanding into new areas of interest as well.”
“Oh,” Jane said, “such
as?”
“I am not in a position
to divulge the details, but it is proving most profitable...”
There was a knock on
the door to the suite, and I went to enquire of the arrival, returning to say
“Mrs Rockland.”
“Hey,” she said as she
came in and sat down, “what news?”
“If you will excuse me,
Ladies, Sir, I shall contact Major Kelly and ask for his assistance.”
It was another hour
before I received a call from Major Kelly, informing me of the location given
on arrival for one Lazlo Victor. I then
informed him that there were suspicions he was involved in espionage, and once
I had confirmed my own suspicions he would be handed over to his tender care. I always believed in co-operation where it is
to mutual benefit.
“We have an address,
sir,” I said as I joined the others.
“Perhaps, if you excuse us for a short while, Mrs Rockland and I may
visit the establishment? It is in South
Boston?”
“You
sure Jayes? It’s not the nicest of
areas?”
“Doctor Huntingdown, after the events of the last few years, I find
it hard to believe anything there could upset me.”
“Well,” Annabel said as
she stood up, and noted the address, “I’ll meet you there in ninety minutes Jayes. I need to
change into more suitable apparel for a late visit.”
Considering that it was
then a good twenty years since I had first made her acquaintance, Mrs. Rockland
still had a remarkably trim figure for the years. A gentleman never says these things in
public, but I noted this as we prepared to break into the South Boston boarding
house that Major Kelly had given us as the only known address for Laszlo
Victor.
Like myself,
she was dressed in black trousers, and a black sweater, with black leather
gloves to leave no tattle-tale fingerprints. Unlike myself however she wore a
black cap with her hair pinned up and hidden underneath, and whilst I fixed my
classic black eye mask, she tied a black headscarf around her head, then pulled
it up to cover her nose, masking her face.
Entering the
establishment posed no difficulties, as we found the number for the room.
“Do you have a weapon Jayes?”
“This is not wartime
Mrs. Rockland…”
“But it can still be as
dangerous,” she whispered as she passed me a .38 caliber
pistol from within the small black purse she held, and which rather unwillingly
I tucked into my waistband.
“Shall I do the
honours?” I asked as I passed her a small torch.
“Please, be my guest,”
she said as she held the light steady while I manipulated the locks.
“Your technique is
still impeccable I see Jayes.”
“Well one does ones
best,” I replied as I eased the door open.
Inside the light was
on, and immediately I tensed, but then something inside me told me exactly what
I was witnessing. The furniture was
commonplace, the cover to the bed slightly stained, and the signs of a hurried
departure clear.
“It looks like our bird
has flown Mrs. Rockland.”
“I can see Jayes, and by the looks of it in a hurry too,” she looked
at the drawers on a dresser left open but empty, the empty wardrobe, and the
crumpled bed that it looked like our quarry had literally leaped out of.
“Quite so, and might I
say rather recently,” I pointed out the remains of a burning cigarette in an
ashtray.
“Less than half an hour
I’d guess,” she said as she picked up the end, “but we’d need Jane here to tell
us precisely.” She walked over to the
open window, and looked outside.
“There’s a fire escape out here – he left this way I’d guess.”
“If I might be bold
then,” I said as I looked round, “I am fairly certain someone warned Mr. Victor
that we were coming.”
“I’d agree.” Mrs.
Rockland nodded then pulled down her mask so it hung round her neck. “Oh he had
a lady visitor as well.” She pointed to a lipstick stained cigarette end in the
tray on the other side of the bed.
“Blazing
Sunset,” she looked closely at the cigarette remains, “not exactly an expensive
or exclusive shade. Therefore, almost
impossible to trace.”
“Just so, well I think
we have seen we are going to see here Mrs. Rockland, I think maybe it is time
for us to make our exits and call in Major Kelly and his cohorts from the FBI.”
“Agreed.”
We made our way out of
the boarding house, stopping at a local hostelry as I called Major Kelly and
informed him of the situation, and then headed back to rejoin Sir Bartholomew
and Doctor Huntingdown.
Upon our return, Mrs
Rockland closed the door quietly as we listened to the conversation.
"Did you manage to
phone Switzerland Barty?"
"Yes thank you
Jane,” I heard Sir Bartholomew say, “I managed to speak briefly with Gladys,
she sounded much better poor old thing."
"Well after her
wartime experiences Barty it's always going to be
that any illness she gets will hit her more severely than most."
"So her doctors
have told me."
"No
sign yet of Jayes and Annabel?"
"No, and I am
starting to get a trifle worried..."
"And why might
that be Barry?" Mrs. Rockland replied, as Sir Bartholemew
and Dr. Huntingdown realised that we had been
standing in the doorway listening.
"So how did it
go?"
"It was a washout
Jane," Mrs. Rockland removed her cap and shook her hair out.
"Somebody had warned our rat, and he had vamoosed."
"DRAT!" the
Doctor said in a harsh tone.
"So who split on
us?"
"I could not
currently say Sir, but since I am confident in every person in this room, let
me perhaps hypothesize that the FBI has a leak?"
"Well that's a bit
jolly unfair, aren't they supposed to be the good guys?"
"Quite
so Sir. I have arranged, with your permission, to
meet Major Kelly for breakfast tomorrow to discuss possible sources of the
leak. In the meantime, may I suggest we
spread the word that we are interested in purchasing the jewels? IT may help lure him to our tender
attentions."
“Jayes,
you are a genius,” Mrs Rockland said as she kissed my cheek. “We’ll do just that.”
Major Kelly and I
enjoyed a fine repast at something he called an Automat – the idea of the meals
been pre-prepared, as with much of this new world, was a novelty, but the
waitresses were charming.
On our return to his
office, I settled in a seat, brushing some lint from my trousers as Major Kelly
sat on his desk.
“Is it safe to assume, Jayes, that you’d inspected the scene before calling upon
me and my flatfoots?”
“I can assure you it
was left precisely as I found it Major…sorry Mike…” I could see his raised eyebrow and slight
look of exasperation. “I do apologise,
but as a gentleman’s gentleman one does acquire certain habits of speech.”
“I understand Jayes,” he said with a smile, “but I fear that your old
world of respect might be falling very quickly at this time of history.”
“Unfortunately so,” I
said with a nod, “and standards of behaviour with them, I am very much afraid
to say.”
“They did after the
last Great War, but I think this time the social changes might be permanent, we
are about to witness the rise of the great middle-class common man.”
“It is a prospect I freely
confess I view with dread.”
“Anyway can I offer you
a drink…and I will not inflict our coffee upon you, three years working at
Combined Intelligence HQ in London gave me a taste for your tea.”
“If
it is Earl Grey?”
“Imported from Fortnum
and Mason – someone told me it was the finest.”
“Well,” I said with a
smile, “in that case how can I refuse?”
“Two cups of tea, please Britta,” Agent Kelly spoke into a device on his
desk.
“Anyway…Mike…if I might
be permitted to return to the matter in hand?”
“Please. Go ahead Jayes.”
“As competent as I am
sure your laboratories are here, might I request that whatever small evidence
you may have been able to collect might be shown to Dr. Huntingdown?”
“Oh is Jane involved in
helping as well? I guess that also means the lovely Annabel?”
I merely nodded.
“It’s almost like a YY Group reunion isn’t it?”
“Well,” I said quietly,
“when one is acting unofficially one finds it necessary to call on the
expertise of old friends.”
“Quite,” he said as he
sat down and leaned back. “Yeah, I’m
sure our lab boys won’t mind Jane dropping over and looking.”
“Thank You.”
“Ah,
and here is our tea. Jayes can I present one of the most indispensible members of our team.
This is Britta my Norwegian angel.”
“Oh I’d hardly describe
myself as an angel,” the exceedingly tall blonde woman had the look and bearing
of a Valkyrie, or at least one as presented on stage
in Wagner’s operas. There was the
slightest hint of a Nordic trace to her accent, as she placed the tray on the
table and poured the milk into the cups.
“Britta was with some
of our Nordic friends during the war. Her entire unit was trapped in a burning
building, and she was the only escapee.”
“I was very lucky, I
escaped with comparatively minor burns,” the woman smiled as she poured her
tea.
“Since I’ve seen them,
I can tell you they are hardly minor.” Mike shook his head. “The one on your
upper left arm, on the underside is particularly nasty.”
“Well those days are
long since gone, and I pray to God will never return.” Britta said as she
handed us our cups then discretely left.
“Exceptional woman…you
know she was one of our very best agents in Norway, we only knew her team by
each of their code names, but boy did they do vital work.”
“She seemed slightly
familiar,” I shook my head, “but even my brain is far from infallible Mike, I
might just have seen her at Headquarters, one trained oneself not to look too
closely at other faces.”
“Well I doubt it was
there Jayes, she never left Norway, in fact none of
us even knew what she looked like till after the war ended, and Norway was
liberated.”
“Is that a fact
Major…Most Interesting.”
As I sipped my tea, I
knew I had learned two important facts.
Firstly, the fact that Britta had been unknown was most suggestive.
And secondly, one really
should not put the milk in the cup before the tea – even tea as exceptional as
this.
As I left the offices
of the Bureau, I had to admit that something was still nagging at the back of
my memories. What it was, I could not
say for certain, but when things like this happen, I usually find a walk in a
park helps.
So, having first called
to inform Sir Bartholomew I may be delayed, I took myself to one of the many
public parks in Boston. Even that did
not assist my musings, however, so I returned to the abode of Dr Huntingdown, and reported what I had discovered that day.
When I mentioned
Britta, Dr Huntingdown looked interested, especially
when I described her.
“She was a survivor of
a fire that took out the entire group?
That must have been the Blavik group in
Oslo. I remember seeing some of the
photographs – not a nice thing to view.”
“I did hear rumours of
them as well, Jane,” Sir Bartholomew said, “but only rumours.”
“Which
means we need to turn to our human information retrieval system.” I watched as she poured some coffee into a
cup and handed it to Mrs Rockland. “Now
Annabel,” she said as she sat down again, “what can you remember of the Blavik Group and its work in Norway?”
“Annabel? Oh of course,” Sir Bartholomew said, “of
course she would know.”
“You were the one who
was YY’s liaison with mainstream intelligence, you saw their files.”
“Don’t rush me lover,”
Annabel said quietly, “I need to think.”
“I thought you were the
one with the so-called photographic memory old sport?”
“Barty
even photographs fade with time you know?”
“Annabel…CONCENTRATE!” the doctor urged her old friend on.
“Alright,
Alright!”
Mrs. Rockland started to think deeply. “The Blavik
group was very hush-hush, for the highest eyes only. They operated both in gathering
intelligence, and performing acts of sabotage and resistance.”
“Very brave people,” I
said quietly, “if I might be so bold.”
“Very brave YOUNG
people Jayes, the thoughts were that they were a
combination of last year high school students, and students from Oslo
University, recruited because they were thought either
politically neutral, or even active supporters of Quisling and his
stooge government.”
“That would have given
them a small freedom to do their work,” I nodded.
“The tragedy was that
the fire that killed them was set by their own people who herded them together
and set an old house on fire to kill them as traitors.”
“Which raises a
question in even my mind old thing,” Sir Bartholomew said, “how did this Britta
manage to be the only escapee?”
“That Barty is something we need to find out.” Mrs. Rockland
smiled.
“You look troubled Jayes – what’s wrong?”
“My apologies, Sir,
Ladies, there is something giving me some mental consternation regarding this
young woman. Something Major Kelly said
about the injuries she sustained...”
Shaking my head, I said
“returning to the subject at hand, what Blavik was,
essentially, was a cell whose members were known only to each other, not to our
people, not to the other Norwegian Resistance Groups, not to the Nazi’s?”
“That was the
assumption Jayes.”
“If I might be so bold
can you perhaps remember how they were supplied and how communications were
first established, Mrs. Rockland?”
“I think so,” she said
quietly, “they first made contact in 1942, they were always supplied by dead
parachute drops in remote areas.”
“And how did they get
intelligence out old thing?”
“By
a dead drop to the Military Attaché at the British Embassy in Stockholm Barty.”
“If I might venture a
question,” I said quietly, “was there ever any doubt about them, was their
intelligence always reliable?”
“If you are asking were
they an Abwehr or Gestapo false intelligence
operation, some thought so at the time, but after certain revelations that
proved 100% reliable and which we know for sure the Nazi’s would not have given
us, their intelligence was treated as gold-plated.”
“I have two questions,”
Doctor Huntingdown said as she played with her
spectacles. “First how the heck were they in wartime able to get sensitive information
into neutral Sweden? And secondly who the damn were they to be just that good
and have such sources?”
“I wish I didn’t find
this smelling like old cheese Jane, but honestly old girl it does stink.”
“If
I may interrupt sir?
Just remember our people were not stupid you know. A phone call to Sir James
Gresham at the British Embassy in Washington might answer a few of our
questions.”
“You think old Grumpy
Gresham would talk to me,” Sir Bartholomew said as he sat back, “he has rather
disliked me since he fagged for me at Eton.”
“Yes Sir,” I smiled,
“but he was the head of the Nordic Office, if anyone can verify Blavik for us, then it will be him I’m very much afraid.”
“Well, he won’t discuss
it over the telephone,” Sir Bartholomew said as he rubbed his eyes. “Jayes, send a
telegram to the Embassy, his eyes only.
Tell him we will call on him tomorrow, and word it in such a way we will
wish to discuss wartime events with him.
Then book tickets on the first train to Washington in the morning.”
“Sir,” I said as I left
the room for a moment, and sent the required message. As I returned, Sir Bartholomew said “Jayes, I shall be taking Mrs Rockland and Doctor Huntingdown out to dinner tonight. Will you join us?”
“Thank you, but no
Sir. With your permission, I shall have
an early supper and then make the preparations for tomorrow.”
The later evening found
me in a reflective move, as I say in the hotel suite, thinking over the events
of the day so far. Mike’s comment about
the YY reunion was rather apropos, even if he like many was unaware of the true
connections between that group.
It had been obvious to
those of us who followed these events that, after Chamberlin had achieved his
‘agreement’ with Chancellor Hitler, it was only a matter of time before war
would happen, and it was equally obvious we would have to play our part. A series of meetings took place between the
board of The Agency, and our counterpart organisations in France, Belgium and
other countries.
We also discussed
matters with the American equivalent – the pacifistic bent of their politicians
notwithstanding, people such as Mrs Rockland and Dr Huntingdown
also wished to offer their assistance.
The discussions took
place in secret, facilitated by Mrs Annie Xavier, but out of the discussions
came the group within Allied Intelligence known as YY. They were known of in the higher echelons of
Intelligence and Military command, and to them were a crack undercover group,
operating behind enemy lines, providing logistical and tactical support to
local groups.
All four of us had
played our part – Sir Bartholomew and I spend the two years from May 1943 to
May 1945 in the European theatre, in Italy at first and then the western
theatre following the events of June 1944.
Lady Gladys, as I believe I mentioned earlier, was in France at the
time.
And as for our American
friends, they worked officially for the OSS, but in reality were the main
contacts for the YY group with our American allies.
Many of us served in
that capacity and most returned to civilian life – but not all. As it was, I ended the war with the rank of
Sergeant Major in the Royal Engineers, and Sir Bartholomew as a Captain in the
Special Boat Service – officially.
I allowed myself the
luxury of a small malt and stood up, looking out of
the window onto Central Park. Something
was still nagging at the back of my mind – and thinking of the group in Oslo,
and Princess Malverino, reminded me of one of the
rare failures of my time in Germany.
It was in November of
1944, and I had been making my way back to a rendezvous with Sir Bartholomew,
but before joining him I had agreed to make contact with one of the small
groups who were impeding any attempts by the German army to fight the onward
advance. The leader of this group lived
above a tobacconists in the small town, and I usually entered by the rear.
My fears of the
situation as I found the door open, and examined the splintered wood around the
lock, told me all I needed to know of the story. The man in question lived above the store
with his wife, both in their early thirties, but it was obvious what had
happened. The overturned chairs and the
ripped up mattress told its own story.
On slipping out of the
store, I saw a pre-arranged sign, and cautiously walked over to where I found
one of the group.
He informed me they had been taken by the SS that afternoon to the local
barracks – he needed say no more than that.
I offered my condolences, but I also said I would see if it was possible
to liberate them. I owed them that much
for their courage.
The local headquarters
were a fortified building in the centre of the town, but in that respect to was
no different from a jeweller or a bank – the trick is not getting in, it is
getting out without been seen. As such,
in the dark of the midnight hour, gaining entry was not an issue. It was moving inside without been detected,
and if detected making sure the alarm was not raised that was the issue.
In wartime, and in the
work I was doing, it was necessary to ensure the alarm was never raised by
those I found. I take no pride in what I
had to do, but I tried to make it quick and merciful. So it was I found myself looking down through
the grill in a ceiling at what could only be described as a torture chamber.
The wife of the leader was
sat in what seemed to resemble a dentist’s chair, her wrist and arms held to
the heavy wooden armrests with leather straps.
Further straps had been used to secure her legs to the footrest of the
chair, but it was not that caused me the most grief. It would be hypocritical of me, in my chosen
profession, to be angry at her restraints, even if they were excessively tight.
No, it was the
disgraceful way she had been treated in other matters, obviously with the
intention of making her husband divulge information. Her mouth was forced open by some form of
ring, which had been forced between her teeth and strapped around her head,
while her clothing had been ripped off to reveal her flesh.
Flesh which showed the
signs of torture – bruises, consistent with those caused when a whip is used,
and cigarette burns, as well as bruises on her face and neck. Two SS officers were standing over her, as
one pulled her head back by the hair and then let it drop.
She was unconscious, and
I was grateful for that when I took in the sight of her husband. He was hanging from the ceiling, naked, his
wrists bound together with rope and blood literally running in streams down his
body. It was plain that he had been
tortured, but as I looked at the person doing the questioning, I have to admit
I was shocked – his interrogator was a female?
Female SS Officers were
rare – the best known example being Brigitte von Furstenheim,
the Bitch of Belzec as the press had labelled
her. This was not that woman, but she was
obviously one who considered herself Aryan – about six foot tall, long blonde
hair, held back in a ponytail, and wearing a white shirt and black knee length
skirt with boots. Her jacket hung on the
wall carried the insignia of a captain – in itself not unusual for an
interrogator, but for a woman...
I watched as she
retrieved a poker from the heater, and – well, in consideration that there may
be women reading this memoir, I will merely say it was pressed in a most
sensitive and painful position. For my
part, I had seen enough, and drew my weapon from my holster as I made my way to
the entrance to the room.
As I listened at the
door, I heard one of the men say “I do not think he can stand much more, Hauptsturmfuhrer Wessel.”
“You seek to question
my judgement on the situation, Untersturmfuhrer?”
“No – no Madame, but I
fear he is near his end.”
“Very well then –
perhaps my tender care to his wife will loosen his tongue...”
I had heard enough by
that point, as I kicked the door in and opened fire, killing the other male
officers before I aimed my pistol at the captain.
“Well, this answers my
main question,” she said as she looked at me, “May I know who their rescuer
is.”
“Forgive me if I
decline to answer,” I said quietly, “release him.”
“If you insist,” she
said as she walked to the table a knife was sitting on, but instead and before
I had a chance to stop her, she drew her pistol from a holster and shot the
local leader between the eyes.
I was sore tempted to
kill her as well, but before I had the chance the alarm was sounded – mainly
due, I suspect, to the explosives I had placed to provide a diversion to our
exit. I had placed them near their
munitions room, after all.
She looked at me, and
then ran out, shouting as she did so. I
could see it was too late for her male captive, but I released his wife from
the seat, and took her out through a storm cellar.
I made sure she was
taken to a safe house, and returned to my journey. For obvious reasons, she left the country
after the war, and I had heard she had moved to somewhere in New England...
Suddenly I sat
upright. I had remembered what had been
nagging at me about the events of the day, and I knew what was needed. Picking up the telephone handset, I dialled a
number.
“Mike? It is Jayes. My apologies for calling you at home, but I
need you to arrange for a certain woman to visit Boston – and to do it out of
FBI jurisdiction. I want her presence to
be a secret for now.
“I will explain upon my
return from Washington – Sir Bartholomew and I have to visit tomorrow. You will find her...”
To those of the modern
generation, it may seem inconceivable that people would spend the day on the
train, but in those days it was a much more pleasurable way to spend the
day. It also meant spending the night in
Washington, but I had secured first class tickets in each direction, which at
least would afford us the opportunity to relax on the following day.
We left from Boston
South station at eight the following morning, enjoying the scenic route as the
train made its way round the bay and then through Providence. We then took the opportunity to partake of a
late breakfast as the train made its way down through the Newport bay, and
relaxed as the train progressed through New Haven and Providence, arriving in
Penn Station in New York just after one.
The trip thus far was pleasant, the scenic view over the Atlantic with
the sailing boats providing a welcome diversion from the thoughts on both our
minds.
At New York, we quickly
changed trains and progressed from there to Newark, and hence south to
Philadelphia. It had been some years
since Sir Bartholomew and I had visited the cradle of American democracy, and
as we approached we reminisced of that visit, and the interesting results of
what we obtained that day.
The scenery outside was
becoming more industrial now, a sight presaged as we approached Philadelphia
through the coalfields, but made much more real now as we passed the shipyards
and steelyards that lined the approach to Baltimore. It was beginning to grow dark, and the flames
from some of the mills most certainly brought the words of Blake to mind.
It was a pleasure after
Baltimore to see the naval shipyards, a reminder of the conflict so soon
resolved, before we arrived in Washington at just after five, slightly ahead of
schedule. A short cab ride brought us to
the Adams House, where I had secured a suite for the night.
As I obtained the keys,
I was handed a note, which I passed to Sir Bartholomew.
“Grumpy will meet us at
the bar at eight, Jayes – for now, let us change and refresh
ourselves,” he said as he read the note.
“Of course sir – this
way...”
“You’ve had an answer
to the advertisement Jane?”
I stopped setting out
Sir Bartholomew’s evening attire on the bed and came to listen to the
conversation.
“You haven’t fixed a
time yet have you? Good, make sure Mike is
informed. We will be back...”
“Slightly
before six tomorrow evening sir, all being well.”
“In
time for an early meal. If you and Annabel can meet us at the
station, we can exchange information then.”
As he replaced the
receiver, he looked at me and said “It would appear things are advancing in our
absence, Jayes.
There has been a response from this Victor fellow, asking for a
meet. We’ll discuss tomorrow.”
“Very good Sir – but we
must hurry if we are to make our appointment at the bar.”
“Quite so Jayes – give me ten minutes and I will be ready.”
As we entered the bar,
we could see our guest for the evening sitting in a corner booth. Sir James Gresham, DSO and Bar, had been the
ambassador for the last six months, a reward for his service in the war as part
of the group that coordinated resistance efforts in the European theatre. He was a slightly portly man, but if you
looked in his eyes, there was a look so many of us shared.
As we walked in, he
stood up and extended a hand. “Barty, Jayes, good to see you
both again,” he said as we shook his hand and sat down, “I took the liberty of
ordering some drinks. Jayes, I think you will find the beer to your taste.”
“Thank you, Sir James,
it was most kind of you,” I said as we sat down, and the waiter brought the
drinks over. “It is also most kind of
you to agree to meet us at such short notice this evening.”
“Well, it was a
surprise to hear from you,” he said as he sipped his brandy. “How is Lady Rhymaes,
Barty?”
“Doing well,” Sir
Bartholomew said with a small smile.
“Grumpy, would you mind if we got straight to
business, and then we can enjoy a more relaxing meal.”
“Okay,” Sir James said
as he raised an eyebrow, “putting that aside for the moment, what do you want
to talk about?”
“The
Blavik group.”
Nodding, Sir James sat
back and said “bad business that, very bad business. They should have been honoured, and instead... So why have they come to your attention?”
“Jayes,
perhaps you would care to explain?”
“Without going into too
many details, Sir James, both Sir Bartholomew and I are undertaking a small
task in this country.”
“I had heard you had
both retired with the thanks of a grateful nation.”
“Quite, Sir,” I said
with a significant nod, “but nevertheless, we are looking into an issue, and as
part of that investigation the question of the Blavik
group and the veracity of the information they provided has been an issue. Given your position in those years, we come
to ask your opinion on them and the part they played in the war effort.”
Sir James looked at
both of us, before he leaned forward in a low voice and said “for your ears
only, all right?”
“Of
course, Grumpy old thing.”
“If I told you that the
group was referred to us by a nephew of King Haakon,
what would that say to you?”
“It would add greatly
to the vermissitude of their credentials,” I said
quietly. “So they were openly
supportive, to allow them some freedom?”
“Indeed – and I have to
tell you, we had similar doubts to those you may have had, but every bit of
information they passed to us was true, and of value, you will understand why
they were held in such high regard.”
“So how exactly did
they manage to get information from Norway to Sweden?”
“Well, that was a work
of genius,” Sir James said. “They had a
contact in the Red Cross, who – shall we say – bent the rules a little? It was through him we learned of the final
fate of the group.”
“We were informed they
were all trapped in a building, which was set on fire by those who thought they
were collaborators.”
“That was the report we
received as well,” Sir James said, “our contact watched the events unfurl,
powerless to stop them. You will
remember the ‘punishment’ meted out to the girls who ran the Underground
Railroad in Belgium?”
I nodded – I had talked
with some of those unfortunate women during my return to England, to convey our
sincere apologies and thanks.
“Well, this was the
same sentiment – that quiet resistance they had shown
for four years literally exploded. A
pity – we would love to have known and honoured them, or at least some.”
Both of us nodded as I
said “a toast, if i may gentlemen – to the secret
army.”
“The secret army,” they
replied as we toasted the group. “So
only one of the group escaped that fire,” Sir
Bartholomew said as we put our glasses down.
“That was my
understanding. She somehow made her way
to Denmark, and surrendered to the American forces there.”
“How did she manage to
identify herself as one of the Blavik group?”
“You’d have to ask the
Americans that one – our new lords and masters have a very different
relationship with Truman than Churchill had with Roosevelt.”
Waving the waiter over,
he said “let’s have another drink, and then I know a nice little restaurant
near here, where we can talk more...”
“Jayes, attend,” Sir
Bartholomew said as I brought him his evening drink. We had spent the rest of the evening with Sir
James, exchanging stories and enjoying the food of the fine establishment he
had suggested, and as he sat in his dressing gown it was clear he had been
thinking.
“I await your pleasure,
Sir.”
“I think you will
agree, based on what Grumpy said, that the Blavik group were the real deal?”
“I was minded to
believe so, Sir, but the reports of Sir James certainly confirmed my feeling.”
“So the question
becomes was Britta really one of the group.
You are the one who has seen her Jayes –
thoughts?”
He noticed my silence,
as he turned and said “Jayes, i
know that silence. What do you know I do
not?”
“It is not my place at
this time to say, Sir. Suffice to say, I
have made some arrangements which I am confident will provide answers.”
“Well, if you say so Jayes,” he said as he drained his glass. “I shall retire for the night now, breakfast
at seven tomorrow?”
“Indeed Sir- we need to
be at the railway station for nine for the return journey.”
“Very well then – wake
me in time Jayes.”
It was as i was preparing the morning cup of tea that a telegram
arrived for me from Mike Kelly. Quickly
scanning the contents, I put the note carefully into my jacket pocket, and
entered the bedroom to find Sir Bartholomew already up in bed.
“Good morning Sir,” I
said as I laid the tray in front of him, “I trust you had a restful night.”
“Not really, Jayes,” he said as he rubbed his arm, “I dreamt of Basel
again.”
“Ah yes Sir – I
completely understand. If you will have
your breakfast, I will see your clothes are laid out and the bag packed.”
As he sipped his tea
and ate the bacon and pancakes, I packed his clothes into the bag, and laid out
the clothes for the day before running his bath. As I came into the room, he said “Jayes?”
“Sir?”
“The world is changing
you know – do you wonder if we are been left behind?”
“Sir,” I said quietly,
“no matter what happens, there will be Gentlemen, and therefore the need will
continue for the Gentlemen’s personal Gentlemen. If I may be more informal for a moment...”
“Of
course.”
“In the war, we were
equals, and helped each other. It is my
privilege and honour to repay that support from you by supporting you. Your bath is ready when you are, Sir.”
We managed to find our
seats on the north bound train, and settled for the journey back, relaxing more
as we left the industrial areas and watched the lights on the darkening sky
over the Atlantic. Not a lot was said
during the journey – Sir Bartholomew was attempting to read the latest book by Dashiell Hammett, but it was obvious his mind was in
Switzerland, while I had other matters on my mind.
As Dr. Huntingdown would later tell me, she and Mrs. Rockland had
not been exactly idle whilst we were in Washington. With Mr. Rockland off on a
business trip to Chicago, Mrs. Rockland had moved into her friend’s apartment
from the hotel. Together they tried calmly to analyze the information they had
to hand as to the likely whereabouts of Mr. Laszlo Victor.
Working with the idea
that Victor was being shielded by a screen of ex-Nazi’s and former Nazi
sympathisers, they ran a check in the records of the FBI, and discovered little
except the fact that drinking the coffee in FBI headquarters in Boston was
certainly a bad idea.
It was, however, the
very lack of information though that triggered a thought in the good doctor’s
head. As it was told to me and Sir
Bartholomew, she realized that given the fact that Boston had been a hub of the
anti-interventionist and anti-British movements before the war, then there really should have been a lot more in the
records. “It was although they had been cleaned with Pepsodent,”
was her pithy way of putting it, “files had been removed and expunged.”
As confirmation of a
traitor within the FBI building, that was actually a pretty damning conclusion.
It was certainly a strong signal that we needed to keep our activities a
closely guarded secret.
Before we received that
information, however, we had time to return to the hotel from the station,
where we received word that Mrs Rockwell and Dr Huntingdown
wished to meet with us for dinner, and afterwards to accompany them to a
nightclub.
Those who have had
cause to read the memoirs of our adventures may wonder at the fact on this
occasion, Sir Bartholomew and I were acting as equals to the ladies, and
perhaps mare surprisingly to each other.
These were different times, however, and to be frank our wartime
experiences had truly made us equals.
So it was that on this
particular night we both wore suitable attire and joined the ladies in the
hotel lobby, and from there to a meal where we discussed what we had both
learned through that day.
It was at about ten
when we took a table near the stage of a club in what may be politely described
as a backwater of the city centre. It
was not that we did not fit in with our attire, but more the atmosphere of the
locality. Scollay
Square had not yet achieved the total notoriety that led to its demolition some
years later, but it already had a rather seedy reputation. As we crossed the square, we could see the
Old Howard Theatre, which had already a reputation as a home for
Burlesque. On other occasions, I am sure
Sir Bartholomew at least would have enjoyed the entertainment provided there,
but the sailors and young students who were milling round gave it a different
feel from the establishments he would attend.
The nightclub itself,
the KitKat Club, was entered through a side
alley. You first had to negotiate a
doorman, and then descend a set of red lit stairs into an open floor, with a
variety of tables and chairs around. In
itself, it was clean, and the service acceptable, but it was not an
establishment I would have chosen for myself or Lady Rhymaes,
let alone Sir Bartholomew.
As we took our seats, I
coughed and said “May I enquire as to why I have been asked to come along
Doctor?”
“Because Jayes,” Dr Huntingdown said as
she ordered champagne, “we need a second gentleman to protect us in such a
notorious night club as this…”
“Doctor…” I
interrupted, “having seen you snap a man’s neck with your bare hands in the
war, I would hardly think that you need our protection.”
Sir Bartholomew nodded
as he said quietly “Quite so Jayes.”
“Be that as it may be,”
Dr Huntingdon said with her sweet smile, “this is my home city, and certain
proprieties need to be maintained.”
“I understand that Jane
Lover, but just why are you so insistent we catch this singer?”
“Because Rose Kelly is
both a torch-singer, and a canary…”
“Pardon my lack of
knowledge of your American slang old thing, but to say she is both isn’t that a
bit redundant?”
“No Barty,
she sings on stage as a torch-singer, but off stage, and for a price she sings
like a canary about what she knows is going on in the Irish underworld.”
“Oh now I get you.” Sir
Bartholomew sipped his champagne.
“So we shall enjoy the
performance, and then seek a private audience,” I said as I sipped the drink.
“Indeed – and here she
comes now,” Jane said as the spotlight shone on the stage. The band started to play, as a very beautiful
woman with a full head of red hair stepped out and began to sing a song by
Irving Berlin.
She was a good singer
as well, her voice deep and yet having the timbre required to carry these
iconic tunes. As she looked to our
table, she smiled and nodded at us, before moving off around the other tables.
When she finished her
performance, and made her way backstage to the applause of the clientele, Dr Huntingdown put her glass down and said “shall we?”
The four of us rose and
made our way to the backstage area – negotiating our way past two rather large
gentlemen that looked as if they worked out art a
local gymnasium. They recognised Dr Huntingdown, however, and after we exchanged pleasantries
we found ourselves by a door with “Rose Kelly” written on a card pinned to the
door.
“Let me take the lead,”
Dr Huntingdown said as she went to knock on the door,
and then held her hand up. “Jayes?”
I nodded as I placed my
ear to the door, and heard a woman – I presumed Miss Kelly – saying something
and then screaming “NO!”
There was then the
unmistakable sound of a pistol firing twice, before there was something
breaking. Dr Huntingdown
trued the door handle, but found it locked.
I therefore stood back, said “Please move aside Ladies, Sir
Bartholomew,” and then kicked at the door handle, breaking it inwards as we
went in.
Rose Kelly was lying on
the floor, her lifeless eyes staring up as a dark red stain spread over her
chest. There was a cold breeze, and as
Mrs Rockland looked out of the open window she said “Someone jumped out here –
I can see the tracks in the snow...”
Dr Huntingdown
knelt down and put her finger to the singer’s neck. Shaking her head, she said “no good – she’s not
going to sing for anyone anymore.”
“Shall I see if the
assailant can be chased, Dr Huntingdown.”
“Nobody’s goin anywhere!”
We all turned to see a
tall, prtly man standing in the doorway, his dark
hair receding. He wore an ill fitting
suit and dark shoes, but the gun in one hand and the badge in the officer
announced him as a member of the Boston Police Department.
"Inspector
Mulligan, what a pleasant surprise," Dr Huntingdown
smiled at the policeman who stood in the open door.
"Oh God!" the
policeman moaned as he put his gun away, "if it aint
bad enuff that I have a dead shantoosey
on my hands, I arrive and find you leanin' over the
body Doctor."
"Anyone would
think it happens regularly?" Dr. Huntingdown
replied sniffily.
"Wid you it duz." the cop
came into look at the dead singers body. "Give me one good reason that I aint arresting you and your friends right now for
murder?"
"Well firstly,”
she said as she stood up, “I didn't do it, secondly if you did I’d sue you for
false arrest, thirdly I'd..."
"I said one good
reason Doc." The inspector stood up
and looked round before he said “so why are youse
here?”
"We heard the
shots from outside, broke down the door and found her just where you see her,
and the window open."
"So yer sayin' somebuddy
shot her here in her dressin' room, then took a
powder outta da
winder?"
"That was my
conclusion..."
He looked over at Mrs
Rockland, before saying "and don't think I don't remember youse also Mrs. Rockland, or your connexshuns
with certain people."
"Isn't it nice to
be so warmly thought of," Mrs Rockland said as she looked at us. “A pleasure to see you as well Inspector – I
trust the ulcer is not giving you too much trouble?”
"And who are dese two birds?" the Inspector enquired as he looked
at us.
"Oh,” Dr Huntingdown said with a smile, “just
two former wartime colleagues."
"How did I knows
you werse gonna say that Doctor?"
“Barty,
Jayes, this is Inspector Mulligan of Boston Police Daprtment. Inspector Mulligan, Sir Bartholomew Rhymaes
and his manservant, Jayes.”
“Pleasure, old pip,”
Sir Bartholomew said as he held his hand out, only to retract it at one look at
the Inspector’s grim visage.
"Inspector if you
might be so good as to ring Major Kelly at the FBI, I believe he can vouchsafe
for us." I spoke.
"Oh this gets even
better," he groaned, "you want me to drag in the head spy chaser wid der feds. Why can't I ever
get a nice simple mob moider any time?"
“Well, you could leave
that until later,” Dr Huntingdown said as she looked
at us. “Unless you are actually going to
do the bonehead stupidity of arresting us for something we did not do, we will
leave you to get to work. You can find
us at my apartment.”
“Youse
got my usual in stock?”
“I always have some Bushmill’s in, in case you wish to come and chat Inspector. Until
then,” Dr Huntingdown said as she led us out.
“Jane, what did you not
show him?”
“Two things,” Jane said
as we walked out, “I’ll show you back at the apartment.”
“All right,” Mrs
Rockland said as we sat in the apartment, “what did you get?”
“Well, I picked this
up,” Dr Huntingdown said as she held up a lipstick,
looking at it and saying “Blazing Sunset – coincidence?”
“Unlikely
– any idea what she was shot with?”
“Oh yes – I found the
casing,” she said as she tossed it over to Sir Bartholomew. Looking at it, he said “It’s from a Luger
P08, I think.”
“That’s my guess too –
I think we’re rattling some cages folks, and they want us stopped.”
“To quote a certain rabbit,
Jane,” Mrs Rockhold said, “they don’t know us too well, do they?”
“Apparently not – so
what’s our next move?”
“If you will permit me,
ladies,” I said quietly, “I suggest we gather tomorrow to meet with Major
Kelly. It is time a theory I have was
tested...”
As is often the case,
however, it was necessary to postpone the test – when I contacted Major Kelly
the next morning, he told me the person I had asked him to bring in secret
needed time to recover from the journey.
After breakfast,
therefore, Sir Bartholomew and I returned to Dr Huntingdown’s
apartment, to find Mrs Rockland alone.
“Jane had to go and pay
a social call,” she said as we removed our coats, Sir Bartholomew sitting down
while I hung them on the stand.
“Oh – anyone we may
have heard of?”
“I doubt it Barty – he moves in very different circles from those you
occupy in either world.”
We all looked to the
door as Dr Huntingdown came into the apartment.
"Well I made a
deal with Dandy Jack," the doctor said, removing her fur coat as she came
in, "but you aren't going to like it."
"A
brandy Doctor?"
I offered what we were all drinking as I stood.
Sir Bartholomew looked at her as he said "Who I might ask is Dandy
Jack?"
"He's Mr. Jack
Donnelly, and in effect he's the boss of South Boston Barty?"
"Is that
criminally, or politically, Jane old thing?"
"Both!"
"Might I venture
to say,” I said as I offered her a glass, “he sounds rather an unsavory character?"
"You might very
well say that Jayes," the doctor said as she took
her drink and sat down.
"So what am I not
going to like Jane?"
Sighing, Jane took a
swallow and said "remember that small favour he asked last time we needed
his help Annabel?"
"Oh I certainly
do," Mrs. Rockland giggled.
"Well he..."
"Oh no,” our other
friends said as she leaned her head back, “don't tell me he wants us to do
another one?"
"He does,"
the doctor shook her head.
"When?"
Looking at her watch,
she said "oh, in about three hours."
"And I have
nothing really suitable to wear Jane..."
"Look girls, can I
please ask what you are bally going on about?" Sir Bartholomew
interrupted, "and Annabel you have so many clothes, you must have outfits
for everything?"
"Not for robbing a
bank I don't Barty." Mrs. Rockland laughed.
"Well I have a man’s
suit that might do for me, and no do not ask where it came from Annabel?"
"That doesn't help
me though Jane?'
"Might I suggest
one of Sir Bartholomew's suits might be about the right size Mrs.
Rockland?"
"Oh you could be
on to something Jayes."
"I have in mind one that we had made and that is rather small on
him."
"Hold on Jayes,” Sir Bartholomew said, “you cannot give away my
suits just as you like."
"If through this
action, we are going to gain admittance to the secret of where the jewellery is
to be sold, it sounds like we may have to Sir."
“Oh dash it all – very
well then, but I cannot help on this. I
cannot do an American accent to save my life.”
“That will be
unnecessary, Sir. Mrs Rockland, if you
will accompany me back to the hotel, we can do the necessary preparations
there.”
“Where and when?”
“2 pm, Stuart Street.”
“We will see you there
Dr Huntingdown,” I said as I accompanied Mrs Rockland
to the entrance, and then hailed a cab.
And so it was, at ten
minutes to two, I alighted from a can near the branch of the Boston Municipal
Bank on Stuart Street with Mrs Rockland.
Only you would never have recognised her as such – she was wearing a
men’s double breasted suit, complete with a shirt and dark tie I also borrowed
from Sir Bartholomew, her blonde hair up and under a fetching trilby so that it
looked as if she had short blonde hair.
I was similarly attired, having agreed I should come to lend a hand and
keep a fatherly eye on proceedings.
“Over there,” she said
as she looked towards two black sedans, and adjusted the black leather gloves
she was wearing. I followed her, looking
around carefully as climbed into the back of one of them.
“And who, pray tell, is
this Dr Huntingdown.”
“Dandy Jack,” Dr Huntingdown said as she looked out from under her grey
trilby, “meet Roddy the Axe. He happened to be visiting my friend when I
passed on the message, and offered his services as well.”
“And can I trust him,”
the local leader said as he looked at me.
“I would sure hope so,”
I said in an Irish accent, “Big Jimmy O’Shea is a close personal friend.”
Dandy Jack smiled as he
looked at me. “Well, if O’Shea says
you’re good, you’re good.” He then
tossed a pump action shotgun at me, as he said “let’s do this.”
The two sedans started
to move slowly down the street, as both Dr Huntingdown
and Mrs Rockland took grey silk bandanas and secured them around their herads, covering the lower half of their faces as they did
so. I had brought a large black men’s
handkerchief for the same purpose, which I now used to cover my own mouth and
nose.
We stopped outside the
entrance to the bank, as my two female friends looked at each other and
nodded. We stepped out quickly, three
similarly armed and masked men joining us from the other car, as we burst
through the doors of the bank.
“All right ladies and
gentlemen,” Mrs Rockland said in a deep masculine voice as she fired a shot
into the air, “kindly lay face down on the floor and do not move. This is a robbery.”
The bank was full of
men and women, obviously conducting some business before the holidays began,
but this was business, as Dr Huntingdown walked over
and aimed her gun at the tellers. “Now,
you fine ladies and gentlemen just take a walk out of there,” she said in a
Southern accent, “and join these fine customers. You two – go and invite the manager to join
us out here.”
Two of the other men
went behind the counter, forcing the staff out while I and the third man kept
guard over the customers and others. It
was a strange experience, watching them at work as the manager was forced out,
and Mrs Rocklad walked pu to him.
“Unless you want to die
now,” she said as she pressed her gun into hsi rather
large stomach, “open the vault and let my friends here make a large
withdrawal.”
“I’ve got the tills,”
Dr Huntingdown said as she walked quickly over and
started to empty the contents of the cash drawers into a sack.
“Hey – did we say youse could move,” the other man said as he poked his gun
into the back of one of the security guards.
I walked over and gave him a moat regrettable kick in the ribs, before
saying “Just stay still, or I will kill you.”
“Just stay calm folks,”
Mrs Rockland said, “and we will be out of your hair in a few moments, giving
you something to tell your family about...”
The sound
of the gun blast made all of us look to the vault entrance, as one of
the men came out and said “he tried to sound the alarm.”
“Well then, he paid the
price,” Dr Huntingdown said, but i
could see the regret in her eyes. “the vault?”
“Got everything here,”
the other man said as he carried two bags out.
“Got the money as
well,” Dr Huntingdown said as she came out.
“All right then,” Mrs
Rockland said as she looked round, “everyone count slowly to one hundred, and stay where you are until then.”
She covered our egress
as we made our way back to the cars, jumping in after myself and Dr Huntingdown while Dandy Jack closed the door.
“Well?”
“We got it,” Mrs
Rockland said as she handed over a safety deposit box to him.
“Good – you’ll get your
fair share fo the takings
eventually – even you Roddy.”
“Thanking you,” I said
as Dr Huntingdown pulled her scarf down. “We held up our side of the bargain, your
turn,” she said as she looked at him.
“This guy you’re
looking for has some high powered friends – one of whom is putting him up at
the moment. If you’re that keen to find
him, I hope you know what you’re doing...”
“Who is it...”
Dandy Jack handed a
piece of paper to Dr Huntingdown, who read it and
whispered “you’re not joking. Our thanks
Dandy Jack – we’ll take it from here.”
“Hey – he a Nazi you
think?”
We all nodded as he
said “not surprising, giving HE’s helping him.
Kick his goosestepping ass for me, will ya?”
“With extreme
pleasure,” Mrs Rockland said as we drove off.
“There you are,” Sir
Bartholomew said as we walked into the flat, “I was worried something may have
happened.”
“No worries, Barty old boy,” Dr Huntingdown
said as she removed her hat, letting her hair fall down, “apart from the poor
bank manager not surviving, it went like clockwork.”
“Good lord, one of you
didn’t...”
“No – it was one of
Dandy Jack’s men,” Mrs Rockland said. “Which is why we don’t like doing this for him. They’re a little trigger happy.”
"Well I have to
say that was an unusual experience Doctor. Rather outside my bounds of previous
experience."
"Even we, though,
have to be adaptable Jayes."
"I am happier
though being back in my own milieu so to speak."
"Here drink this
old man." Sir Bartholomew pressed an over-sized Whisky and Soda into my
hand.
“My thanks Sir,” I said
as I sipped the drink. “So the question
is, Dr Huntingdown, where is Lazlo Victor?”
“He is currently a
house guest,” she said as she removed her tie, “of one Joseph Crowinshield.”
“Crowinshield? You don’t mean the biggest appeaser this side
of old Joe Kennedy?”
“The very same,
Annabel,” Dr Huntingdown said as she sat back, taking
a drink from Sir Bartholomew, “which means not only is he well protected, it
explains how he was able to disappear so easily.”
“If
I may enquire, ladies?”
“Oh sorry, Jayes – you need a crash course in Boston society. Just like you have your more elite families
in England, so do we in Boston – the Boston Brahmin.”
“A
most intriguing name, Dr Huntingdown.”
“They like their little
jokes,” she said with a smile.
“Essentially, they are the first families of the original settlers on
the Mayflower, and can trace their family roots back to there. Sam Adams, John Adams, John
Quincy Adams, Calvin Coolidge – All Boston Brahmin. Half the major politicians of the last
century and a half were – and Harvard and Yale conceivably would not have
existed without them. Like any elite,
they keep themselves to themselves, and tend to only talk to each other. What’s that thing of Bossidy,
Annabel?”
“The
Boston Toast?
And
this is good old Boston,
The
home of the bean and the cod,
Where
the Lowells talk only to Cabots,
And
the Cabots talk only to God.”
“Very amusing,” I said
with a nod of the head. “So do you know
any of this group of families currently?”
“Well, I know Daniel
Cabot, he’s the deputy mayor of Boston,” Dr Huntingdown
said, “he’s a good bloke, as is his cousin Henry Cabot Lodge
Jr. Then there’s Hettie.”
“Hettie?”
“Henrietta Constance
Lodge,” Mrs Rockland said. “Before the
war, we used to tace each other on the track. She has a teenage son now, called Tom. We meet up for drinks every so often.”
“And don’t forget Lev.”
“Oh dear lord, how
could I forget our former governor? Leverett Saltonstall, Governor of
the fair state of Massachusetts during the war, and one of the few people who
know the role Jane and I really played.
He’s a Seantor now.”
“But they are possibly
the exceptions,” Dr Huntingdown said, “the other
families do not mingle, and Black Joe Crowinshield is
one of the worst. He openly opposed any
form of involvement in the war.”
“And that’s the worst
of a fairly bad bunch,” Mrs Rockland said as she refilled her glass. “Including Daniel’s current
boss, The Right Honorable James Michael Curley. A real Irish-Bostonian, but Father would
never be seen in the same room as him.
Uncle Jack was more his cup of tea.”
“I’ll see you Mayor
Curley,” Dr Huntingdown said, “and raise you with
Father Coughlin.”
“Now you’ve put me off
my drink,” Mrs Rockland said. “Charles Coughlin, parish priest and our answer to Lord Haw Haw. I really
do not want to think about him, bu it know Crowinshield was one of his financial backers.”
“I see,” I said as I
sipped my drink, “and as for you and Mrs Rockland.”
“Oh no,” Mrs Rockland
replied, “as New York Irish, we are amongst the lowest
of the low, despite our wealth.”
“And as for the Huntingdown family, we were definitely of yeoman stock
rather the refined airs they occupy.”
“Well, if you will
allow me to comment ladies, you are the better for it,” I said a sI drained my glass.
“So, how do we get to view Chez Crowinshield?”
“From a distance - let
us get changed and we’ll take a drive out.”
It was already getting
dark by the time we made our way out to an area Dr Huntingdown
called Lake Forest, and looked from a distance across a well maincured grass pampas behind a metal fence.
“Note the armed guards
on patrol, and the dogs,” Mrs Rockland said as we looked on.
“So noted,” I said
quietly. “Is it possible to obtain a
plan of the house?”
“I’ll call some friends
at City Hall, see what I can do,” Dr Huntingdown said
quietly, “right now, let’s go and get some dinner – there’s a steakhouse a mile
down the road.”
The establishment
itself looked pleasant enough, and as we went we soon had a corner booth to
ourselves. As I looked round, however, I
saw something that made me slightly nervous.
“Jayes old boy – something wrong?”
“Someone i would rather did not see me,” I said as I turned
round. “The blonde
haired woman at the table three along, two up.”
Dr Huntingdown
looked discretely over and said “got her.
What about her?”
“That,” I said quietly,
“is Britta.”
“Mike
Kelly’s angel?” Mrs Rockland looked over, and then said “so
why don’t you want her to see you?”
“Because,” I whispered
quietly, “I believe she may be the informant, but I cannot prove it. If she sees me with you, we may all be placed
in danger.”
“Then don’t look round,
old boy,” Sir Bartholomew said, “she’s heading for the
exit now. She’s not looking our way at
any rate – too busy talking to the other gentleman.”
“What does he look
like,” I asked quietly.
“Tall, thin, dark hair
– definite military bearing,” Dr Huntingdown
whispered, “all right, they have gone now.”
“Jayes,
explain all please?”
“I regret to say I
cannot, Sir – but I will know if I am right or wrong in the morning. For now, I feel sustenance is called for – to
coin your phrase, Mrs Rockland, what looks good?”
We spent the next day
looking over plans for the current domicile of residence for Lazlo Victor, but
when Mrs Rockland had to attend a meeting, we left Dr Huntingdown
in the apartment and returned to the hotel.
“Care for a drink
before we retire for the night,” he said as he looked at me, and as I nodded my
acquiescence to that we made our way into the bar area. We entered to find it was a dance evening,
with groups of men and women sat at tables round the floor as a jazz band
played some pleasing tunes.
Sir Bartholomew was all
for taking a table, and I was sore tempted, but the site of one particular
group of four made me suddenly drag him to a table conveniently hidden behind a
pillar.
“Come on Jayes – they’re not that bad!”
“Indeed Sir,” I said as
I glanced round the pillar, “I have no objections to the music, merely to some
of the company present. If you would direct your attention to the third table along on the
other side?”
Sir Bartholomew looked
over to see Britta sat at a table, wearing a red velvet gown with a deep chest
opening, her blonde hair hanging loose.
She was sittiing with three obviously well off
gentlemen, and were talking in low whispers as they
looked round.
“Now what is a
secretary from the FBI doing dressed like that doing in a place like this?” Sir
Bartholomew asked the obvious question as he looked at me.
“To that I cannot
venture an answer sir,” I replied as I looked around the pillar that was
serving as our hiding place, “but may I suggest the foxtrot?”
“JAYES! And people have the cheek to say that I
am a bit unsound in the old rafters.”
“I’m sorry sir, I
should apologise for my brief attempt at levity.” I snuck another peek, “but it
would be nice to have Dr. Huntingdown with her
universal knowledge of everyone here in Boston to identify her friends. The look of those gentlemen is somewhat
worrying.”
“Dash
typical of Jane not to be here while we need her.”
“Can I suggest Sir,
that I go place a telephone call to the ladies, whilst you keep an eye so to
speak on Miss Britta?”
“It might be an idea Jayes,
after all she has seen your ugly face.”
“Quite Sir,” I withdrew
towards the bank of public telephones in the hotel lobby, thinking about what
little I had discerned from looking at them.
Fortunately, a booth
was free, as I slipped in and dialled a number.
“Huntingdown?”
“Dr Huntingdown,
this is Jayes.”
“Jayes? Did you leave a cosh here or something?”
“Nothing so trivial, I
regret to say Doctor. Sir Bartholomew
and I have seen Britta, Major Kelly’s secretary in the hotel night club,
exquisitely dressed and with some rather unsavoury characters.”
There was silence for a
moment, before she said “Why is she there?”
"If I was to
venture a guess, it would appear that the auction is in fact going down as you
say in this country right at this moment in the night club of our hotel."
"But Dandy
hasn't..."
"It would appear
he was not invited Doctor."
"Alright Jayes,” she said, “Mike Kelly is here, we will be with you
shortly."
"Very good Doctor,
we will await your arrival."
As I slipped back into
the nightclub, Sir Bartholomew had ordered a bottle of champagne, and was
keeping a wary eye on the table.
“There are six of them
there now Jayes old boy,” he said as I glimpsed
round, “and I took a walk to the men’s room.
She is entertaining them to all intents and purposes.”
“I do not like this sir, I do not like this at all. We can only hope that Dr Huntingdown
manages to arrive before anything happens.”
“I hope so as well,”
Sir Bartholomew said as he sipped his drink.
“You called?”
We both turned suddenly
to see Dr Huntingdown, Mrs Rockland and Major Kelly
standing behind us, Major Kelly smiling as he said “Barty
old boy – got a couple of spare glasses.”
“Of course I do, Mike –
please, be seated, but with discretion.
There is malice afoot.”
“Of
what form?”
“Dr Huntingdown,
there is a table with six or seven men and one women sitting at it a short way
down the floor. Do you recognise any of
the men?”
I watched as she took a
quick look over, and then sat down.
“Two crime heads, at
least one Family don, and other men of disrepute.”
“Then I was right – the
auction is taking place in the open.”
“Auction?
What’s going on Jane?”
“Dats
wad I wanna know.”
I looked over to see
the dishevelled form of Inspector Mulligan standing by the table.
“Well if it isn’t a
representative of Boston’s finest?” Major Kelly grimaced at the sight of the
Inspector.
“You keep to chasing youse spies and commies Kelly,” Mulligan said “I gotta moiderer to catch.”
“These are Nazi’s…”
“Nazi’s,
Commies, whadda hells the difference?”
“One day I’ll sit you
both down and explain.” Jane looked around our friendly pillar. “I’m sorry the
Inspector is here Mike, I must be slipping that I didn’t notice he had a tail
on us.”
“It may turn out to be
useful, Dr Huntingdown,” I said quietly, “If all of you
would care to glance casually at the dance floor, and in particular at the
couple by the table of interest.
“Dat’s
Molloy, from the North side,” Mulligan said, “who’s dat
broad?”
“Say that’s Britta, my
secretary Britta.” The Major’s jaw dropped.
“I’m rather afraid it
is, Major Kelly. As Dr Huntingdown may have told you, I had my suspicions about
her, hence my request to bring my old friend to Boston. Events, however, have overtaken us. Major Kelly, Britta is actually a former SS
officer I encountered once before.”
I could see Major Kelly
was vexed as he whispered “the lying, deceitful, stinking nazi
bitch...”
“Michael Kelly remember there are ladies present,” Mrs. Rockland chuckled.
“So what’s going on Jayes?”
Looking at the others,
I said “I will tell you all later Mike.
For now, we need to find a way to spirit your secretary out of here
without raising the alarm.”
“Which is where we come
in,” Mrs Rockland said as she looked at Dr Huntingdown.
“She certainly seems to
be getting friendly with the other men,” Major Kelly said as he glanced
round. “That’s the third dance partner
in ten minutes, and she’s been getting very personal with each of them.”
Doctor Huntingdown shook her head and smiled. "To use a Hollywood gangster term
gentlemen, I think the lady is here as the 'muscle'. She's here to guarantee
the safety of the salesman."
"And
how dja cum to that conclusion?"
"Inspector,” Mrs
Rockland said, “haven't you noticed that while she dances with each man she is
also subtly patting them down for weapons."
"Oh is that what
she is doing Annabel old thing...I just thought she was just being overly
friendly."
"Barty...REALLY!...Sometimes I
despair of you." Mrs. Rockland shook her head.
"When the salesman
arrives we will make sure that we separate her from the buyers and safely keep
her out of the way." Doctor Huntingdown nodded.
"Inspector if you'll accompany us, we will present you with your
murderer."
"We on the other
hand will deal with the buyers and the person they have come to see." Mike
Kelly nodded as a couple of his FBI men came in.
"Sir Bartholomew
and I will take possession of the goods so to speak." I spoke.
"That sounds like
a plan to me gents."
“And, unless I miss my
guess, I believe this may be the gentleman of interest now,” I said as two men
in evening dress came in.
“Damn right it is – the
taller guy is Joseph Crowinshield,” Dr Huntingdown said as we looked at the first man, his dark
hair greying at the temples. The other
man was smaller, with short fair hair, but he held himself with a military
bearing.
“Good evening Mister
Lazlo,” Major Kelly said as they joined the party at the table. Mrs. Rockland looked up as Britta headed
towards the powder room.
"Well, I suppose
this is as good a time as any to at least look over our quarry Jane... Accompany me to the powder room please."
“Good luck ladies,” I
whispered as they went past.
“Jayes,”
Mrs Rockland said, “when have we ever needed luck?”
“London,
some years ago?”
“Point – we’ll be
careful,” Doctor Huntingdown said as she kissed my
cheek. “Coming, Inspector?”
"Jane have you got
them?"
"You mean
these?" the doctor smiled as she produced a couple of old fashioned
cutthroat razors from her handbag.
"And what are dose
fer?"
"Don't ask Flatfoot, just be content they both know how to use those
things." Major Kelly smiled grimly, his memory as mine drifting back to a
certain night in late 1944 in Vienna, when we had seen the ladies use the
razors like the best of any street gang.
“Do you recognize him,”
Major Kelly said as the women walked away.
“I am not sure, Mike,”
I said quietly, “but, given my thinking on your assistant, I wonder if he is
also former SS.”
“It’s likely,” Mike
said quietly, “there have been rumours for some time that a number of high
ranking German officials were able to escape the invading forces, and are
seeking to reform in some way. There’s
even a word that has been mentioned in a number of lines of information –
Odessa.”
“So is this a way of
this group raising finance,” Sir Bartholomew said.
“Could be – let’s see
what happens next...”
What we did not expect,
however, was what actually did happen next, in the supposed calm of the ladies
rest room...
The tall blonde came
out and walked to the washbasin, looking to her left at the blonde haired woman
who was standing looking at her lipstick.
“Damn – it’s run
out. I don’t suppose you have a one I
can use?”
“I may have,” she said
as she looked in her handbag, “is Blazing Sunset all right as a shade?”
“Perfect,” the woman
said as she looked at it, “thank you.
I’m Jane.”
“Britta – keep it,” she
said as she closed her purse, and turned round – only to stop as she saw a
third blonde haired woman, who smiled as she closed the external door to the
washroom.
“Excuse me,” Britta
said as she started to walk to the door, only to stop as the third woman locked
the door. “Sorry,” she said as she
smiled sweetly, “but my friend and I wished to have a little chat with you in
private.”
“Oh
– about what?”
“We’ve heard,” Jane
said as she opened her purse, “that you are acting as a representative in the
sale of some very nice jewellery. If
that is the case, my friend and I are interested.”
“Well, I am afraid I
have to disappoint you ladies,” Britta said with a smile, “but you have been
misinformed.”
“Oh i
don’t think so – you have most of the major crime bosses of the Boston area
sitting at the table with you,” Annabel said, “and we are asking very nicely.”
“As I said,” Britta
repeated with an edge to her voice, “you have been misinformed. Now, if you will excuse me?”
“Nein,
ich glaube nicht, dass ich
werde dich zu entschuldigen, ich glaube, Sie
werden uns Kapitän zu hören. Ich denke, Sie werden sehr aufmerksam
zuhören.”
Britta stiffened as she
heard Jane speak, then slowly turned and said “So dass
Sie für die Ehre des Führers diente als gut?”
“Oh nein Kapitän - wir sicher,
dass die Ihrer Kräfte ,
die verletzt Unschuldige bezahlt den vollen und angemessenen Preis.”
“Und wir wissen, die Juwelen Sie sind Eigentum des Hauses Furstenheim - wollen wir sicherstellen,
dass sie zurückgegeben werden.”
Britta smiled and said
“Well played ladies – but you will not leave this room alive.” She reached into her bag – and then stepped
back as she saw Jane open up her razor.
“To use a phrase I
heard in a movie once,” Jane said as she walked forward, “quite frankly, I
wouldn’t waste a bullet on you.”
“I’d listen to her,”
Annabel said as she grabbed Britta, putting her arm round her throat and
pressing a second razor to her throat, “she’s very skilled with that.”
“She is not the only
skilled one,” Britta said as with one fluid movement, she grabbed Annabel’s arm
and threw her over her shoulder, Jane jumping out of the way as she landed at
her feet. Before Annabel could react,
Britta had the blade in her hand, and was looking at Jane.
“Let me guess – OSS?”
“Think what you want,
Britta – if that is your name – I assure you, this is a fight you will not
win.”
“We shall see,” Britta
said as she lunged forward, Jane stepping out of the way of the lunge as her
blade sliced through the underside of her left sleeve.
“Nasty little burn,”
Jane said as the sleeve flapped back, “right where the blood identification
number would be tattooed. Let me guess,
did it yourself?”
“Little bitch,” Britta
hissed as she swung the blade again – and then shouted out as Annabel got her
in an armlock, her arms under the blonde’s shoulders
and her hands locked at the back of her head.
“Go on,” Jane said as
she stepped forward, and pressed the blade to Britta’s throat, “give me a reason.”
Britta merely spat in
Jane’s face, the doctor smiling as she wiped her face and glasses with a cloth,
and then stuffed it into Britta’s mouth.
Taking the razor, she then slashed two hand towels into strips, and
looked at Annabel.
“Get her on the floor,”
she said quietly, “and then get Mulligan in here
quietly. We need to sneak her out.”
And so it was that
Inspector Mulligan left our little party, Britta struggling between two of the
finest the BPD had to offer, while the ladies rejoined us.
“Have fun,” Major Kelly
said as he looked at them.
“Oh yes – a little workout, and Inspector Mulligan should find the gun in
Britta’s purse was the murder weapon.
And now, the main act.”
“Oh yes,” Major Kelly
said, “shall we gentlemen?”
The other two agents
nodded as the three of them approached the table, Sir Bartholomew and I
following a few steps behind. The men
looked over as Mike said “Good evening Gentlemen – I believe I may find a
gentleman known as Lazlo Victor here?”
“Who’s asking?”
Mike smiled at the
tall, broad shouldered gentleman who was asking, and
said “And you would be?”
“Someone you should not
be on the wrong side of, Mister...”
“Kelly – Special Agent
Kelly, FBI, and these are my men,” Mike said, “so, I will ask again – which of
you gentlemen is Lazlo Victor?”
The man next to Mister Crowinshield tried to stand up, but Mike walked over and
put his hand on his shoulder. “Thank
you, Mister Victor – or should I call you by your rank. What were you – Oberfuhrer? Gruppenfuhrer?”
“My name is Lazlo
Victor,” he said quietly, “and I am here as a guest of Mister Crowinshield.”
“Well, that’s just
dandy,” Mike said, “so both of you gentlemen will not
mind if you and your friends come down to the office and answer a few
questions. Just for the record, your
female companion has just been arrested on the charge of murder, so she will not
be joining you.”
“Was hast du mit Greta getan? Wo hast du sie
getroffen?”
“Keine
Sorge, Sir - Ich persönlich werde sie informieren, was passiert ,
wenn ich morgen sehen, wie
sie.”
Lazlo Victor turned and
stared at me, before Sir Bartholomew said “One moment, Agent Kelly – if I may?”
He looked at Lazlo and
then said “Dr Huntingdown, may I borrow your knife
please?”
“Of course, Captain Rhymaes,” she said as she handed over the razor, Sir
Bartholomew smiling as he slit down the inside of
Victor’s jacket, and extracted a velvet bag.
“How did you?”
“Professional eye, you
Nazi fink,” he said with a smile as he handed the case over to Mike. “Have a nice evening, old fruit.”
We watched as Mike and
his men led the prisoners away, before Mrs Rockland said “Well, I think we all
deserve a drink.”
“Perhaps a small one,
Madame” I said quietly. “I have a task
to perform tomorrow.”
The next morning found
Major Kelly and I at the precinct office, Inspector Mulligan grinning as he
shook our hands. We had brought a
special friend with us to help establish a few facts that remained unclear.
“She aint singing,” he said as we
walked through, “but the boys in the lab confirm the gun she had was da one that shot Rose Kelly.”
“So she is either the
assassin, or knew who was?”
“Indeed – so how do youse wanna play it?”
“Do me a favour
Mulligan,” Mike said as he looked at the door, “give us half an hour on our own
with her – no one else. Trust me – she will still be there.”
“Okays – you earned dat much,” Mulligan said as he looked in the room, then
came out with a uniformed officer.
“Wait here, and do not
be afraid,” I said to the third member of our party. “I will come and fetch you, and she cannot
hurt you.”
I then followed Mike
into the room, to see Britta sat at a desk, Her wrists
and ankles secured with cuffs and chains linking them.”
“Mike,” she said as she
saw us come in, “There’s been a terrible mistake. You have to tell these officers who I am – I
was attacked by two women last night, and suddenly I’m been accused of Murder!”
“Well, Britta,” Mike
said as he sat down, and I stood in the corner, “I would love to be able to
help you out of this situation, but I have a small problem?”
She looked between the
two of us, and said “what’s the problem?”
Leaning over, Mike
whispered “Who are you really?”
“Mike? I’m Britta Skoorsgard
– we’ve known each other for two years, I’ve worked alongside you...”
“No you’re not,” Mike
said in a quiet, dangerous voice, “I was at the hotel last night. I saw all, I heard all. Lazlo Victor and the other men with you are
currently at the FBI offices, answering some questions, and some colleagues
from Washington are coming to collect those they wish to talk to.”
“Mike, this is crazy,
I’m Britta...”
“NO YOU’RE NOT!!!”
Mike slammed his hand
down on the desk and glared at her.
“May I intercede, Major
Kelly?”
“By all means, Jayes,” he said as he swapped places with me.
“So,” Britta said, “do
you accuse me as well?”
“Oh not as such, Miss,”
I said quietly, “but you see, the other day was not the first time we have
met. It took me a while to remember
where I had seen you before, but I remembered in the end.
“I have someone I’d
like to meet you – would you mind if she stepped in for a moment?”
Britta looked between
both of us as I opened the door, and said “come in for a moment please.”
A woman, dressed in
simple clothes, came in and looked at me and Mike, before she stared at Britta
and said “You.”
“Do I...”
“Du Bastard! Sie folterten mich , tötete
mein geliebter Ehemann, vernarbt mich für das Leben
- und ließ mich ein Krüppel!”
She spat at Britta, as
I said quietly “Can you confirm, madam, that this is Hauptsturmfuhrer
Greta Wessel of the Waffen SS?”
“Yes,” the woman said,
“and may she rot in hell while my husband watches from Heaven.”
“Thank you,” I said as
I walked her out, and said “Allow me to visit you before I return to England.”
“I would be honoured to
host my saviour,” she said as she held my hands, “Bless you sir.”
“Make sure she gets
safely back to her hotel,” I said as an officer escorted her away, and Mike
came out.
“Well,” Inspector
Mulligan said.”
“Sorry Inspector,” Mike
said as he handed him a letter, “I have orders ot take her back to the office to transport to
Washington.”
“Will she fry?”
“She may be sent to
Nuremberg.”
Nodding, Mulligan said
“Good – send me an invite.”
As we walked out, Mike
shook his head. "How could anyone
use the tragedy of what happened to those amazingly brave young people in
Norway, to cover their tracks and re-invent themselves
like that?"
"I would think
that Britta is far from being the only Nazi to have done so Mike." I shook
my head. "With the amount of treasure that they looted, and which I'm sure
they know how to access, all these rats can probably hope to find a comfortable
hole to live on in..."
"Unless we can
catch and unmask them Jayes."
"Exactly Major,
but with our attentions here in the west switching to the activities of our erstwhile
Soviet allies, a background as a Nazi might in some quarters be seen soon as a
virtue, not a curse."
"Well like you Jayes I saw far too much of the horror those bastards
committed to ever forgive and forget."
"I believe we all
did." Nodding, i
said “Dr Huntingdown would like to invite you to join
us tonight. We are holding a small
Christmas Eve reunion.”
“I’ll be there – see
you later,” Mike said as we went in separate directions.
“I must say, it does
feel good to have done some good,” Sir Bartholomew said as he sat with his
drink. The four of us had just finished
an evening meal, and we were awaiting the arrival of our friend Mike Kelly.
“Did you look at the
jewels, Jayes?”
“In passing Mrs
Rockland – I can confirm all were there, especially the ring.”
The doorbell led to Dr Huntingdown heading to the door, and returning with Major
Kelly.
“Well, that’s a day I
don’t want to live again,” he said as he took his coat off.
"So how are the
interrogations going Mike old boy?"
"They aren't Barty," Mike despondently shook his head, "they
were taken by car to Washington by some colleagues. According to the official report, those boys
from Washington were forced to shoot and kill our suspects after they tried to
escape."
"You mean all of them?"
"So I'm led to
believe Barty,” Mike said as he sat down, “though no
one will let me or any of my men see the corpses."
"Sounds
a trifle suspicious old boy."
"God I love
British understatement." Mike shook his head again as I pressed a large
Scotch on the rocks into his hand.
"So that's
everything as far as our government is concerned?" Dr. Huntingdown
asked with a concerned look on her face.
"Yes Jane, and I received a rather unsubtle warning as to what
might happen to my career if I did pursue this."
"But
what about the jewelry? Returning it to the rightful
owners?"
"Oh
that I've been authorised to do Annabel, as long as it's done discreetly and
none of this comes out."
Mike pulled a large packet from the inside of his jacket. "Take these back
to the von Furstenheim's and Malverino's
with our best wishes. Just be sure to tell them that you recovered them in a
private, discreet..."
"Unofficial
way?"
I enquired.
"EXACTLY
JAYES!"
“We’ll take care of it,
Mike,” I said as I held the ring up, the Star twinkling in the light. “We have some friends who can take care of
this sort of thing discretely.”
“Inspector Mulligan
made sure your friend got home,” Mike said, “and he’s happy she’s dead.” Rubbing his head, he said “How many more are
there out there?”
“Who knows,” Mrs
Rockland said as the door opened, and Mr Rockland came in. “Hey,” he said as they kissed, “did i miss much?”
“Not really – Barty, Jayes, you will join us
for Christmas lunch tomorrow?”
“I would be honoured,”
I said with a smile.
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