The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "And what's that?" asked Murphy as he lit the stove under the percolator.

  "Dr. Mason just asked us to get Tom and Bobby out of the country. For their own sake."

  O'Reilly nodded. He looked around the kitchen. "But what about this?"

  I said, "We could close it up for the time being."

  Murphy walked over and sat at the table. "And where will those two lads be going? San Francisco?"

  Without waiting for me to reply, Carter said, "Yes. They'll stay with us if they want. Or Robert can find them an apartment in one of Nick's buildings."

  I suddenly had a thought. "Bobby doesn't have a passport."

  Carter shrugged. "We fly into someplace like Ensenada and smuggle him across the border. We've done it before."

  I laughed. "That we have. We're getting good at doing it."

  O'Reilly shook his head. "But how do we get to Ensenada?"

  Murphy said, "What about that Harkaway fellow? He has a seaplane."

  Carter asked, "How big could it be? Can it hold all six of us?"

  O'Reilly said, "Never know until you ask." He stood and walked over to the phone book. He thumbed through it as the rest of us watched. "Here we go. Harper. No, go back." He licked his finger and turned back a page. "Harkaway. There's two. One Lydia. Don't think that's our man unless there's something he didn't tell us." We all laughed. "Here he is. Henry. BY6552."

  . . .

  "I was expecting to hear from you, Nick." That was Henry.

  "How so?" I asked.

  "Just a feeling, I suppose. How can I help you?"

  "You mentioned that you have a seaplane."

  "I do, indeed."

  "We need to leave the country. Tomorrow."

  Henry laughed. "That soon?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, then, young man. You've come to the right place. All that rain made me homesick for my island. You and your fireman can come with me. We can leave tomorrow. Turns out I had a feeling I should load her up with fuel. She's ready to fly."

  "Well, the thing is, Henry, there are six of us."

  "No matter. There's plenty of room."

  "What about luggage?"

  "Bring as much as you can carry."

  "You're sure?"

  "Quite. Now, do you have a pencil?"

  Chapter 15

  Seal Rocks, N.S.W.

  Sunday, February 27, 1955

  Around 7 in the morning

  The trip from Dover Heights to Seal Rocks took about four hours. We'd left at 3 in the morning. No one got much sleep as we'd worked to take care of everything that needed to be done to close down the house.

  Once we were loaded up, we'd headed back into Sydney, across the big bridge that spanned the harbor, and up along Highway 1. Shortly before dawn, we'd turned onto a dirt road with a small sign that mentioned the Sugarloaf Point lighthouse. The winding road from the highway to the coast took the greater part of an hour and, by 7, we'd emerged at a small harbor with a handful of houses and a long pier.

  The six of us had packed ourselves into the Holden along with as much luggage as we could, but bringing only what we thought we'd need. As Carter pulled the car up to the spot where the steps to the pier started, I could see a large seaplane in the water, tied up at the end.

  Carter asked, "Is that—?"

  I replied, "I think it is."

  Murphy, who was on my left said, "No wonder he said there was plenty of room."

  We all piled out of the car. Carter and Tom walked around to the trunk and began to unload our bags, a combination of canvas sacks and valises. We each had about three changes of clothes. I'd made sure to bring my mother's letters. And, of course, I had a briefcase of money, mostly American dollars, while Tom had his canvas bag of money.

  Henry and his friend, Charles Kingsolver, walked towards us down the pier. Henry smiled as he got closer. "What do you think of my ship?"

  "Where'd you get her?" I asked.

  "San Diego. It was one of the last three of the Clippers owned by Pan American. I bought it from a salvage dealer in 1950. Then I had it rebuilt and outfitted. I think you'll like it."

  "Which one was it?" All the Clippers had names.

  "The Dixie Clipper. Now," he said, looking behind me with a smile, "who are these two young lads?"

  . . .

  Once introductions were made, Carter handed Mr. Kingsolver the keys to the Holden. "Here you go."

  The man smiled and said, "Thanks, so much. I'll make sure it's given to someone who can use it."

  Bobby asked, "Are you not going with us?"

  Kingsolver shook his head. "I just came for the flight up from Sydney. I can't go flying around the South Pacific on a moment's notice like some." He grinned as he said that. Henry had explained to me that the plane was kept in in the harbor near the big bridge that we'd crossed but that, in order to get Bobby out of the country, we had to meet up in Seal Rocks and leave from there. Kingsolver had flown up with him in order to take the car back to Sydney where he would either sell it or give it to someone who needed it.

  Tom handed Kingsolver the keys to his house. He'd left a big stack of documents on the dining room table along with the keys to his mother's Mercedes for Kingsolver to sell or give away, as well. "Thanks for taking care of all of this, Mr. Kingsolver."

  "My pleasure, Tom." Turning to the rest of us, he said, "Let's go have a look at Henry's plane, shall we?"

  . . .

  The Dixie Clipper was about a hundred feet long with a hundred and fifty feet wingspan. It rose about twenty feet above the water line with four enormous propellers. At water level, and sticking out from the body of the plane on either side, there were what appeared to be vertical stabilizers but that were also used as a kind of front porch for the door to the plane's main cabin. That was then connected to the pier by a narrow walkway which was about ten feet long. Henry led us across, through the door, and into the belly of the plane.

  Once inside, I was surprised. As big as the plane appeared from the outside, it was much larger on the inside than I thought it would be. I'd only seen pictures of the Clippers in magazines and once in a newsreel. Compared to our Lockheed Super Constellation, The Laconic Lumberjack, the ship was about twice as wide and twice as long.

  Henry showed us around. There were six large cabins that served as bedrooms, two spacious washrooms, a galley, a mess with a large table that sat ten, and a large main cabin with chairs and sofas. All the furnishings were either wicker, bamboo, or aluminum. Everything was beautifully decorated in a kind of modern Polynesian style.

  Two of the bedrooms were for the crew. One was Henry's. And the other three were for us.

  Once we'd had the tour and stowed our luggage in the bedrooms we chose, we met the crew in the main cabin. There was a co-pilot, a flight engineer, and a man who was a cook and steward. The co-pilot was named Georges. He was French. The flight engineer was Jacques and the steward was Alexander. They were both Tahitian. Only Georges spoke English fluently. They were all extremely handsome, which didn't surprise me at all. After a couple of minutes, I was pretty sure that Georges and Alexander were lovers. Jacques had winked at me. I'd smiled in return.

  . . .

  Once we'd said goodbye to Kingsolver, Henry, Georges, and Jacques walked forward to take the stairs up to the cockpit that was perched above the nose of the plane. Alexander pulled in the narrow walkway. Kingsolver untied the two tethers and tossed them over to the steward who stowed them just inside the door. Once that was done, he closed the door to the main cabin and secured it. He said, "Sit, please," and then walked back into the galley.

  We all followed his instructions. Looking around, Carter asked, "Where are the seat belts?"

  O'Reilly said, "It's a Clipper, not a Super Connie. Takeoff is barely noticeable."

  Right then, the engines on the starboard side of the ship roared to life. The plane began to move away from the pier and out towards the mouth of the harbor. Once we were about a hundred feet out, the port side
engines started up. The noise was loud. I looked over at O'Reilly who was sitting next to Murphy on the sofa opposite ours. He stood up, walked over, and said, "It gets better once we're up in the air."

  Carter asked, "Should you be standing?"

  The captain smiled. "It's fine. Like I said, you'll barely notice when we take off."

  I could feel the boat begin to move more rapidly across the water. Looking out the rectangular windows on the far side of the plane, I could see that we were already beginning to lift off. O'Reilly planted his feet in the middle of the cabin floor, crossed his arms, and grinned as the plane became airborne.

  . . .

  Once we were up at cruising altitude, Alexander came back into the main cabin with a tray of champagne coupe glasses. There was a large table against one wall. He put the tray down there and then walked out. A couple of moments later, he was back with a silver bucket and two dark-green bottles on ice inside. He opened one bottle, poured champagne into each of six glasses, and then walked around the cabin, offering each of us a glass and saying, "Wait for captain, please."

  We all stood, glasses in hand, and watched as Henry came down the stairs and walked over to the table. He poured himself a glass and then walked over to the center of the cabin.

  "I always like to toast the beginning of a new voyage." He raised his glass. "To new friends."

  We all raised our glasses and repeated his toast. The champagne went down smooth. It was better than any I remembered ever having.

  "What is this?" I asked Henry.

  "It's from an estate in France that bottles only the grapes that they grow on the side of one particular hill. Smooth, isn't it?" He took another sip as I nodded.

  "So, who'd like to look at a map of our trip?"

  Everyone nodded.

  He said, "Drink up. We have plenty more."

  Following his advice, we all did just that, and followed him into the most forward part of the cabin.

  He spread out a map across a small table that was connected to the wall near the nose of the plane. We gathered around as he pointed to the coast of Australia.

  "This is Seal Rocks." He moved his finger across the map to an island. "This is Fiji. We're making for the town of Suva tonight. We'll take on more fuel and stay the night there. Then we'll leave in the morning and be at the island later that afternoon."

  "How long is the flight today?" asked Murphy.

  "We'll be in the air about ten hours. We land in Suva at about half past 7 local time. They're two hours ahead of Sydney."

  "What about tomorrow?" That was O'Reilly.

  "We'll leave around 9. We have to wait to take on fuel in the morning, being that it's Sunday today. Flying time is about eight hours. The local time at the island when we arrive will be about 6 in the evening, only it will be the day before since we cross the date line." He smiled. "We leave on Tuesday and arrive on Monday."

  I asked, "Do we sleep on the plane tonight?"

  Henry shook his head. "I wired ahead. There will be rooms waiting for us at the spot where we usually stay, The Garrick Hotel. It's near the wharf and not too bad." He paused for a long moment. "For Fiji." He looked around at us. "Do enjoy yourselves. Anything you need, just ask Alexander. And, my dears, be sure to get in all your fun in your cabins because the Garrick has very thin walls, indeed."

  . . .

  As soon as Henry went up to the cockpit, Carter put his hand on my shoulder and led me to our cabin. We made out for a few minutes before he fell asleep. I thought I was too wound up to sleep, and decided to gaze out the window next to the bed. But, before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

  When I awoke, I looked at my watch. It was just past 1 in the afternoon, Sydney time. I looked out the window and could see a big thunderhead forming off in the distance. The ocean below was impossibly blue and surprisingly quiet. Since the plane wasn't pressurized, we were flying at a lower altitude than we would have in the Lumberjack. As I looked at the water, I noticed that I could see more detail in the waves than normal. It wasn't just a big expanse of blue. It had contours and rose and fell as we passed overhead. It could have been my imagination but, for a moment, I thought I saw the shadow of a large whale passing below as we flew over.

  Right then, Carter put his arm on my shoulder and said, "Afternoon, son."

  I turned and looked down at him. He was grinning in his half-awake sort of way. He sat up, kissed me, and then jumped out of the bed. He pulled on his trousers and his shirt. "Back in a minute." With that, he was gone.

  I turned back to the window and looked out at the sky. Watching those clouds over that ocean, I could feel myself back on the U.S.S. Solace. That was the hospital ship I'd been assigned to in '42 after I'd enlisted. I sat there on the bed, seeing through the eyes of a 19-year-old kid. I could smell the odor of that ship. It was Listerine mixed with sea air along with less pleasant things. Whenever I could, I'd run up to an outside deck and grab a smoke just to get away from everything happening in the depths of the ship.

  Carter walked back in and asked, "You want some lunch? Alexander has cooked up one of those egg pies like Mrs. Strakova makes. I doubt it's as good as hers but I'm hungry."

  I nodded but didn't move. It was like I was standing between two worlds and couldn't decided where to go next.

  "Are you OK?"

  I nodded first and then shook my head.

  Carter sat on the bed and put his arms around me. "What is it?"

  Unable to really find the right words, I said, "The clouds."

  Carter put his chin on my shoulder and looked out the window. "The clouds." It wasn't a question.

  I nodded and tried to remember where I really was.

  After a long moment, Carter repeated, "The clouds."

  "And Mike."

  The rise and fall of Carter's chest on my back was soothing. The slight, almost imperceptible, whistle in his nose was only audible because he was breathing right next to my ear. Neither of us moved. We sat there for a long time.

  . . .

  Carter was right. The egg pie was good but not as good as Mrs. Strakova's. But, then again, she had our big kitchen back home to cook in. Alexander had a space about the size of our pantry at home.

  We were the only two eating at the big table in the mess. As we'd passed their cabins, the doors were closed. The plane was quiet except for the drone of the propellers which were loud but not as bad as when we'd been on the water. After a while, they were just so much background noise.

  Alexander had insisted on serving a white wine with lunch. And, in his limited English, he'd made it clear that coffee was for after we'd eaten. The wine was served in a tumbler. I'd seen the same thing in Paris a few weeks earlier at a cafe where I'd had lunch by myself while Carter had gone to a gymnasium.

  I took a sip of the wine and said, "I wanna tell you about what happened earlier."

  Carter looked over at me. The look on his face reminded me of someone who had stumbled across a fawn in the woods and didn't want to startle it.

  I smiled and said, "It's OK. I think I'm finally ready to tell you about the war."

  Carter's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

  I sighed. "I mean you don't know anything about what happened."

  Carter wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I know you were on a hospital ship and then in New Guinea." With half a smile, he said, "And I know you met some handsome German planter while you were there."

  I smiled. "I met him once and only shook his hand."

  "Right. The secret homosexual handshake."

  I nodded and then looked out the window. The line of thunderheads in the distance seemed to be closer and bigger.

  "What happened, Nick?"

  I took a gulp of wine and let the warm feeling roll over me. The air in the plane was a little on the cool side. The wine felt good in my belly. "I was on the U.S.S. Solace from June of '42 until January of '45."

  "That long?" asked Carter.

  I nodded.

  "For some reason
I thought you were on the ship for half of the war."

  "No. I was transferred to the hospital in New Guinea after I had a run-in with one of the doctors. Otherwise, I might have been on that ship for the duration."

  "What was the run-in?"

  I smiled. "I wouldn't go down on him like he wanted."

  Carter laughed. "What did he do?"

  "Made my life a living hell. Or tried to. That commander? The one who helped me find a lawyer after I got word about my trust?"

  Carter nodded.

  "He stepped in and got me a transfer. Or that's what I think happened."

  "So you were in New Guinea until when?"

  "I shipped out about two weeks after the Japs surrendered. Most of the action around us was over and we were already in the process of closing down."

  "When did you and Mack meet?"

  I thought about the first night that I'd seen Mack on the ship. Just like Carter, Mack always stood out in a crowd. We'd been in the large recreation room that had once been a ballroom since the transport ship was a refitted ocean liner. Mack had dark hair and a devilish grin. He reminded me, in a way, of Mike, my first lover and the man I'd left behind in San Francisco after Pearl Harbor.

  For the first time, I realized how much that was the case and it was why I'd let Mack lead me by the neck down below to the tiny bunk we'd somehow squeezed into that night.

  That first night, and all the other times we'd fooled around on the ship, had been wonderful. He was a great lover. But who I'd really ended up with was a very good friend, someone I'd missed almost every day since he was killed in action in 1950 off the coast of Korea.

  Replying to Carter's question, I said, "I'm not sure. I know it was after we left Brisbane."

  Carter frowned. "You've been to Australia before?"

  I nodded. "Sure. Several times. New Guinea is part of Australia."

  "Why are just now telling me this?"

  I looked out the window. "Because there are other things I'm still not ready to tell you but I figure this is a start."

  Carter didn't reply. I looked over at him. He was worried. It was all over his face. "I'm fine," I said.

  He didn't appear to be convinced. "We need a break, Nick."