Deathwatch: Inspirational WWII Suspense

by V. B. Tenery

  ***

  Grace was deciding on a dress to wear when Bunny leaned into the bedroom doorway. “I’m back. I’m going to put away my things then I’ll make dinner if you wish.”

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you. We’re going out for the evening. I found some clothing for you. I stored them in the armoire. I think they should fit nicely.”

  A few minutes later, a squeal like a bobbysoxer’s reaction to an encounter with Frank Sinatra filled the apartment. Bunny rushed into the bedroom, her face flushed pink with excitement, holding a black wool coat with mink-trimmed collar and cuffs. “W-Where did this come from? It’s . . . it’s fabulous! It’s mink, right?”

  She stopped, hazel eyes wide. “Oh, Grace, I can’t accept this. Can I?”

  Bunny gushed on. “Everything is so beautiful . . . and expensive . . . I could never repay you . . .”

  “Take five deep breaths and I’ll explain.” Grace guided her to a seat on the living room sofa. “The clothes belonged to my friend, Jacky.”

  Realization dawned in Bunny’s eyes. “Oh . . .”

  Grace held up her hand. “Let me finish. Jacky has no family here to claim them. If you decide you don’t want . . .”

  “Not want them? Anyone would be daft not to want such lovely clothes, but I could never afford . . .”

  “You don’t have to pay for them, Bunny. They’re a gift. Wear them in good health.”

  Tears shining in her eyes, Bunny took the coat and twirled around the room as though dancing with a partner. “I know this sounds horrid, since these came to me at the cost of someone’s life, and I truly am so very sorry about your friend, but I can’t help feeling . . . like . . . like Cinderella.”

  She enveloped Grace in a fervent hug. “I don’t know how to thank you . . .”

  Hot tears stung the back of Grace’s eyes. It was indeed a magical gift to the woman who had lost everything. Jacky had a kind heart and would be pleased her clothing went to someone as needy and appreciative as Bunny. “You don’t have to thank me, Cinderella. Let’s just hope the shoes fit.”

  ***

  Grey had asked Grace to be ready at seven. He and Aubrey knocked on her door precisely on the hour.

  Grace stood in the entrance, an elegant figure in a black cocktail dress, elbow-length black gloves, and a hat so tiny it seemed to be only a black net veil that covered her eyes. The fresh-faced American beauty had transformed into a sultry siren. He found himself impressed by the fact Grace seemed unaware of how lovely she was and its effect on others.

  Behind her stood a pretty redhead, also dressed for the evening.

  “You must be Bunny.” Grey held out his hand. Bunny was tall and slim, and had the same wholesome appearance Grace wore so easily.

  Grace made the introductions. “I hope you don’t mind. I invited Bunny to dine with us. I know it’s a working dinner, but it seemed a shame to leave her here alone on her first evening.”

  One of Aubrey’s disarming smiles spread across his face. “I say, those clothes didn’t look half so good on the hangers.”

  A red flush crept up Bunny’s face, seeming to leave her temporarily at a loss for words.

  Grace came to her rescue. “She does look lovely, doesn’t she?”

  Grey helped Grace into her coat while his friend did the same for Bunny. She ran her hand down the coat sleeve with a gentle stroke, as if mesmerized by the soft fur cuff.

  Aubrey offered his arm, and with a shy smile, Bunny accepted.

  He winked at Grace. “If my fiancée sees me stepping out with two women who look like Hollywood starlets, I’ll never convince her I’m working.”

  The Savoy Hotel

  London, England

  The foul weather had kept Göring’s bombers at home for the past three days and the mood inside the hotel was festive. The clientele was mostly uniformed men, largely British but with a few Americans in the mix, escorting young well-dressed women.

  They were seated in the Grill Room near the band that consisted of eight men over fifty, playing the latest hits from across the pond. They were skilled musicians too old for the service, but most would be enlisted as air raid wardens or emergency response teams in their off hours.

  Thanks to U-boat activity in the North Atlantic, few supply ships made it through, so the menu selections were minimal. He and Aubrey ordered the roast beef and the ladies each had trout, with Yorkshire pudding on the side. All in all, a fine meal.

  Aubrey swallowed his last bite and placed the linen napkin on the table. “I suggest we put this music to good use. It will be easier to scan the crowd for our rogue lieutenant without drawing attention to ourselves.”

  The ladies looked at Grey then at Aubrey.

  Grey rose and offered a hand to Grace. “I do a fair foxtrot.”

  Her cheek dimpled and she took his hand.

  “I also do a superb waltz, and so-so rumba. If you care to lindy hop or jitterbug, you’ll have to put up with Aubrey.”

  “You’re safe with me. I never learned to do either. Remember, I was the kid who was never asked out to dances.”

  “Good, then you won’t realize how bad I am.” The music ended just as they reached the dance floor. They stood in the crowd, waiting for the next number.

  “I should probably tell you my mother made sure I learned all the social dances required of a young lady.”

  A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I can’t put anything by you, can I?”

  The band struck up “I’ll Never Smile Again” and he led Grace to the center of the floor. The song reminded him he hadn’t danced since Cynthia’s death. His leg injury was fresh back then and she had been impatient with his stiffness. Why had he been so blind to her true character? Looking back, he realized her faults had been obvious for all to see. To everyone but him.

  He shoved the bad memories back where they belonged and pulled Grace in close, comfortable with how neatly she fit into his arms, forcing himself to remember they were there to catch a killer. He let his gaze search each face that passed, but the soft smell of her perfume stirred something inside his chest that had been dormant for a long time.

  The song ended too soon. He placed his hand at her back and guided her to their table.

  “Grace?” a male American voice called out.

  They both turned to see a tall, handsome man moving towards them, his gaze fixed on Grace. Her posture stiffened when he pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

  She pulled away from his embrace. “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m here with a group from War Plans as an observer.” His gaze seemed to glow with affection as he took both her hands in his. “Just look at you. You’re even prettier than the last time I saw you.”

  Grace slipped her hands from his grasp. “Grey, this is my brother-in-law, Harrison Bennett. Harry, this is Commander Grey Hamilton.”

  The American offered his hand with a firm shake. “The Royal Navy? I’d like to talk to you when you have time. I’m here to gather as much information as I can.”

  “I’m no longer on active duty,” Grey said and tapped his leg. “Wounded.”

  Harry gave a sympathetic nod. “That’s too bad.” He turned his attention back to Grace. “May I have the next dance? We can catch up on the family.”

  She squeezed Grey’s hand in a signal he didn’t understand. “I-I really can’t. We have friends at our table.”

  “Do you think we can get together while I’m here?” He reached into his coat pocket and handed her a pen and small pad. “Give me your number and address. Your mother said all she had was a post office box. She seemed to think you worked outside London in some secret secured facility.”

  “I do. I’m on a short leave and will have to go back soon.”

  Not exactly the truth, Grey thought. For some reason she wanted to avoid this relative. He watched her face as she reluctantly wrote down the information.

  “I’ll give you a call,” Harry sa
id, and kissed her cheek again. He nodded at Grey then disappeared into the crush of men around the bar.

  “Not a favorite relative, I take it,” Grey said.

  “Hardly . . . he’s not only my brother-in-law, but also the ex-fiancée I mentioned on the train.”

  “That will make for interesting family get-togethers.”

  “You have no idea.”

  They crossed the room where Aubrey and Bunny stood by their table. “Did you see our man?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here,” Grey said. “Let’s give it until the band takes a break. If we don’t find him by then, we’ll leave.”

  The band played the last song before taking recess, “When the Lights of London Shine Again.” Couples stopped and stood silent, eyes glistening in the dim lights. The haunting melody sent a wave of patriotic fervor through the crowd. The music said what their war-weary hearts felt.

  As the song ended, almost immediately the air raid warning sounded. Hitler thumbing his nose at their sentiments.

  Defiant shouts of “We can take it!” echoed through the halls as the crowd moved to the Savoy bomb shelter. It was a familiar English challenge born out of the first days of the Blitz. A direct message sent to Hitler from the courageous Brits.

  The somber foursome grabbed their coats and started for the shelter. They’d only taken a few steps when Grace clutched his arm. “It’s him, the lieutenant. He’s here,” she whispered.

  Grey followed the direction of her gaze and saw the man, dressed as an RAF pilot. He made eye contact, then his gaze slid down to Grace and registered recognition a split second before he dashed to the front exit.

  “Aubrey, stay with the women. I’m going after him!”

  ***

  Outside, Grey slammed into the utter darkness of the blackout. The man had to be on foot. No taxi had pulled away from the hotel. He would be headed for the Underground.

  Grey’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he moved quickly, almost at a run, to Covent Garden, the closest station to the hotel. He couldn’t see the lieutenant and felt confident the spy was in the same predicament. Once he reached the station there would be light to help him find his man.

  A queue had formed at the ticket booth, and Grey spotted his quarry no more than six meters ahead. The man glanced back from time to time, but he hadn’t yet spotted Grey.

  A few ugly glares were cast Grey’s way when he tried to get closer to the suspect at the head of the line. His gaze searched the area for a constable, but none was in sight. His preference would be to avoid arresting the lieutenant in the crowded station without handcuffs and a Bobby or two. The man might be armed. If Grey was any judge of men, the imposter wasn’t the type to come along peaceably. He decided to follow the man off the train and subdue him where there were fewer civilians.

  Grey kept his place as the line inched forward. With ticket in hand, he moved with the passengers down to the platform through a sea of shelterers camped there covering the space, and left precious little room for travelers to maneuver to the trains and exits. Once past the ticket queue, he tried to close the distance between himself and the lieutenant, but the man was moving ahead fast.

  The train roared into the station and the lieutenant stepped aboard. Grey followed him into the same carriage. The doors hissed closed and Grey found himself in hot, dark, and tight quarters. Despite the crowded carriage, he could see his man seated at the back near the exit.

  Grey avoided the Underground if at all possible, and had never experienced it during an air raid. He had no idea if the carriages stopped or continued on their route. The thought of being trapped here for hours or worse, being buried with a hundred or more strangers, gave him pause. Best not to think about that now. The Navy had taught him not to borrow trouble—just take care of the present.

  The faint sound of explosions reached his ears as the train traveled quickly through the tunnels. The Luftwaffe must be hitting the docks again. One of their favorite targets.

  The lieutenant appeared engrossed in his own thoughts paying little attention to those around him. He glanced frequently at a small black book he’d retrieved from his pocket, only glancing up from time to time to check the stations. Just before Kings Road Station, the man stood at the doors, and when the train stopped and the doors opened he stepped onto the platform. Grey waited a beat, then did the same.

  Once again the station was packed with underground people. These appeared to be permanent residents. There were mattresses, pallets, stoves, and water pots shoved together; small children, elderly men, and women were included in the mix.

  Grey tried to keep the man in sight but the distance between them grew longer as Grey traversed the packed station. When he finally emerged into the cold fresh air the man was about two hundred meters ahead.

  The street was filled with smoke and the stench of cordite. A fierce battle was being fought in the sky above London. Streets were lighted by incendiary bombs falling like rain drops. He scanned the area frantically for his man, but the imposter had disappeared in the smoke.

  Grey’s attention was drawn to the air battles above him. The sounds of anti-aircraft guns and the roar of planes engaged in the brutal struggle were almost deafening. Out of the night sky lighted by fires on the ground, an RAF Spitfire scored a direct hit on a German 109. Air whistled as the 109 twisted its way towards terra firma directly above where Grey stood.

  With less than a minute to find shelter from the flaming fuselage, his gaze locked on a low arched stone bridge on his right. He made a frantic dash to the edifice and ducked under the arch, just seconds before the 109 crashed in a fiery burst of debris and slammed into the side of an apartment building across the street.

  Muted screams filled the air and grew louder as people flowed from the inferno, dodging flames and wreckage.

  A piece of shrapnel sailed under the bridge’s stone arch and through his trousers, embedding itself in his bad leg.

  The impact made him clutch his thigh and swear under his breath as hot pain rolled up his calf, almost taking his breath away. He leaned back against the cement reinforcement and breathed through his nose, his teeth clenched. The situation worsened as smoke and heat from the burning aircraft filled every crevice of his shelter. Foul air filled his lungs, causing him to cough violently before it dissipated out the opposite side of the bridge.

  After the first wave of pain passed, he tested his ability to stand. Bracing himself against the stone arch, he took a shaky step forward. He soon realized he was in no condition to chase down the suspect. That would have to take place another day.

  Had the lieutenant been caught in the fallout? It was a distinct possibility. That would solve one problem, but they would never know the truth of Jacky Vidal’s murder. Another question he would have to wait for daylight to answer.

  When the warning sirens sounded the all-clear, Grey emerged and stumbled towards the crash site, blood squished in his shoe with each step.

  The ARP and overworked fire brigade had arrived, trying to put out the blaze and keep the people safely back.

  Residents with crying children and their most valuable possessions in their arms filled the street . . . with no place to go. Others had not been so lucky.

  Grey cursed Hitler and Göring for what they were putting his countrymen through and fervently wished he was back at sea in the thick of battle.

  CHAPTER 8

  Bristol Arms Apartments

  London, England

  Grey arrived at the apartment building and found the old lift operator asleep in a chair. He woke him up with a gentle tap on the shoulder and limped inside.

  He emerged from the elevator hoping to get relief from the pain before filling his team in on the details of what had happened. Blood, warm and sticky, dripped from his calf, and damp clothing covered with mud from the ledge stuck to his skin. He’d only taken two steps into the hallway when the door to 3B burst open. Aubrey and Grace rushed at him, both wide eyed with anxiety, as
king questions at the same time.

  Aubrey reached him first. “We’ve been worried sick, old man. Here, let me give you a hand. Have you been shot?”

  Grey shook his head. “It’s shrapnel.”

  His friend lifted one eyebrow. “Shrapnel?”

  Pain ran up Grey’s calf. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the corridor. “Correct. Let’s get inside before we disturb the other tenants and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Aubrey helped him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

  “Let me take a look.” Grace knelt beside him, removed his shoe, and rolled up the leg of his trousers. She winced at the sharp piece of metal that protruded from his calf. “That looks painful, but it didn’t hit a major artery. Otherwise you’d be dead. I don’t suppose you would be willing to go to the hospital?”

  “Surgeries are for the sick. Besides, the Jerries took out one hospital and the others are swamped with bomb injuries.”

  “I didn’t think so,” she said. “I will need to remove the metal. Are you sure you trust me to do this?”

  “Why not? You are probably more intelligent and capable than most of the physicians in London.”

  “Not in medical matters, I’m not. If you continue to get hurt, I’ll have to go back to school and get a medical degree.” She inhaled deeply. “Aubrey, I need you to roust the maintenance man and see if he has a pair of sharp-nose pliers, and then sterilize them for me. Bunny please bring me the plastic bag with alcohol and bandages from the bathroom.”

  “You mean the loo?” Bunny asked.

  “Yes, the loo. It’s on a shelf where the towels are stored.”

  While she waited for the supplies, Grace took the chair beside Grey. “How’s the head?”

  He crossed his eyes. “Why, don’t I look well?”

  She burst out laughing. “I think that knock on the head loosened a screw.” She became serious. “All I have for pain is aspirin. Think you can handle it?”