The Crime on the Norwegian Sea

by Steve Stevenson

  “What else did it say?” she pressed.

  Dash shook his head. “Um, well . . . I only gave it a quick glance . . . I’ll need to connect the EyeNet to my laptop to access the rest.”

  Agatha turned toward the elevators, and the others followed. “I bet our spy is a German in his sixties,” she said. “Code names are rarely as random as people think.”

  “Is that just a guess?” asked Dash, hurrying to keep up.

  “Not at all,” she said calmly. “You’ll see, I’ll be right.”

  Moments later, they reached Dash’s cabin on Deck Eight. It was so messy, it looked as if it had been hit by a typhoon. He dug out his laptop from between rumpled bedsheets and checked the files he had downloaded.

  It didn’t take long to find out that, as usual, Agatha’s theory was correct.

  The King Arthur was wending its way up the jagged seacoast of Norway. After a stop at Trondheim Fjord, the ship would cross the Arctic Circle and sail to North Cape on Magerøya island, where the passengers would witness a truly unique phenomenon: the midnight sun. During the summer months, the sun set very late and only dipped below the horizon for a few hours. The brief arctic nights were clear and bright, going from dusk to dawn without ever getting completely dark.

  But the three Londoners had other things on their minds.

  “Can you replay Agent AP36’s message again?” asked Agatha, biting her lip. “I’m confused by one detail.”

  Dash pressed a button. A man with craggy features and a sprinkling of gray at his temples appeared on the screen. “This is an emergency, Agent DM14,” he began. “I’ve followed Bismarck halfway across the continent over the past few weeks, but I lost track of him at the port in Bergen. He disappeared right under my nose! I realized too late that he’d boarded the same ship you’re on. I found out this morning, but I’m stuck on land!” There was a short pause as he adjusted the webcam lens, frowning. Then he went on. “You’re very young, DM14. I need to know before I trust you with this delicate assignment: Are you capable of tailing a dangerous spy and noting down every suspicious move he makes?”

  Dash stared nervously at the floor. “I don’t know much about this sort of thing.” He sighed. “My detective career is going to go right down the tubes this time.”

  Agatha and Chandler were too busy watching the screen to respond. Watson had taken the opportunity to climb out of his cat carrier and hide in the closet. Agent AP36 assured them that the following morning, he’d arrive in Trondheim by train to take over the case. Then he described the spy’s profile, which matched Agatha’s prediction: He was a sixty-two-year-old German. “Bismarck” had used dozens of false identities, was constantly on the move, and always met his clients in public places with good surveillance like airports and train stations.

  “He’s careful and meticulous,” the detective concluded. “You need to draw him out and follow his every move, Agent. Everything depends on you. I’ll expect a full report when I meet you tomorrow at dawn. Over and out.”

  As the video clip finished, Dash looked at Agatha. “Have you found the missing piece of the puzzle?” he asked hopefully.

  She sat down, calmly lacing her fingers together. “Certainly,” she said with a smile. “AP36 doesn’t mention what Bismarck is spying on. The same information is missing from all the print files.”

  “It must be top secret,” the butler judged. “All Master Dash has to do is keep a close eye on him for a few hours and report any suspicious activities. There’s no need for him to know exactly what sort of espionage Bismarck is involved in.”

  “If you ask me,” Agatha said, “there’s only one important question: Why is Bismarck on board this particular ship? What do you think, colleagues?”

  This sparked a lively discussion. According to Chandler, he must have found out he was being hunted by Eye International, and was trying to cut and run. Dash was convinced that the only way to find out for sure was to interrogate Bismarck directly. But Agent AP36 had been clear that Dash should keep watch from a distance.

  “Bismarck has an appointment with someone on the ship!” Agatha interrupted.

  Seeing their confusion, she said, “There’s a pattern to his behavior. Agent AP36 specified that Bismarck prefers to do business in crowded places for security reasons. Furthermore, you might remember that this cruise required us to register twenty days before departure. Our spy planned this trip well in advance. That means he has some kind of deal in the works.”

  At that moment, a bell rang. A smooth female voice with a Norwegian lilt announced over the intercom, “All passengers are kindly advised that the welcome dinner for new guests will start in thirty minutes.”

  “Dinner?” Dash sounded startled. “Is it that late already?”

  Meanwhile, a photo of their target appeared on the EyeNet’s screen. Bismarck had a shaved head, steely gray eyes, and the face of a retired geometry teacher. Next to the photo was a list of names as long as the phone book.

  “Erich Schmidt,” read Dash, “aka Werner Kurtzmann, aka Hans Kleinhuber, aka Hermann Bauer . . . Wow, this guy must have a whole suitcase full of fake passports!”

  “Why don’t you run a search on your EyeNet?” said Agatha, giving her cousin a pat on the shoulder. “Try cross-referencing his list of fake identities with the passenger manifest.”

  Following her instructions, Dash opened the King Arthur’s database and brought up a list of the five thousand people on board.

  “Unless Bismarck has created a brand-new identity,” explained Agatha, “we’ll be able to find out what deck he’s staying on.”

  With a few taps of the keyboard, Dash checked the list of aliases against the passenger list. The results indicated that one Hermann Bauer was staying on Deck Eleven, in cabin 1188.

  “Excellent!” Agatha exclaimed. “We can start on this case right away!”

  Dash frowned, looking puzzled.

  “The guests on Decks Ten and Eleven all eat in the same dining room, the Round Table,” explained Agatha. “So we’ll be able to see the elusive Bismarck in person!”

  “I’ll need my tool kit!” Dash opened the closet.

  Disturbed by the sudden intrusion, Watson flattened his ears and growled. Dash, who had no affection for cats, reached carefully into his suitcase and pulled out a plastic bag.

  “Never get between a detective and his tools!” he told Watson.

  Dash scattered the contents of the bag onto the bed: a chrome-plated lighter, some buttons, a pair of earrings, and a brooch. None of it looked too impressive.

  “This isn’t just any lighter,” he said with a sly smile. “It contains a miniature video camera, perfect for filming without being caught.”

  Agatha picked up the coral earrings and studied them. “Hidden earbuds?” she asked.

  “Exactly!” Dash grinned. “You’ll wear them so that we can stay in touch. The buttons and brooch are ultralight microphones that can transmit up to a thousand feet.”

  “Very impressive,” admitted Chandler, hooking a button onto his collar.

  “These are the tip of the iceberg,” Dash said dreamily. “If you could see some of the gadgets at Eye International . . .”

  The bell rang again and the same voice announced through the intercom, “All passengers are kindly advised that the welcome dinner will start in fifteen minutes. Please dress in evening attire.”

  “We’re going to be late!” shrieked Dash, flinging himself at the closet as Watson hissed. “And where did I put my evening attire?”

  Agatha and Chandler exchanged knowing looks, and left to get changed in their own cabins.

  At seven o’clock on the dot, Agatha and the butler presented themselves at the Round Table dining room.

  The ex-boxer wore an elegant dinner jacket. Agatha had chosen a pearl-colored dress that complemented the coral earbuds and microphone-brooch.


  “How luxurious,” said Chandler, surveying the scene.

  The enormous reception room housed a hundred perfectly set tables. The dazzling white of the china and tablecloths shone against the turquoise carpet. Large windows let in a flood of arctic sunlight.

  “Over here!” called a distant voice. At table sixty-four, Edgar Mistery, Dash’s father, waved vigorously. Kristi sat beside him, greeting them with a warm smile.

  Edgar’s new wife was a beautiful woman with short blond hair. Her eyes were as blue as the carpet, and she’d traded her usual sportswear for an elegant evening gown.

  “Where’s little Ilse?” asked Agatha, making herself comfortable.

  “We’ve left her in the King Arthur’s daycare,” trilled Kristi. “We thought she could do with a nap after all that activity.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Edgar, “where’s my son?”

  “Oh, you know Dash, Uncle.” Agatha smiled. “He’s always late!”

  Edgar chuckled, but Agatha was distracted by a bald man in his sixties taking his place, alone, at table fifty-eight, directly behind her uncle.

  Agatha looked at Chandler, who’d also noticed Hermann Bauer’s arrival.

  “Here I am!” Dash cried breathlessly, rushing to join them. He had combed his mop of dark hair and was wearing a black suit that actually fit. He sat down triumphantly next to his father.

  Agatha excused herself for a moment, telling the others she wanted to look at the view out the windows. As soon as she got out of earshot, she tilted her head down and whispered into the brooch, “Dash, can you hear me? Just testing the microphone.” Then she added, “Bismarck is sitting behind you. Also, you should know that your left collar button’s undone.” She turned to look back at Dash.

  Dash’s eyes widened and he adjusted his collar with a nervous gesture. Agatha smiled. Her cousin’s gadgets were working perfectly.

  A waiter placed a silver tray in the center of the table, mounded high with Norwegian smoked salmon and shellfish on ice. Edgar grabbed a fresh oyster and elbowed Dash. “What do you say, son? Let’s have a contest to see who can eat the most!”

  The dinner was cheerful. Agatha laughed at her uncle’s jokes and chatted with Kristi, who was friendly and warm. Every so often, the aspiring mystery writer glanced over at Bauer’s table. The bald spy seemed calm, but he had not eaten much. He wore a navy bow tie with his gray suit, and Agatha noted that he had a black leather briefcase beside him.

  At around 8:45, the waiters served a succulent roast. As they ate, Uncle Edgar told them all how he’d met his third wife. “I saw her skate past and I slipped on the ice . . . I nearly broke my leg, but I’d do it again a thousand times. Thanks to that accident, I met my beloved Kristi!”

  Chandler cleared his throat to catch Agatha’s attention. She shot a look at table fifty-eight. Bismarck had picked up his briefcase and was heading toward the exit.

  The spy crossed the room, stepping stealthily past a cart loaded with cream cakes and pastries. Then he slipped out the door and disappeared. Dash cast a worried glance at Agatha, who looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Oh, look how late it is!”

  Dash nodded. Uncle Edgar and Kristi stared in amazement. What could make Dash Mistery leave before dessert?

  “Dash, you wanted to go to the movies, remember? They’re showing Alien Hunt in 4-D in the Percival Room.” Agatha stood, grabbing her cousin’s hand.

  “L-later,” he sputtered. “Save me an éclair!” They set off in hot pursuit of Hermann Bauer, with Chandler close behind.

  Deck Nine was designed to look like a swanky European shopping street. Tourists crowded in throngs around its shops, cafés, and bars. It wasn’t hard for the trio to shadow the German spy without being noticed—at least, that is, until he walked through a door under a dazzling neon sign that read EXCALIBUR CASINO.

  “Just my luck!” moaned Dash. “He’s gone into the one place on this whole ship where we can’t follow him. Minors are prohibited from gambling! We won’t be allowed to set foot in there!”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance, Master Dash,” Chandler suggested.

  They agreed that Chandler would continue to tail the spy inside the casino. Thanks to the microphone and earpieces, Agatha and Dash would still be able to keep tabs on Bismarck. And the micro camera inside the lighter would film him as well, so Dash could watch the footage on his EyeNet.

  The ex-boxer strolled inside with the swagger of a professional gambler. The children sat down at a table in the Sir Lancelot Café, opposite the casino. Agatha ordered a cup of tea and turned on her earbuds.

  “Can you hear me, Miss?” said Chandler’s voice through his hidden microphone.

  “Loud and clear,” Agatha replied. “Have you located Bauer?”

  “He’s sitting at a blackjack table. I’m looking for a good spot to position the camera. You should have a visual soon.”

  They could hear voices and rustling sounds in the background as he moved through the crowded casino. Then a loud ring of metal on metal exploded in the children’s ears.

  “What’s that noise?” gasped Dash.

  “Cascading money,” Agatha said with confidence. “Slot machine! Am I right, Chandler?”

  “You’ve got it,” replied the butler. “I’ve traded some money for chips. I’ll stand here and pretend to be playing the slots. Master Dash, can you connect to the camera feed?”

  “Give me two seconds,” Dash said, fiddling with the EyeNet. An image flashed on the screen: a high-angle view of the casino, richly carpeted in maroon.

  “I’ve put the camera on top of the slot machine,” Chandler explained.

  On the screen, they could see Hermann Bauer sitting at a green upholstered table. There were three other players, and they were playing a fierce game of blackjack.

  Chandler had chosen an excellent position. But he was too far from the table to catch any conversation among the players amid all the crowd noise.

  Dash squinted and carefully studied the scene. The spy and the other three players kept nodding at the croupier, who stood with his back to the camera.

  “Do you have any idea how this game works?” he asked, scratching his head.

  “It’s pretty simple,” Agatha said without moving her eyes from the screen. “Each player takes a turn to ask the croupier for a card, then adds up the points. The closest to twenty-one points without going over wins the jackpot.”

  There was a mountain of blue and red chips on the table. These players were betting heavily.

  Bauer was the calmest of all, and so far he had only placed a small bet. The other three continued to raise their bets, adding more and more chips to their piles.

  Agatha stared at each player, memorizing their faces. There was an aristocratic man in his thirties to Bismarck’s left. He had a pencil-thin beard and his blond hair was slicked back. He wore a white three-piece suit, with a smug smile pasted onto his face.

  A powerfully built Asian man sat to the German’s right. From the stiff bow he gave the croupier each time he accepted a bet, Agatha deduced he must be Japanese. He was dressed in black and wore a crocodile-leather jacket. His face was hard, and he had a visible scar across his left cheek.

  But the most curious player was sitting in the left corner of the table. It was a petite woman in her late fifties. She wore vivid pink lipstick and a polka-dot blouse. She had a mass of frizzy platinum-blond hair, the size of a ten-gallon hat.

  Suddenly, there was another loud clatter of coins from the slot machine.

  “Sorry about the racket,” Chandler said. “It seems I’ve won a thousand pounds.”

  For the fourth time, the croupier cleared the table of the money the players had lost. None of them looked upset. With the exception of Bismarck, who continued to bet small change and quickly withdraw, the others continued to pile up more and more chips, making s
taggering bets.

  “I don’t know much about gambling,” said Dash, confused. “But these players seem like real idiots. They’re losing like crazy!”

  “Perhaps the croupier is very skilled,” Chandler replied.

  Agatha sipped her tea. “Look closely, Dash. Bismarck is sitting on the sidelines watching the others, and they’re betting huge sums of money without paying much attention to their cards at all.”

  “Are they just a bunch of weirdos who like to lose money?” Dash wondered aloud.

  “No . . . They’re just pretending to play!” explained Agatha. “The game of blackjack isn’t important to any of them. The four of them are communicating with one another.” Biting her lip with concentration, she added, “Why don’t you launch the facial-recognition program on your EyeNet?”

  “Done,” said Dash. The computer promptly analyzed the players’ faces, cross-referencing them with the long list of criminals, suspects, and mug shots contained on its hard drive.

  “They’re all former spies!” exclaimed Dash. “All three of them have files as big as this ship. You were right, Agatha. This game of blackjack is a cover for a reunion of secret agents from all over the world!”

  Agatha eyed the three files on the screen. The blond man dressed in white was English, and his name was Herbert Thackeray Miller. The Japanese gentleman went by the name Kentaro Takagi. The wacky woman with the polka-dot blouse was a Texan named Lilian Turner. The girl memorized all three names, then turned her attention back to the fake game of blackjack.

  Just then, Lilian Turner flashed a triumphant smile. Annoyed, Miller thumped his fist on the green table. Even the impassive Asian man showed a brief flicker of disappointment.

  “What just happened?” Dash stammered.

  “It looks like the ‘game’ is over,” replied Agatha. “And that, whatever was really going on, Ms. Turner is the winner!”

  The four players rose from their seats. It seemed the croupier was done for the moment as well. He nodded at the players and strolled off, adjusting his vest. The rest quickly moved away from the table, each going in different directions.