“The short answer then, gentlemen, is that we have had no word at all nor did we expect to have anything to report until a major development occurs.”
“But your operative, Conroy, is now in the Bahamas?”
“We should have confirmation of that soon.”
Dalton’s brows came together and Dunnett, observing the danger sign, sighed under his breath. He did not like saying more than was absolutely necessary but he felt obliged, on this occasion, to explain further.
“I have asked our Nassau Station to contact Conroy. Once contact is made, we will know how things stand. The need to make contact arises from the fact that our operatives in Berlin have picked up the name of the Nazi agent who has been placed in charge of the Windsor operation.”
Even Skenfrith’s weary expression changed and he leaned forward in his seat, a look of interest on his face.
Dalton’s eyebrows were raised.
“And he is?”
Dunnett shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Minister, that must remain the secret of our department for the time being. Sufficient to say,” he pressed on, observing a flush of annoyance on the Minister’s face, “that our source is reliable. However, we have been unable to find out anything more than the man’s name and the knowledge that he has the ability to pass as an American. We also know that he holds the rank of brigadier general in the Nazi security service.”
Skenfrith drew out a cigarette and lit it, exhaling slowly.
“What about your contact in Lisbon? The coded telegrams between the German embassy and the German Foreign Office must surely have thrown up new details?”
“Regretfully, no. That avenue has suddenly been closed. Within a few days of our agent making the initial interceptions, he was…’eliminated’. That is your word, Minister, isn’t it?”
Dalton stirred uncomfortably.
“Do you think the name of this German agent will help Conroy?”
“Every scrap of information must be of some help.”
“I see. So, in the meantime, we just have to sit back and wait. Is that it?”
Dunnett inclined his head in an affirmative gesture.
“HM is worried about the affair,” pointed out Skenfrith. “He desires as full a report as possible.”
“Well, there is little 1 can add,” Dunnett countered.
Skenfrith rose languidly and walked to one of the windows, staring up at the dull grey London sky. The last few days had been mainly cloudy and the deterioration in weather conditions had reduced German air activity. There were raids but nothing like the big scale activity of the previous days. The Luftwaffe were doing everything in their power to pound the military air bases around London. So far. Hitler’s orders against bombing the city had been scrupulously kept. But the devastation of Warsaw was still uppermost in everyone’s mind. There was a feeling of momentary respite, of an uneasy lull; a curious calm before the renewal of the storm.
“HM is particularly concerned about the strong body of opinion in the country which apparently supports his brother’s view of a negotiated peace. He feels that this opinion is gaining strength.”
Dalton sniffed deprecatingly. He clearly did not want to dwell on the matter.
Skenfrith turned with his back to the window and gazed levelly at Dalton.
“The American ambassador, Kennedy, is continuing to criticise our ability to carry on with this war. At the moment, the Duke appears to have quite a following among the isolationists in the USA. A lot of people want a negotiated settlement with Germany. Ambassador Kennedy has lost no time in launching an attack on the Government, particularly over this Arandora Star cock-up.”
Dalton bit his lip. Skenfrith was right. There had never been such pressure both within and without the country for an end to a war in which Britain now stood alone. He had just come from the House of Commons where the Government was suffering acute embarrassment at the criticism of its conduct in relationship to what was being called the Arandora Star affair. The Home Secretary and Minister for Home Security, Sir John Anderson, had come very close to admitting that the Government had made a terrible mistake in its arrest of thousands of suspected “enemy aliens”.
Thousands of immigrants and refugees of Italian, Austrian and German origin, including many Jewish escapees, had been rounded up and placed in internment camps without any opportunity for individual consideration of their cases. Most of them had been victims of the Fascist regimes of Hitler and Mussolini and were convinced anti-Fascists. Some of the internees were actually English born. Many had been engaged in war work against the Fascist powers. In July, over 1,500 of these internees had been placed on an ancient and ill-equipped ocean liner, the Arandora Star, to be sent to Canada. The “enemy aliens” had been imprisoned below decks, the decks festooned with barbed wire, guarded by soldiers with machine guns. On July 2, scarcely twelve hours out into the Atlantic, the ship had been torpedoed. No official figures were to be released but it was known well over half of the internees had been drowned as the vessel went down.
The anger of the anti-Fascist refugees, particularly the Italian community in Britain, was compounded when the
British Government, in the person of Anthony Eden, as Secretary of State for War, dismissively claimed that those lost on the Arandora Star were Fascists or Fascist sympathizers. But information began to leak that the rounding up of the “enemy aliens” had not only been an illegal operation under the international conventions on internment, but many of those who had died had been prominent in the fight against Fascism. Well-known Jewish artists, musicians, writers, film directors, fleeing the persecutions of Hitler and Mussolini, had been rounded up and sent to their deaths in the ageing, undefended, slow passenger liner, with several of its lifeboats useless and in a neglected condition. None had been give any chance to come before a tribunal for a hearing before being deported. Relatives of the victims, in some cases the deportees had married into British families, were not informed as to what had happened to their husbands, sons, wives and mothers. It was revealed that one of the Italians who had drowned was a prominent scientist working on secret war work for the Ministry of Aircraft Production, another was a well-known journalist employed by the BBC in propaganda work.
For several days, the Government had been under severe attack. That very afternoon, Sir John Anderson had risen in embarrassment to express his regret over the whole affair and to further admit that the Government had departed from the international conventions. These mistakes, he had said, were partly due to the “inevitable haste” with which the internment policy had been carried out. An inquiry was promised in which the methods of the selection of internees was to be made. In disgust, Lord Cecil had told the House of Lords that what had happened was “one of the most discreditable incidents in the whole history of this country…the grossest injustice had been committed under the influence of unreasonable and unreasoning terror”.
While Goebbels and the Nazi Propaganda Ministry were having a field day, the anger and dismay over the fate of the Arandora Star had added fuel to the campaign of those seeking a negotiated end to the war.
Dalton sighed and turned his mind back to Skenfrith.
“I would have thought that the Prime Minister’s speech in the Commons yesterday was unequivocal as to where we stand?” Dalton responded coldly.
On the previous day Churchill had risen to review the first year of the war between Britain and Germany. The policy of his Government and the aim of the nation was simple and unambiguous:…we have to gain the victory. That is our task.” The speech had already been well received by the Press and Public who had seized on Churchill’s tribute to the RAF pilots, who were currently taking the brunt of the war. It had been a defiant speech, without any contemplation of negotiations with the enemy.
Skenfrith nodded slowly and stubbed his cigarette into a nearby ashtray.
“HM knows where the Government stands,” he said. “Yet we cannot ignore the fact that there are many people, a
nd many in influential and prominent places, who argue, if not openly, then in secret, that peace negotiations should be started. Germany stands victorious in Europe. Britain is alone. That is why Conroy’s operation is so important to HM. If the Duke were in German hands, and allowed himself to be used to further Hitler’s intention to negotiate a peace or to invade, then the united facade of the political leadership could crumble.
“The word is, that when the weather changes, the Luftwaffe will try new tactics. So far, their attacks have been aimed against our airfields and military bases. Some bombs have fallen on civilian areas, but not as a matter of policy. The next step may well be to undermine the morale of the people by bombing civilian areas. What then? What if, instead of the few bombs which have fallen by mischance on this city, there was a new strategy by Hitler? How long will it be before the entire country began to support the idea of a negotiated peace?”
Dalton’s face was long. Colonel Dunnett, who had been silent in the face of the exchange between his superiors, felt sorry for the Minister.
“We are well aware of the dangers threatening the country, Skenfrith. You may assure His Majesty that all that we can do is being done.”
Skenfrith’s thin lips twitched in a wan smile.
“I shall pass on your assurance. Minister. His Majesty will doubtless be gratified.”
A blue yacht swung round the eastern tip of Athol Island, having passed through the swift waters of Hanover Sound, and came into the channel between Hog Island and the mainland of New Providence which area constituted Nassau Harbour. The breeze across the channel carried the yacht forward at a fair speed. The tall elegant craft, under half sail, seemed as light as a feather as it skimmed the waters and cut through the little waves which made the merest ripple on its blue surface.
The yacht was a graceful craft. Its rigging was neat, its jib set well to the wind. The canvas was a dull washed linen colour which came of a long exposure to the sun and the salt spray. The hull carried low lines and was a newly painted sky blue. The polished teak stern board carried the name Savanna- la- Mar in gold and green lettering.
The two man crew were hauling in the sails now as the boat began to manoeuvre into shore, towards the sturdy little quays of the Nassau Yacht Club under the forbidding old walls of Fort Montagu. The yacht heeled over as it caught against the wind and seemed on the point of capsizing, but the sails were well handled, the man at the wheel swinging at it so that the ship came into the wind and the sails depressed and the straining canvas began to chatter and shake.
It had been Adams’ idea to sail the yacht into Nassau harbour as another means of confusing anyone who was looking out for a motor yacht. They had left Joulter Cay after midnight and used the motors to get the Eleuthera, in her new guise as the Savanna- la- Mar, across to New Providence. Adams had rowed Jessie ashore at Lyford Cay just before dawn and then he had shown Conroy how to rig the sails, spending the morning beating along the northern coast of the island to Nassau.
Nassau was the capital of the Bahamas and the major town on New Providence island, on which 30,000 of the Bahamas’ population lived. It was an island of eighty square miles. Adams had been able to fill Conroy in about the general situation prevailing on the islands and explain in more detail about the “Bay Street Boys” who he dismissed as avaricious gangsters but who ran the islands.
“The real power in the islands lies with these men,” Adams had explained. “They progressed from bootlegging, which was once the main economic activity of the islands during Prohibition, to making money out of tourism. During the last few years the islands have been built up as a smart winter resort for rich American tourists. The “Bay Street Boys” make their money importing food and drink rather than attempting to develop the agriculture of the islands.”
“Are they really the gangsters you claim them to be?” asked Conroy, intrigued by the idea of gangsters running a British Crown Colony.
“The Bahamas were once the principle bases of English pirates who did their freebooting in the name of the Stuart Pretenders, to give their crimes some claim of legality. When London finally sent out a Governor, the pirates accepted his rule with reluctance. The whole history of the Bahamas has been one of struggle between the Governor and the local white settlers who resented rule from London.
“For example, the last Governor, Sir Charles Dundas, attempted to break the power of the “Bay Street Boys” by introducing legislation for income tax and secret voting in elections. “Bay Street” controls the local House of Assembly which, in turn, governs the finances of the islands. Dundas’ attempts were simply sabotaged. The House of Assembly refused to approve the legislation.
“Dundas tried to stimulate agriculture on the Bahamian islands by seeking to grant farming estates to enterprising pioneers from Europe and America. Bay Street put a stop to that.”
“Surely the Governor could override them…?” Adams had given a bark of laughter.
“The Governor has very little authority. The situation was so bad that when the British Empire and Commonwealth declared war on Germany last year the House of Assembly of the Bahamas refused to pass similar legislation. Until a few weeks ago, Conroy, there was a serious constitutional crisis developing in the Bahamas in which they could have declared some sort of neutrality.” Conroy had silently whistled. He was learning something new about this superficially balmy tropical paradise.
“The crisis was averted when London removed Dundas a few weeks ago, and sent him to govern Uganda, in order to make way for the Duke. But the legislation still had to be enacted by Orders in Council…that is by the King’s Privy Council, or else the Bahamas would have remained as neutral as the States in this war.”
“Do you know how the islanders greeted the prospect of the Duke of Windsor as Governor?”
“Do you mean the islanders, or just those with power — the Bay Street Boys?”
“The Bay Street Boys,” replied Conroy.
“You could say that they view his appointment with incredulous delight. They have started to build up fortunes from American tourism and the presence of the glamorous ex-King and his American wife at Government House would really act as a stimulus to that tourism. But if the Duke attempts his hand at economic or social reforms, or tries to make any decisions to alleviate the plight of the poor blacks, he will not be tolerated by the “Bay Street Boys”. Conroy, remember that while you may call the Bahamas a British Colony, you are four thousand miles away from Britain, and a world away from the war. You may be in for something of a culture shock at the placidity and parochialism of the whites of Nassau.”
Conroy was musing on Harry Adams’ words as the yacht nestled up to the quayside at the far end of the Nassau Yacht Club. They had barely finished tying up when an official in spotless tropical whites and peak-cap came bustling over to the yacht.
“Hey, boy.” he snapped arrogantly at Adams. “Where’s your boss?”
Conroy, who was just emerging from the cabin, was momentarily surprised. Yet Adams’ face was a mask as he gestured towards Conroy.
The man in tropical whites threw up a salute.
“I’m the assistant harbour captain, mister. This your boat?”
“I’m hiring her,” replied Conroy, catching a slight frown of warning from Adams, standing behind the official.
“There’s a mooring fee for tying up here and I’ll need to see the papers.”
“I’ll get them, sir,” said Adams politely.
The official barely glanced at them as he went through his check list. He seemed more concerned on securing the mooring charges.
“How long will you be staying here, Mister Carson?” he asked Conroy, as he handed back the passport which Adams had put together the evening before.
Conroy forced a smile at the dour-featured man.
“It depends. A few weeks, perhaps. I’m touring the islands. Maybe doing a little fishing before I go back to Jamaica.”
“Well, the Nassau Yacht Club is that building over
there,” the man pointed. “The one with the red tiled roof. If you’re tired of sleeping on shipboard, there are rooms available there. We have quite a nice social life at the club house, a good restaurant and bar.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember,” Conroy assured him.
The official threw’ up his hand to his cap in a perfunctory salute.
“Your boy runs a pretty smart rig,” he said approvingly as he turned away.
“Thanks, sir,” Adams was almost obsequious. Only Conroy seemed to pick up the false note of ingratiation in his tone.
When the official had left Conroy turned on Adams.
“Why did you let him get away with that?” he asked.
Adams smiled thinly.
“Let me tell you another thing about the Bahamas, Conroy. Our friends, the Bay Street Boys, also constitute a racial elite. They rigidly enforce a local colour bar because their power also depends on keeping the blacks in their place…that is poor and confined only to manual jobs. Any Governor who comes along, like Dundas, and starts talking about measures which will promote the economic and social betterment of the majority becomes their enemy. In many ways, the white elite would probably go enthusiastically along with Adolf’s ideas on racial superiority.”
Conroy pursed his lips in silent disapproval.
“You’re right,” he said softly, “it seems that I am in for a cultural shock.”
“I guess the idea of segregation is more strongly entrenched here than in most British colonies. It’s no different from the southern United States across the water there.”
“Are all the islands like this?”
“No,” Adams said with a shake of his head. “And, who knows, maybe one day it will all change here. Maybe. Anyway, remember the colour bar while you are in the
Bahamas because there are places to which you can go and where I or Jessie can’t/’
Once again, Conroy detected the tone of suppressed anger in Adams’ voice.
“Tell me,” he asked out of pure curiosity. “I was told that you went to an American university. What did you study?”
The Windsor Protocol Page 10