The Windsor Protocol

by Peter MacAlan

  “How far is it from Sneque’s village?”

  “Maybe four or five miles.”

  “That’s quite a way in this terrain,” muttered Conroy.

  “There’s nothing closer, if we don’t want to be spotted.”

  With Jessie’s help, Conroy steered the Eleuthera towards the small cove into which a small river emptied. The palms and vegetation were lush and thick, the trees almost overhung the river entrance. The river seemed deep enough to take the draught of the yacht and Conroy eased the vessel into it, first keeping in the centre of the waters. As soon as they were invisible from the sea he shut off the engines.

  “I hope it will be Adams who reverses her out,” he muttered to himself out of Jessie’s hearing. The girl had grabbed the bow rope and leapt onto the embankment, winding it around the bole of a sturdy tree.

  “Get the stern line and make her good and tight, Jimmy.” she called. “The river is pretty strong and it will push her straight back out to sea or onto a mud bank unless she’s secured carefully.”

  Conroy waved a hand in acknowledgment and jumped off the stern with the rope.

  It was easy enough to make the Eleuthera secure.

  “Well, that’s the first part of our problem over,” he smiled encouragingly at the girl. “We’ve placed the Eleuthera away from Sneque and his men and, with any luck, Sneque will think we have left Cat Island. So will Serafini.”

  “So let’s find Harry.”

  “The very next step, Jess,” Conroy assured her.

  He climbed back aboard and went into the cabin. He picked up a couple of the hand-grenades and pocketed them before taking the Ml Garand, one of the automatics and Adams’ Zeiss binoculars. Then he rejoined the girl.

  “How’s your woodcraft, Jess? Can you find your way back to Sneque’s village?”

  Jessie nodded emphatically.

  “Then let’s go.”

  It was dusk when they halted on the side of a hill. Below them, the village lay in a small, shallow valley, surrounded by rich vegetation. Placing themselves behind some rocks, Conroy made a quick survey of the place through Adams’ binoculars.

  “Straight out of the Ark,” he muttered, as he examined the shanty town of shacks which appeared to have been thrown together without plan or organisation. Many of them were of wood and corrugated iron, others had roofs of palm leaves and branches. The only apparently planned thing about the constructions were that they were formed around a central square.

  The incongruity of the place, which seemed like a movie-director’s visualisation of a darkest African village with Johnny Weismuller’s “Tarzan” about to swing down from the trees, was the series of telegraph poles and brand new telephone wire which led from the direction of the coast to one of the larger huts, which seemed some kind of local store and also, entirely out of keeping with its surroundings, displayed an ancient Coca-Cola sign.

  There was some movement in the village and they could hear the sound of music, loud, raucous music drifting up on the early evening air.

  “Looks like they are still having a party,” Conroy said.

  Jessie was not happy.

  “They’re preparing a ritual, Jimmy. Look!”

  Some sort of platform was being erected in the middle of the square. An old woman in black was directing operations. They could even hear her loud squeaking tones rising up above the music.

  Jessie exhaled in a sound very much like a hiss. Her eyes were wide with fright.

  “Mama Mambo!”

  Conroy glanced at the old woman.

  “Do you know her?” he asked in surprise.

  “No, no. I do not know her. I know what she represents. She’s a voodoo priestess. They call the priestess Mama Mambo.”

  “What are they up to?”

  “As I said, they’re preparing for a ritual.”

  “Then we’d better spoil their fun. You wait here and I’ll see if I can find Adams. You’d better keep the rifle,” he added as an afterthought. “Know how to use it?”

  “Yes. But what about you?”

  “I still have the automatic,” he replied, also feeling the comfort of the two grenades in his pockets.

  By the time Conroy had negotiated the hillside to the outskirts of the village, the ritual had apparently started. He could hear the wild, rhythmic drumming and a curious percussion which echoed from the stamping of people’s feet as they twisted and turned in a peculiarly erotic dance across the village square. The square itself was filled with people, clapping in time to the beat of the music.

  On the platform now was the tall figure in the bright Hawaiian shirt — the man called Sneque, grinning broadly, his ugly face looking evil as he surveyed the dancers. Conroy could almost believe in tales of voodoo and ritual magic as he looked on the scene.

  One thing he noticed, people were passing round homemade cigarettes. He had seen enough in his travels to know that it must be a form of hashish, the intoxicating top leaves of the Indian hemp plant.

  He kept close to the shadows of the shanty town buildings, making his way from one to another until he came to the store with its rusting Coca-Cola sign outside. At the back of this building was a more professionally constructed warehouse. And, for the first time, Conroy realised that the river, which opened into the cove where they had originally moored the Eleuthera, flowed from the hills passing through the village and beside the warehouse at which a small wooden jetty stuck out. Among a cluster of primitive craft was a fairly fast looking vessel with an outboard motor. Conroy thought that there would be no prizes for guessing to whom it belonged.

  He tried the warehouse door but it was padlocked. However, a side window was easy enough to pry open. Conroy climbed in, hoping that Adams was inside. Bales were piled everywhere. He examined some of them. He began to realise that the warehouse was probably run by Sneque as part of Serafini’s mobster operations. Maybe it had once been a centre from which booze had been smuggled into Florida during prohibition. Now its use was far more sinister. A couple of the bales were full of packets of a white powder which he thought was some narcotic — he guessed he was looking at synthesised opium, perhaps heroin. Other bales contained hemp — cannabis sativa. Serafini was apparently into drug smuggling in a big way.

  He examined other boxes and discovered, to his increasing surprise, boxes of arms and explosives. There was an entire box of Thompson Model 1928s, “tommy guns”, whose used had been popularised in Hollywood gangster movies during the’30s. Obviously, Serafini had centred a smuggling operation from Cat Island. And if the warehouse was discovered, perhaps Sneque and the village were designed to take the blame. There would probably be nothing to connect Serafini with it.

  He turned and clambered back through the window.

  Adams was somewhere in this bedlam and he had to find him.

  The drumming and shouting seemed to be louder. He went up to the back door of the store. It was open. There was no one inside. He slipped quietly in. A range of aromas greeting his nostrils in the dark interior, which was lined with rows and rows of shelving and a rickety wooden counter on which there were scales and an ancient cash register. This was obviously the village general store. But its owner seemed to be attending the event in the square because it was entirely deserted.

  Conroy made to turn away but something made him pause and chance a quick look up the open unstable stairway which led to a second floor, tucked under the roof with scarcely space to stand upright, even in the centre of the inverted “V” of the roof’s apex.

  It was the store owner’s bedroom. There was just a simple mattress on the floor and a couple of boxes which served as furniture.

  Staring at him from the mattress was Harry Adams. He had a gag in his mouth and his hands and feet were bound.

  Conroy grinned in relief and held up his thumb.

  He did not have a knife but he had noticed one lying on the counter in the shop below. It was a carving knife resting by some meat under a glass case.

  He tu
rned, hurried down the stairway and picked up the knife. There was no question as to its sharpness.

  He returned quickly to Adams and sliced through his bonds.

  Adams tore the gag from his mouth with his free hand and heaved a deep sigh as the air returned unhindered to his lungs.

  “What kept you?” he demanded. “I thought you’d got yourself lost.”

  “We had to move the Eleuthera to a safer spot. We moored her in the wrong position. But I’ll tell you about that later. Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

  Adams did not say anything but began to follow Conroy down the stairs.

  They were halfway down when the door opened without warning and the tall figure of Sneque stood framed in it.

  All three men froze in astonishment.

  It was Sneque who moved first, and his move was his mistake for, instead of calling for help from the people outside, his ugly features broadened in a grin and he took a large knife from a leather sheath in his belt. He took two paces forward into the shop, the door swinging shut behind him.

  Conroy felt something disturb the air by his ear and heard a soft thump.

  Sneque stood swaying, his eyes showing the whites around the dark pupils. His mouth was open but no sound was issuing from it. Something dark, was trickling out of a corner of his mouth. It was blood.

  It was only then that Conroy realised that there was a knife embedded in Sneque’s throat.

  It was the knife with which he had released Adams, and Adams had thrown it with deadly accuracy.

  Sneque swayed once again and fell with a crash face down on the floor, his knife dropping from his hand.

  “Get going, Conroy,” Adams hissed, giving him a push.

  Conroy came down the stairs hurriedly, bending to snatched up the large knife that Sneque had dropped.

  “Hey, Sneque!”

  Someone was trying to push into the shop, calling for the burly man. The body of Sneque, lying on the floor, was preventing the door being opened.

  Conroy turned and led the way out through the back of the store. He heard the cry of alarm being raised. The drumming in the square faltered as the cry was taken up.

  “Head up to those rocks up there,” yelled Conroy. “Jessie’s waiting.”

  As Adams began to climb, Conroy heard the door of the shop smash open. There was a moment of silence and then yells of outrage as Sneque’s body was discovered. Conroy had already worked out a plan. As Adams began to make his way up the hillside, reaching the cover of the first line of trees and shrubs, Conroy, realising that Sneque’s men could easily overtake them long before they reached the Eleuthera, turned to the warehouse. He took a grenade from his pocket, pulled the pin and lobbed it through the window.

  As he turned to follow Adams, one of the men burst out of the back of the store.

  Conroy paused, drew his automatic and fired, forcing the man to dart back into the shop for cover. Then Conroy was bounding up the hillside. It seemed an eternity before the grenade exploded in the warehouse. It was louder than he had expected and far more powerful. The blast knocked him off his feet face down against the hillside.

  It took him a few seconds to recover. Then came a second blast. It was then that he realised that the grenade was igniting the other explosives. There was a series of swift detonations.

  Pandemonium reigned below.

  People were running this way and that, screaming or shouting instructions to others which were not taken notice of.

  Conroy scrambled upwards and a few moments later caught up with Adams who had paused at the sound of the explosion and was staring down in amazement.

  “Well, you certainly know how to liven things up,” he said as Conroy dropped to his knees, puffing at the exertion.

  “Are we being followed?” he gasped, as soon as he was able.

  Adams shook his head.

  “Sneque’s men are too busy with other things. The blast from that building knocked the entire store down. What the hell did you use?”

  “Just one of your grenades.”

  Adams was disbelieving.

  “That explosion was caused by something more than a single grenade.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you…the place was loaded with arms and ammunition.”

  Another explosion ripped through the air.

  Conroy turned. At least half-a-dozen of the buildings in the village were on fire.

  He turned back to Adams with a grin.

  “Now there’s only one more thing to do. You go on up and find Jessie. She’ll be worried.”

  Adams frowned, hesitating.

  “And you?”

  “I’ll join you in a few moments.”

  Adams shrugged and moved off.

  Conroy moved rapidly along the side of the hill keeping under cover among the trees and shrubs. It appeared that Sneque’s men had forgotten all about them and were too busy trying to bring the flames under control rather than continue their pursuit. He slipped down the hill again towards the ravine-like gorge in which the river ran towards the sea. It was here that the line of telegraph poles carried the wires to the coast.

  Conroy hurried to the nearest one and found no difficulty in shinning up it, using the metal spike footrests. There were only a few wires. He drew Sneque’s knife from his belt and deliberately cut through each of the them. Then he repeated the same performance at the next pole. Collecting the wires, he dragged them after him up the hillside. Even if Sneque’s men possessed the ability to splice the wires they would have to find them to do so. And it would take them hours to alert Serafini without a telephone connection.

  Smiling a little complacently to himself at his forethought he hurried back up the hillside.

  Jessie and Harry Adams were waiting for him by the rocks.

  “Where did you go?” demanded Adams.

  “Just to make sure they were not able to contact their boss in a hurry.”

  Adams frowned.

  Conroy pointed down to the row of telegraph poles which carried the wires. Adams had clearly not seen them before because he let out an exclamation.

  “Well I’ll be a…”

  Conroy took the Ml from Jessie who was looking a little shocked and bewildered at the apparent carnage in the village below. Explosions were still occurring and fires raged in many areas.

  “Let’s get back to the Eleuthera. Sneque’s men are not going to follow us now. They’ll be too busy.”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Thursday, August 29, 1940

  Night had fallen before they made it back to the Eleuthera although the journey had been without incident. Adams was not overjoyed at discovering how Conroy had moored the vessel. He made an inspection with the aid of a flashlight. The pushing river was straining at the moorings and thrusting the vessel against the bank. But there was nothing he could do until morning, for it would have been suicidal to attempt to move the yacht from her moorings in the darkness. They arranged a series of watches again, in case Sneque’s men had managed to follow them, but the night passed without any problems.

  At first light Adams had already started the engines and it took a lot of time and concentration, using the engines as a careful counter-balance, to back the yacht out of the river mouth without inflicting any damage on her hull. Conroy and Jessie had to use boat hooks in order to keep the vessel off the mud banks as she slipped her precarious berth.

  It was mid-morning by the time they had edged safely out into the cove.

  Adams stood the yacht out to sea while Jessie prepared a breakfast. It was the strong, hot coffee that was more welcoming than the food which they ate in the cockpit so that they could all discuss the situation.

  “What now?” Adams asked Conroy. “I guess we’ve disturbed Mister Serafini’s plans somewhat.”

  “The next step is to ensure the Duke and Duchess are still on Cat Island. If they were taken off last night then we have problems.” He shrugged expressively.

  “Well, in case anyone hasn’t noticed,
that Royal Navy sloop is no longer at Port Howe,” Jessie pointed out. She had already surveyed the port with the binoculars as Adams moved the Eleuthera out to sea. “But the Lupo di Mare is still there.”

  “The absence of the Navy doesn’t mean that the Duke has left,” Adams said reflectively.

  Conroy was silent for a while, thinking. He was worried by the idea that the Germans had already spirited the Duke and Duchess out of the Bahamas.

  “Let’s head for the southern coast of the island,” he finally decided. “We’ll have to check out Serafini’s villa.”

  “You’ve been doing too much worrying lately, Jimmy,” observed Jessie.

  It was true. As usual, the girl was extremely perceptive. In fact, as matters were developing, Conroy found himself struggling more and more with his thoughts. Strange how being asked to assassinate an enemy agent or collaborator, had never even raised a question of morality in his mind before. Yet the closer he came to the point of making that decision with regard to the Duke of Windsor, the more he found himself vacillating on the question of morality. This was different. He was being asked, if all else failed, to assassinate a member of the Royal family, a man who. however briefly, had been King of England.

  He found himself almost hoping that the Duke and Duchess had already left Cat Island.

  “Adams, you once told me that you had studied constitutional law?” The question came with an abruptness that surprised the man. Even Jessie looked confounded.

  “Sure.”

  “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve never questioned the position of monarchy in England. Have you?”

  Adams gave him a close scrutiny. He was no fool. He had begun to suspect what was going on in Conroy’s mind some time ago; suspect the ultimate decision that Conroy was going to be forced to face. Anyone who had studied the Duke’s statements on the European war in the American newspapers knew what the Duke’s views were. He grimaced.

  “You’re asking the wrong person for advice, Conroy. I am a republican by philosophy.”