“It came down off the Point. A Gypsy Moth float plane, if I still have my senses. A motor boat went out from the villa to meet it, then returned as the aircraft took off again.”
Conroy was agitated.
“Are you sure it didn’t take the Duke and Duchess off?”
Adams shook his head.
“It was definitely bringing someone here.”
The girl nodded. “Anyway, Serafini let slip that he was not expecting a boat to pick them up until about one o’clock.”
“And how do you come to know that?” asked Adams.
“Quite simple. I overheard Serafini telling Luis Soriano to order Lupo di Mare to be ready to get underway around one-thirty. He said that as soon as the Duke and Duchess had embarked on their boat, then the Lupo di Mare should be ready to leave as well. He said he wanted to get away before first light to avoid the navy warship.
Luis asked when the Duke’s boat would arrive off Devil’s Point and Serafini said it was due about one o’clock.”
“And Serafini definitely said that the Duke would be taken off by boat? Did Serafini used the word ‘boat’ not ship?”
The girl shrugged.
“Yeah. I suppose they mean a yacht or motor cruiser. You couldn’t get within a mile of the point with a big ship. Why?”
“There’s another vessel you call a boat rather than a ship…one capable of making the Atlantic voyage.”
They looked at him in expectant silence.
“Unterzeeboot…a submarine. They are taking them off by submarine.”
Conroy was silent a moment while the other two waited with ill-concealed impatience.
He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter after midnight.
“Take Lise back to the Eleuthera, Adams,” he said softly. “Raise HMS Snark and get it to a position off the Point as soon as possible. Then talk to White in Nassau. Tell him about the situation and tell him to get here as fast as he can. Also tell him to put a trace on that Gypsy Moth.”
“Unless Intelligence can lay their hands on a military seaplane, there’s no airstrip on Cat Island, Conroy. If White and his pals have to come here by sea then they won’t get here until tomorrow,” Adams replied. “What do we do in the meantime?”
“Just tell him to make it anyway he likes, but quickly,” grunted Conroy. “We’ll rely on the Royal Navy to make the interception of the U-Boat.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going back into the villa and see what delaying tactics I can devise.”
“Jimmy, those men are killers,” protested Lise.
Conroy smiled tightly.
“I have been dealing with the Nazis for several years and some members of the Gestapo would make your friend ’Fredo look like a Boy Scout.”
“I am a Federal agent, Jimmy. I think I should remain with you,” she said firmly.
“Yeah, so do I. I think all of you should remain.”
The voice was harsh, a raucous Italian-American mixtures of vowels and consonants.
They swung round.
The man stood in the shadows, he held something in his hands. It was a machine-gun.
CHAPTER XXVI
Friday, August 30, 1940
“Okay folks, put’em up and start walking back to the villa.” Serafini’s guard motioned with the muzzle of the Schmeisser machine-gun.
Adams swore under his breath.
Conroy merely shrugged as if in resignation and started to walk forward, raising his hands. His features broke into a fierce grin.
“Nice to see you again, Salvatore,” he said softly.
“Hey!” yelled the man in surprise as Conroy did not halt as he had expected him to but broke abruptly into a run, diving towards the man’s legs before he had time to recover from his surprise. The guard went reeling backwards, the gun being knocked out of his hand by the impact of Conroy’s body. Conroy’s head butted against the jaw of the guard. The man groaned and his teeth snapped together. Adams was at his side, snatching up the machine gun.
The man tried to climb to his feet but a kick from Conroy sent him falling back into the shrubbery, clutching wildly in the air. He recovered his balance again and then something glinted in the moonlight.
“He’s got a knife, Jimmy!” cried Lise.
“Chrissake! Don’t fire, Adams!” hissed Conroy. “You’ll rouse the villa.”
Reluctantly, Adams brought the gun barrel up.
Conroy now swung to one side as the man lunged, grabbed for the wrist and twisted it back on itself. The man grunted in surprise and staggered back. The haft of the knife was sticking out of his chest. Blood began to trickle from his mouth. He emitted a little groan and collapsed on the floor.
Adams bent over him and felt for the pulse in his neck.
“We have a dead one, Conroy. Jesus! You certainly took a chance in charging him like that. He could have taken your head off with a burst from the Schmeisser.”
“Let’s hide him in the bushes with his friend Guido and then you can take Lise back to the boat.”
“You better take this.” Adams held out the machine-gun.
Conroy shook his head.
“I’ll stick to an automatic. I don’t want to massacre everyone in the villa.”
They dragged the guard deep in the underbrush.
Lise was standing hesitantly, still insisting that she should go with Conroy. Finally, Adams had to take her arm and urge her reluctantly away.
Conroy raised a hand and let it fall before he turned back into the grounds of the villa.
“Herr Kapitan,” the First Lieutenant’s voice brought Hoesch out of his doze.
“Columbus Point is off our port bow and slightly astern. We should be at the rendezvous point within half an hour. That’s well within our rendezvous time.”
Hoesch grunted, swung off the bunk and reached for a bottle of Schnapps. He took a quick swallow to cut the tack from his throat.
“Very well, Gunther. I’ll come.”
He followed the First Lieutenant into the control room and ordered: “Upscope.”
He could see the dark outline of the land and made a quick 360 degree turn to ensure that there were no vessels nearby. Then he made a careful, quarter circle at a time, examination of the area.
“Excellent. Keep the speed and course, Gunther. We’ll surface as soon as we sight Devil’s Point. We’ll have to be careful of the coral reefs and proceed on the surface. We can come in and lay three-quarters of a mile off the Point.”
“Jawohl, Herr Kapitan.”
Conroy had made his way unseen through the walled grounds of the villa. Between the main building and the edge of the cliff top, facing out across the Tartar Bank, was the flagged stone patio with numerous pot-shrubs and trees. There were several windows from whose uncurtained glass lights shone fiercely.
Conroy crept forward cautiously, taking refuge behind the potted shrubs.
A few of the windows were partially open to let the warm night breeze circulate.
He heard voices murmuring.
In one room, several people were seated around a dining table.
Conroy shrank behind the cover of the shrubs and peered carefully into the room. He could see the Duchess at the end of the table with Maria Soriano and Magda Montego seated on either side. The Duchess was smiling politely and apparently listening to a loquacious Magda. Serafini was seated at the far end of the table toying with his food without apparent appetite. Also at the table was Luis Soriano, looking nervous. The only member of the party who looked relaxed and entirely unconcerned was the fair haired man who Conroy recognised as the Duke’s taciturn Canadian bodyguard, Drake. But of the Duke himself there was no sign.
Frowning, Conroy moved back into the shadows of the patio and shifted his position so that he could examine the interior of the next room. Here, the French windows stood wide open. A tall man stood with his back to them facing into the room, his hands clasped behind him. He seemed slightly familiar to Conroy. He tried t
o recall where he could have seen the man before but was unable to do so.
On the back of a nearby chair were draped a leather coat and a flying helmet. It was obvious that it had been the tall man who had arrived in the flying boat a short while before.
Easing forward, Conroy caught sight of the Duke, who was sitting back in an arm chair, eyes on the man at the window, smoking with quick, nervous gestures. Conroy quickly ducked out of the ex-King’s line of vision.
The Duke was speaking, stuttering a little in his emotionally charged voice.
“You know, I used to have Winston’s support until he became Prime Minister. As soon as he was in Downing Street, he turned his back on me. Immediately he became Prime Minister, he started to subscribe to the Court’s hostile attitude towards me and my wife. So far as I am concerned, the man is a turncoat against his friend and former King.”
“Churchill may have cause to regret his high-handed attitude towards you, your Majesty,” replied the man with his back to Conroy. Damn it! The voice was so familiar.
The Duke sniffed and waved his cigarette in a dismissive gesture.
“We will keep to protocol. I have not yet officially replaced my brother,” he corrected softly. “Poor Bertie. He was not destined to be King. He lets himself be dominated by…” He paused and then continued with vehemence in his voice. “I will never forgive that woman! I will never forgive her for the chronic insult to my wife. She is a petty woman. It was she, not my brother Bertie, who decreed that the Duchess shall not hold royal rank, just to spite me. It is against the law, against the constitution. I have pointed this out on more than one occasion. But I have been ignored. Then, to add more injury to that insult, I find the Colonial Office, with the approval of the Lord Chamberlain, circulating instructions on the official etiquette to be observed regarding my wife and emphasising the difference of her rank to mine. A secret telegram was issued. I saw it. A telegram stating that while people should make a half-bow or half-curtsy to me and address me as ‘Your Royal Highness’, they must not bow nor curtsy to my wife and only address her as ‘Your Grace’.”
His voice was growing agitated.
“If I had known what I know now before I agreed to Baldwin’s demand for my abdication, if my so-called friends like Winston had only warned me of the way that I would be treated once I was discarded by my family and the state…I would have ensured that I could safeguard myself against such petty humiliations.”
He reached out and took a long swallow from a glass of whisky standing on a table at the side of his chair.
“My wife and I have been the target of vindictive jealousy from a certain royal woman. And my own mother disowns me and will not let me near her. My wife certainly does not in the least desire ever to be considered a member of my family after the way they have behaved to both of us. I thought of writing to Winston and telling him how I feel, telling him that I was resigning the Governorship and that I would refuse to accept any other post under the Crown so long as Queen Elizabeth holds sway over my brother.”
The man standing at the window suddenly turned. Conroy saw the movement and pressed closer back into cover behind the shrubs. The man swung round and peered seaward.
“Well, sir,” he said, “You may be able to tell Winston yourself before too long. It is nearly time to embark.”
Conroy gave an involuntary gasp as he recognised the man he had last seen a fortnight ago in London.
The languid features of Lord Skenfrith gazed at the darkness of the ocean beyond before turning back into the room.
Harry Adams helped Lise through the densely growing underbrush.
“It’s not far now. The Eleuthera is down in that little cove.”
The girl suddenly stopped and forced Adams to halt.
“What’s up?” Adams demanded.
“Harry, I just have to go back. I can’t leave him there alone with Serafini and his men. I’d never forgive myself if what happened to Roger happened to Jimmy.”
Adams paused, looking at her, undecided.
“What can you do? Anyway, Conroy is not going to do anything stupid. Best to carry out his plan to contact our back-up.”
“But we should never have left Jimmy,” she replied stubbornly. “I must go back and help him.”
Adams shook his head reluctantly.
“Conroy told me to bring you back to the yacht. That’s the only logical thing we can do.”
She shook her head resolutely.
“Let me have your gun. I’m going back. Jimmy will need help.”
Adams still hesitated. The girl was determined.
He was holding the Schmeisser. He glanced down at it and then looked up at the girl.
“Know how to use this?”
Lise nodded silently.
“Okay. There’s a full magazine in it. Be careful.”
Lise gave him a smile of thanks as she took the machine-gun and turned away to retrace her steps back towards the villa.
Adams watched her disappear into the darkness, wondering if he had done the right thing. Then he sighed in exasperation and turn down the remaining stretch of the hill. It was not long before he reached the sharp coral shingle of the tiny cove, found the dinghy and shoved it off into the calm sea.
Jessie was waiting anxiously on the yacht.
“Where’s Jimmy?” she demanded, as Adams heaved himself aboard, tying the dinghy at the stern.
“Conroy’s gone into the villa to try some delaying tactics. The Duke and Duchess are there waiting to be taken off within the hour. Conroy found Lise Fennell. Turns out that she is working for the FBI. Now the fool girl has gone in after him.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Conroy wants me to raise the sloop and then Nassau to call in the marines.”
“What?”
“Figuratively speaking,” grinned Adams as he reached for the radio transmitter/receiver.
Conroy watched dumbfounded as Lord Skenfrith turned back from the window to face the Duke.
“I said, it may not be long before you are able to tell Churchill to his face that he has backed the wrong horse. And your people will be delighted to see you return, sir.”
The Duke came out of his anguished revelry and frowned at Skenfrith. His eyes clouded for a moment and he reached out to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray on the arm of his chair.
“But I do not do this thing out of personal animosities, Skenfrith,” he said hollowly. “I do it only for the good of our poor beleaguered country. Bertie and Winston are going to drag it down to an ignoble end — it will fall like France, Norway, Holland and all the others who have tried to stand up to Germany. We should not be fighting against Germany, we should be friends. We are one and the same people — the Germanic people. The true inheritors of the Roman empire…”
Conroy’s mind started working overtime as he slowly began to recover from the shock of seeing Skenfrith. Skenfrith, head of security for prominent personalities of the British state, including the Royal Family! It was all falling into place with a vengeance. Skenfrith had betrayed his mission right from the start. No wonder O’Regan knew who he was. No wonder the Bundists had been waiting to sabotage Harry Adams’ yacht in Miami and then launch their murderous attack near the Bimini Islands. It was a wonder that Conroy had managed to get this far. He ground his teeth as he reflected on the extent and level of Skenfrith’s treachery.
Conroy found it hard to encompass the enormity of the plot.
Another thought began to demand his attention. How many other prominently placed people in Britain would support the return of the Duke as King — how many had refused to accept the abdication as a legal or constitutional act? Conroy knew that even among his own acquaintances there were many who had been horrified that Baldwin and his political cronies had been able to force the abdication of a King. Not since James II had a King been forced from the English throne. Only the apparent acquiescence of Edward VIII in that abdication had saved the country from civil confli
ct. But if the Duke now returned claiming the throne, promising peace with Germany and a new order of prosperity for the country…the conflict that ensued would be disastrous.
Perhaps there were countless Skenfriths, members of the Establishment, who would be willing to deal with the Nazis to ensure the return of the person they regarded as the legitimate King of England.
Conroy found the perspiration standing on his brow, though it was not a hot night.
The Duke was still talking when Conroy forced his attention back to the room.
“Whatever the outcome of this conflict, Skenfrith, the New Order will be assured of its place in Europe. In Italy, Germany and Spain it is already secured. England is cutting her throat by not conceding that fact. Rather, Bertie and Winston are cutting the throat of England by not entering into an armistice with Germany. The war should never have commenced in the first place.”
“Sir,” Skenfrith’s interruption of the Duke’s soliloquy was polite but firm. “I think it is time we joined the rest of our party. Your transport should be here soon.” Gently, he ushered the Duke into the next room. Conroy, keeping low behind the shrubbery, eased his position back to observe the dining room once more.
The Duke, followed by Skenfrith, had entered the room. Drinks were being poured. Skenfrith moved to the French windows and opened them widely, glancing out once again at the darkness of the sea.
Conroy heard Serafini ask if everything was ready. “We’re just awaiting the signal,” replied Skenfrith, glancing at his watch. “They should be here any time now.”
On board the Eleuthera Adams glanced at the chronometer and swore softly. It was nearly one o’clock and he was having trouble raising anyone on the radio.
“What is it. Harry?” demanded Jessie as he cursed again at the set.
“I can only get static.”
“Faulty equipment?”
He shook his head.
“The signal is just not getting through.” He gestured with his head into the darkness. “Those damned overhanging cliffs are probably blocking the signals.”
Jessie gazed at the tall rock formations behind them and sighed.
The Windsor Protocol Page 27