“Is there any objection to my flying out tomorrow on the noonday Pan Am flight to Miami and spending a few days in Washington before joining the convoy? Adams can take us back to Nassau in the Eleuthera.”
White’s lips thinned.
“With Miss Fennell?”
Conroy did not bother to reply.
“All right,” White seemed suddenly indifferent. “Make your own way to Halifax. You have ten days to join the convoy.”
Conroy rose.
“Oh, and colonel, I think London should be made aware of the important part played by Jessie and Harry Adams in this operation. I wouldn’t have had a chance without them.”
“Don’t worry, Conroy,” White replied. “I’ll see to it that Adams and his girlfriend get some recognition for their part.”
CHAPTER XXIX
Saturday, August 31, Tuesday, September 3, 1940
A few days later Pan American’s Boeing Stratocruiser touched down at Washington airport.
Conroy had never felt so relaxed and at peace with himself for a long, long time. Not since Rebecca…And Rebecca’s face was scarcely a blurred memory now for he could only conjure the bright, humorous features of Lise to his mind. For the first time he found himself wishing the war was over, wishing he did not have to return to London. A few days in Washington with Lise was not going to be long, yet it was something. More than something. And soon, soon when Europe was at peace again, he would return to Washington, perhaps permanently.
On the flight from Miami he was full of plans. When he was able, he would return and he and Lise, together with Harry and Jessie, would go on a cruise through the Caribbean. He could spend a lifetime writing books about the area. There would be no difficulties getting advances from his publishers. His other books of travel had sold fairly well and he always found a ready market for his articles. He was already planning his future life in a way which had never occurred to him before.
Europe was old and sad now but here was a new world in every sense.
Lise was amused by his enthusiasm and drawn along by it. Most of the journey from Miami to Washington was spent planning the trip.
They had spent a leisurely and pleasant cruise on the Eleuthera, returning to Nassau, with Jessie and Harry Adams on the Sunday morning. In fact, Jessie and Harry had invited them to return all the way to Miami with them. Being selfish about the time that he wanted to spend alone with Lise, Conroy had declined the offer, to their disappointment. They would be in Miami that evening and on Monday they would be in Washington, leaving him a full week before he had to make the journey to Halifax, Nova Scotia. But the idea of cruising the Caribbean together someday soon was met with frenzied enthusiasm.
The curtain of reserve and the veiled hostility which had always been part of Adams’ nature had given way to a more relaxed ebullient attitude. Now and again the bitterness was there but it was aimed at life in general and Conroy was able to understand it.
They had parted at Nassau harbour like high school kids embarking on a vacation; sad to bid farewell to their erstwhile companions, but excited at the parting and the journey before them, knowing that they would soon be together once more.
When Conroy recovered their bags from the baggage check at Washington airport, he turned to Lise with a happy, contented grin.
“Where to now?”
“My apartment is at Tacoma Park. Come on, we’ll take a cab.”
She led the way through the terminal, pausing to buy a copy of the Washington Post on the way.
“I haven’t seen a decent American newspaper in ages,” she confessed.
Conroy winked happily at her.
“And when do you think you’re going to have time to read it, lady?”
She gave him a light-hearted push. A soft blush came to her cheeks but she didn’t protest as he followed her to the cab rank.
Conroy came languorously awake, feeling the soft cool cotton sheets around his naked body. He lay smiling for a minute or two and then stretched out a hand to feel the space beside him. The bed was empty apart from himself. He raised himself on an elbow and blinked. Then stretched out a hand and groped for his watch. It was nearly eight-thirty. He lay back on the pillows, sniffing the aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen of Lise’s apartment. He smiled broadly, thinking of the night before. Lise had not had time to read her newspaper.
He swung out of bed and drew on his pants, making his way in the direction of the fragrance of the coffee.
“Morning!” he called. “What, no tea? Tea in the morning is an English institution you know…”
He halted at the door, frowning.
Lise was sitting at the breakfast bar, the open newspaper before her, a cup of coffee untouched at her elbow. She turned her grey face, eyes wide with bewilderment and anxiety, towards him.
“What’s up, Lise?” Conroy demanded.
She opened her mouth but did not speak. Instead she simply pointed to the newspaper.
“What is it?” Conroy said again, coming forward to peer over her shoulder at the story to which she was pointing.
He felt himself go cold with shock.
“Christ, Jimmy,” she blurted. “Can it be true?”
Silently he read the headline.
TWO DIE IN YACHT EXPLOSION OFF MIAMI
A man and woman died in a mysterious explosion on a yacht as it passed Cape Florida on Key Biscayne this afternoon. Eye-witnesses saw the yacht ripped apart by a sudden explosion and fire consumed most pieces of the wreckage.
A coastguard vessel put out from Southwest Point immediately. Two bodies were recovered, one male and one female. The female body was badly burnt and unidentifiable. The male was identified from his pocket book as Harry Adams, owner of the yacht Eleuthera which frequently used Southwest Point as an anchorage. Adams was from Bermuda, which is where the Eleuthera was registered. Adams was known to sail the yacht with his girlfriend.
A spokesman for the US Coastguard said that little of the wreckage had been recovered and therefore he was not hopeful that the cause of the explosion would be ascertained. An inquest is expected to be held within the week.
Conroy swore softly. Then re-read the story once again.
“It must be Harry and Jess, mustn’t it?” whispered Lise.
Conroy nodded silently. It must have been the Bund or other Nazi agents. Why had they forgotten the danger of a renewed attack? He bit his lip. What bloody fools they were, thinking that the danger had receded once they had rounded up Olbricht and Serafini. Yet Harry had always been so careful. He had been sure that his tracks were covered. How could the opposition have been so quick to pick him up?
Lise laid a trembling hand on his arm.
“Jimmy, what if we’d have accepted Harry and Jessie’s invitation and travelled back to Miami with them…? Why we…”
She shivered violently.
“Try not to think about it,” he muttered, feeling it sounded such an inadequate thing to say. His mind was working rapidly. “I think I’d better have a word at the British Embassy.”
He didn’t know the head of the Washington Station personally. But whoever the Station head was they would be in contact with Colonel White in Nassau. They would have details about what had gone wrong.
Lise was still sitting wide-eyed in a state of shock. “But what about Harry and Jessie…?”
“I’ll ask the Embassy to confirm whether it was them or not,” he said attempting to sound reassuring. “We don’t know it was them for certain.”
“But…”
“But if it was, Lise, you must understand that it’s a tough game that is being played out in Europe.” He tried to make his voice sound dispassionate. For the first time in a long while his emotions had been touched. He had genuinely come to like Jessie and Harry. He kept trying to blot out their faces and the memories of the last few weeks as he struggled to adjust. “There’s a war going on and in war people get killed, Lise. Harry knew the odds when he went into this business. The opposition can
be pretty lethal. Pretty ruthless.”
The girl’s eyes were cloudy with tears as the realisation began coming home to her.
“But Jessie…she shouldn’t have been part of this.”
“She knew the chances that she was taking.”
He turned to the bedroom. There was a phone there. “What are you going to do?” Lise demanded, following him.
“I need to check with the Embassy. Maybe I’d better go in to see them. That’s it. I’ll phone to say that I am on the way.”
The girl bit her lip.
“I’ll take you there. My Nash is parked outside. Then I should go into my office and make my report. Jimmy…?”
He turned at the little cry in her throat.
“Jimmy, I’m scared.”
He turned and enveloped her in his arms.
“We’ll be all right, Lise. Don’t worry. I know how this happened. There was a traitor…Skenfrith. He knew all about Harry. But he didn’t know about you. So there is no need to worry. Let’s get dressed now.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips, pushed her gently away and turned to put on his own clothes.
A few minutes later Lise was dressed and told Conroy to meet her outside the apartment block in ten minutes, as soon as he had finished phoning.
“I’ll just get the tank filled and make sure it’s running okay. I haven’t been near it in several weeks.”
“Okay,” Conroy was still getting dressed. “I won’t be a moment.”
She forced a smile on her troubled face and blew him a kiss.
He finished dressing and picked up the telephone, asking the operator for the number of the British Embassy. He was put through a few moments later and gave the switchboard operator a name which would immediately get him transferred to the “Head of Station”, the chief intelligence officer at the Embassy.
A faint squeal of brakes caused him to go to the window, telephone receiver still in his hand, and look down into the street below. The apartment was on the third floor. He could see Lise crossing the sidewalk and stepping into the road, making her way to a line of parked cars on the far side of the street.
He smiled over the mouthpiece. Even from here, he thought approvingly, she looked deliciously attractive.
Then he saw her hesitate, heard the squeal of brakes again. She was looking up the road. He frowned and followed her gaze.
A large black saloon car was tearing down the street. The driver must have had his foot pressed to the floor.
“Bloody fool,” Conroy thought as he turned his gaze back to Lise.
She was hurrying forward now to avoid the speeding car.
Then something happened which made Conroy drop the receiver and leap forward, hands pressed to the window, screaming inarticulately.
The large black car deliberately swerved towards Lise, hitting her with a sickening thud which caused her body to bounce upwards like a rag doll flung by a petulant child. The body, arms askew, somersaulted through the air as the car sped on without even attempting to slow. The body hit the pavement and seemed to bounce along it for a while.
All was quiet apart from a strange sound.
It was some time before Conroy realised that it was the sound of his own screaming.
The crackle of the telephone brought him out of his immobility.
Somewhere in the street below, a whistle was sounding, people were running. The wail of a siren came from a distance, growing nearer. As he focussed unwillingly on the bundle of rags which had a moment before been so full of life and vigour he saw that someone had brought a blanket and was covering the human wreckage.
The girl was dead. He knew that without a doubt.
He felt like ice. Coldly he turned and picked up the crackling receiver. His connection must have rung off when he had not answered. Automatically, his mind numb, he re-dialled. He was put through immediately.
“Ah, Conroy. Our friend White said you might be in touch,” came the reassuringly calm voice of the Head of Station.
“Miss Fennell’s just been killed.” his voice was flat.
“Killed? An accident?”
“Dammit, no! Deliberate. I saw it.”
There was a hesitation. The voice was soft, almost coaxing.
“Where are you now, Conroy?”
“I’m at…never mind. Is it true about Harry Adams and Jessie?”
“It’s best not to discuss that now. Where are you?” A pause then a hint of suppressed triumph as realisation came. “Are you ringing from Miss Fennell’s apartment?”
Something made Conroy pause for a moment.
The cold, calculating features of Colonel White seemed to float before his eyes.
“What about the girl? How far can you trust this Miss Fennell. A neutral today, an enemy tomorrow…” Then: “Don’t worry, Conroy, I’ll see to it that Adams gets some recognition for his part…”
No! That was sheer madness! What was he thinking about? These were his own people; his own people that be was forming suspicions about. They would not do anything like…He shook his head. But they did. He could not deny it. He was part of them. Every day in occupied Europe and elsewhere, they eliminated their enemies and potential enemies. Assassination and sabotage was part of the war, part of the dirty shadow war in which he had been involved for many years, causing death, chaos and disruption to the enemy. Striking anywhere, anytime, using fear as a weapon.
To the Axis powers they were terrorists, to the Allies they were fighting for freedom. What was war, any war, but politics carried on by means of terror? A freedom fighter to one perception was a terrorist to another, wasn’t that the old saying? But England could not do this to their own people, surely?
“Conroy?”
The voice crackled from the earpiece nervously.
A neutral today, an enemy tomorrow…Was it that simple? Then what of Jessie and Harry Adams?
“Conroy!” The voice was hard now. “We’ll send someone to bring you in.”
“No,” he snapped, his mind clearing suddenly. He felt calm and icy cold. “I’ll be at the airport in an hour. I’ll need to pick up some money from you to get the flight to Nova Scotia.”
“I see,” the voice seemed reluctant. “All right. I’ll meet you at the airport in an hour. Meet me at the Eastern Airlines check-in desk.”
Conroy put down the receiver. He had already decided what he was going to do.
He began to pack his bag hurriedly. He forced himself to make a hasty search of the apartment in case Lise had left any spare cash there. He was rewarded when he found a pocket book which Lise had left in her suitcase with several hundred American dollars and a collection of Bahamian currency. He bit his lip. The money must have been her operational expenses. Well, she wouldn’t need it now. He scooped it up and thrust it into his own pockets.
He looked around the room, pausing to smooth the bed and destroy any sign that two people had slept in it. Then he left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.
The elevator in the apartment block came up through the centre of the stairwell and, as he reached the head of the stairs, the sound of the cranking of the lift came to his ears. He heard voices from the box as it creaked its way upwards.
He moved soundlessly down the stairs.
“The apartment should be on this floor, Hagan,” a nasal voice was saying. Through the cage of the lift, Conroy caught sight of blue uniforms. The police. They must have discovered Lise’s address on her body and were coming to check it out. He had left the apartment with barely time to spare.
As soon as he saw the elevator halt on the floor above him, he was racing down the stairs. On the ground floor he followed the passage to the rear of the apartment rather than go out the front way. There would be a crowd outside, a crowd around the body…There seemed to be no one about in the alley that ran along the rear of the building. Head down, he hurried along it towards a side street.
A block away, he hailed a cruising cab.
“Where to, mac?”
drawled the driver lazily, swinging out to join the city’s morning traffic.
Conroy frowned for a moment and then said.
“Drop me at the bus station.”
The driver screwed up his face in incomprehension. “What’s that, mac?”
It took a moment or two before Conroy could remember his Americanese.
“I mean your bus depot. The Grayhound Bus depot.”
CHAPTER XXX
Tuesday, September 17, 1940
The two men sat either side of a desk in a small office on the top floor of Michael House, in London’s Baker Street. Acrid smoke was blowing across the city, the results of the previous night’s air raids. There were fires still raging south of the River Thames where casualties had been high in the boroughs of Battersea, Brixton, Camberwell, Clapham and Chelsea. Over 200 tons of bombs had fallen on the capital. The ruined hulks of Shell-Mex House and Woolwich Arsenal were still smouldering from the direct hits of the previous day’s raid.
On September 4, Hitler, speaking in the Berlin Sportspalast, had promised the German people that the citizens of London would suffer reprisals for the RAF’s bombing of Berlin on four consecutive nights following their first raid on August 25.
“If the British Air Force drops two or three or four thousand kilograms of bombs, we will drop a hundred and fifty, a hundred and eighty, two hundred thousand, three hundred thousand, four hundred thousand kilograms and more in a single night. If they say that they will carry out large-scale attacks on our cities, we will blot out theirs. We will stop the handiwork of these night pirates, so help us God. The hour will come when one of us will crack — and it will not be National Socialist Germany!”
The Fuhrer had paused to bask in the rising adulation of those gathered in the Sportspalast. When the applause died away, the Fuhrer smiled. “The people in England are very curious, and they ask: ‘Why doesn’t he come?’ We answer: ‘Calm yourselves! Calm yourselves! He is coming!’ The cheers swept like a rolling ocean around him. The Fuhrer stood smiling as he accepted the hysterical affection of his people.
The Windsor Protocol Page 30