by Ted Bell
Nick sat on the cold stone floor and braced himself, putting his feet against the wall on either side of the hole. Then he pulled as hard as he could, and with the Baroness pushing, the altar swung back in place a second after Nick heard loud German voices echoing down the long hallway.
It was pitch black inside the priest-hole. His fingers skit-tered across the floor until he felt a large taper and a box of matches. He lit the candle and held it up. He was in a small arched room with brick walls. Along the back wall stood a wooden cot. He crawled over to it and saw that it had a straw-filled mattress and even a pillow. And, from under the pillow, he pulled out a very old Bible.
He lay down upon the bed, blew out his candle, put his weary head back on the pillow, the Bible resting on his chest, and fell into the deepest sleep of his life.
24
THE KOMMANDANT AND THE SPY
Delicious tea, Baroness de Villiers,” Kommandant Wilhelm von Mannstein said, setting down his cup and plucking another cucumber sandwich from the silver platter. He was very young for a general, tall, blond, and quite handsome, were she to be honest. Although he was wholly unaware of it, she was surreptiously searching his face, ticking off clues to his character. Vanity. Susceptible to flattery. Prone to alcohol abuse. Intelligent but not wildly keen. Cruel.
“Danke schön, danke vielmals, Kommandant,” she said in reply.
“You’re quite welcome. And please tell me, how is it that you speak such lovely German?”
The Baroness sat back in her chair by the fire, looking carefully at the young officer over the rim of her teacup.
“I was born in Bavaria. In Berchtesgaden, in a lovely home overlooking the Königssee, Kommandant. My mother was German, a von Steuben, and my father, Auguste, was a French diplomat. So I grew up speaking both languages.”
“No English blood? That’s surprising on this island.”
“Well, I would have moved back to my beautiful Bavaria years ago had I not promised my late husband I would look after this lovely old fortress until I died.”
“So your heart still lies in Germany.”
“Yes, sad to say it, but it’s still true. The fatherland calls to me. Even after all these years.”
“Your beautiful home is filled with so many exquisite things, Baroness de Villiers. Art, antiques, crystal. I am sure you are worried about the presence of my soldiers in your home. Let me assure you that although they are conducting a thorough search for this missing British airman, I have instructed them that nothing under this roof is to be harmed or left out of place and the harshest punishment will be meted out to any soldier who ignores my command.”
“That’s very kind of you, mein General,” she said, smiling at him with her sparkling eyes.
Was she flirting with him? A man half her age? How appalling! But perhaps necessary.
At that moment, a sergeant appeared in the doorway, saluted, and told the general the house and ground search was complete and the missing airman had not been found.
The general nodded and dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Then he stood up and offered his hand, shaking hers warmly. “Frankly, I never expected to find this English pilot in your house, Baroness, but I have so much enjoyed our little visit.”
“And I as well,” Fleur said, smiling.
“You know, something occurs to me. Perhaps it will offend you, but with some knowledge of your background and your feelings toward the Fatherland, perhaps not.”
“What are you suggesting, Kommandant von Mannstein?”
“Baroness, you and I could be very helpful to each other during this occupation, I think. It would be good to have someone I could trust who knew the island and the islanders.”
“To do what?”
“Give me information I could not get otherwise. I am sure there will be minor civil rebellions at some point. The citizenry will grow to resent our presence here over time. There will be more attacks like the one on the aerodrome last night. Saboteurs will plot against us. It would be extremely helpful to have someone of your standing in the community—”
“An informant.”
“Precisely.”
“Perhaps I would be willing to consider it. But I would need certain guarantees. I would need to get about freely and unchallenged. You have set up so many checkpoints and—”
The general strode over to her desk and said, “May I borrow pen and paper?”
“The center drawer.”
He spent a few minutes writing something on a stiff white card, and then handed it to the Baroness.
“What is it?” she asked, seeing his huge signature scrawled beneath a long paragraph.
“An official Reisepass, Baroness, what you would call in French a passe-partout. Just show this to any one of my men who stops you or bothers you in any way. I assure you, my signature at the bottom will guarantee you free passage anywhere you want to go. With no difficulties, I promise you.”
“I would be betraying friends of many years,” she said, reading the document. “It would be very difficult for me. I pride myself on my honor and loyalty.”
“Yes, but where does your loyalty lie? Now, your home country is at war with England. And in wartimes, one must do what one can for one’s country. The Fatherland needs you, my lovely lady.”
She turned and looked away from him, not turning back when she spoke.
“I accept your offer, Kommandant von Mannstein. I will provide you with whatever I can.”
“A wise decision. And you have my undying gratitude, on behalf of der Führer.” He clicked the heels of his highly polished boots together and raised his stiff right arm, saying, “Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler,” Fleur said softly. “Will I see you again soon?”
“I could come to Fordwych Manor once a week for your delightful tea. And there you could share any news I might find useful.”
“Yes, let us say every Tuesday at four o’clock. I shall be expecting you.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Baroness de Villiers.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Kommandant von Mannstein.”
And he was gone from the library and striding in his lovely boots toward the front entrance, where all his officers and soldiers were waiting in the two vehicles.
As soon as she saw the last of the Germans drive out of the courtyard, Fleur pulled the tasseled cord that would summon Eammon, wherever he was. A few moments later, he appeared at the library door.
“Shall we fetch the boy, ma’am? That priest-hole was a stroke of genius, if I may say so. I held my breath while they searched the chapel, but all they did was crawl around the floor looking under the pews.”
“Thank you, Eammon. Now, listen. The boy and I will be using Toot to steam over to Greybeard. It’s up and running, I assume?”
“When were you thinking of going?”
“Now.”
“Now? But what about all the checkpoints? And the Nazi patrol boats are out in force this morning, looking for our young Nick.”
“It was dark last night. I’m sure no one got a good look at his face. And besides, I have this,” she said, handing him the stiff white card.
“What’s it say, ma’am?”
“It says, my dear Eammon, that I am free to go anywhere I want, any time I want, without question. And that anyone who tries to stop me shall answer to Kommandant von Mannstein.”
“But . . . how?”
“I shall explain it all in great detail later, Eammon. Now come along. We’re going to the chapel to get that brave boy out of his cell.”
Half an hour later, they were watching Eammon wave goodbye as they steamed away from the dock. Nick stood beside Fleur de Villiers inside the tiny wheel house as they made for Greybeard Island, six miles away.
“So, now you’re a double agent, then?” Nick said, looking at her in wonder.
“I am, indeed. Isn’t it exciting? I adore our beloved Bird-watchers Society, of course, but now that I’m doubled, I feel like a real spy!”
“But however will you
do it?”
“Simple. Once a week at tea, I will share with the general some bits of information. Misleading information, of course.”
“You mean, like—disinformation?”
“What a clever boy you are! I like that word. I’ll think I’ll start using it. Yes I would give the Germans disinformation. In the meanwhile, I will ply the general with schnapps and brandy to loosen his tongue. Ask him seemingly innocent questions about German operations in the islands. Find out whatever I can. You see? For the Birdwatchers to pass along to Churchill.”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Nick said, looking at a large boat fast approaching on their starboard bow.
“Nick, what’s wrong? You look terribly worried. Like some giant black cloud has appeared.”
“My friend Gunner. He was on the radio with me when I went down. He knew I was on fire. I’m sure he probably thinks I’ve bought it.”
“Well, you’ll be back on your lovely island in twenty minutes. He’ll be delighted to see you, won’t he, risen from a watery grave.”
Nick smiled. He’d come to greatly admire this wonderful woman, so brave, so full of life and energy.
“Nick?” Fleur said, a note of worry in her tone.
“Yes?”
“That boat approaching us. He seems to be on a collision course. And he’s going awfully fast. There’s a pair of binoculars in that drawer. Take a quick peek at him, will you?”
Nick raised the old binocs to his eyes. “It’s a German patrol boat, ma’am. I think we should stop.” Nick had seen twin .50-caliber machine guns on the bridge decks and a large-bore deck gun mounted on her bow.
The Baroness, with surprising equanimity, throttled back gently, and Toot’s bow dropped a bit as the little boat settled into idle speed, just enough to keep forward momentum.
“Should I go below, ma’am? Perhaps hide in the forward anchor locker?”
“No, no. They’ve already seen you through their high-powered glasses. Why don’t you take the wheel, and I’ll go aft and see what the dickens they want.”
The big Nazi boat carved a sweeping turn right across Toot’s bow, came roaring up from astern, cut her engines, and stopped right along her starboard side. Nick pulled his throttle back to neutral. A German crewman heaved a line at Baroness de Villiers, which she caught deftly and tied off on a stern cleat. Nick caught a fleeting glimpse of the crewman’s respect for this quite elderly lady who so obviously had her sea legs.
The German captain, in all his naval finery, descended from the bridge deck to the rail and looked down at the charming little steamboat, a boy at the wheel and an elderly woman working the deck.
“A steamboat, is she?” he asked in English. “Haven’t seen one in years.”
“Yes. I bought her on Lake Windemere decades ago.”
“She looks to be in good condition—tell me, what does this English name on her stern mean? Toot?”
“If you wish to have tea whilst aboard, you can bleed off a little hot water using this engine valve here. When you do, like this, it makes a little ‘toot.’ ”
“How amusing. Who are you and where are you going, dear lady?”
“I am the Baroness de Villiers from Guernsey, and this is my young nephew, Simon. We are going to Greybeard Island for a picnic.”
“Ah. Das ist gut. A picnic. You picked a lovely day for it, Baroness. Would you be so kind as to pass your identification papers to my lieutenant? We are looking for an English saboteur. A young man by our information. Perhaps your nephew should step out into the sun?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Captain. He’s a boy, barely twelve years old.”
“Still, I should like to get a good look at him. The man we are searching for is small of stature. Kindly ask him to step out to the stern. We can’t be too careful, you know. No one is above suspicion.”
“Captain, we have no papers. Why should we need them? We are out for a simple cruise. I will give your lieutenant a document which should explain everything to your satisfaction.”
“Gut. Bring the boy out, please, and hand us your document.”
Nick stepped out into the sun as the Baroness handed across the card from von Mannstein. She watched as he took it from its envelope and read the contents. His face was a broad smile as he looked up at the Baroness.
He shouted across: “You are obviously a friend of our beloved Kommandant, General von Mannstein, I see.”
He handed the card back to the lieutenant who quickly leaned across the water and returned it to Fleur de Villiers.
“Ja, ja,” Fleur said, “a new friend but a very good one.”
“Then we shall bother you no further. Please accept our apologies for this delay and proceed on your course and enjoy your picnic on Greybeard Island. We are in fact looking for a young German officer who disappeared on that island some time ago. If you see or hear anything, I’m sure Kommandant von Mannstein would appreciate hearing about it. The missing boy was his son. Guten tag, Your Ladyship, and may I wish you bon voyage.”
He saluted her and ducked back inside the wheel house.
Fleur took the line off the stern cleat and easily heaved it back to the seaman waiting for it. Moments later, the patrol boat roared away at very high speed, with sirens blaring, racing toward a Guernsey fisherman, poor fellow. He’d likely not be shown the same treatment as had been shown the Baroness de Villiers.
Nick thought of telling Baroness de Villiers about the German soldier he and his father had buried in the forest. On second thought, he decided not to. In wartime, it paid not to have too much dangerous information.
25
18 DEGREES NORTH, 76 DEGREES WEST
· Greybeard Island ·
Gunner, wake up! It’s me! Nick!”
But Gunner wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t even move a muscle or crack an eye. Nick surveyed the scene. He’d passed out in his favorite chair before the great stone hearth at the Greybeard Inn, his boots still up on the hearthstone. Beside the chair was an empty bottle of Irish whiskey, lying on its side. Gunner was snoring loudly and shaking his head back and forth, as if he was having some very bad dream. He’d probably started drinking when he lost Nick on the radio. Their last communication with each other had not been filled with hope.
Nick was, above all, most anxious to get to the lighthouse and see his parents, but since they had no idea he’d been in any danger, and Gunner did, he was at least compelled to let Gunner know he’d survived the crash at sea. Gunner, the propietor of the old inn, was probably sick with worry about whether Nick was dead or alive. No, make that “definitely sick.”
Nick had never seen his friend like this. Oh, he’d have his occasional “wee dram” of rum or the like, or a lager of an evening, but an entire bottle of whiskey? Never. Nick had tried shaking him, pinching his nose, and screaming into his ears. Nothing, it seemed, would rouse his old friend from his stupor.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he yelled into Gunner’s left ear, “I’ll be right back.”
Nick went into the kitchen, or galley as Gunner called it, and made a large pot of coffee, as black and hot as he could get it. Then he searched the many cabinets for a large kettle. He grabbed the biggest one he could find. It was cast iron and weighed a ton, and he felt a sharp stab of pain in his sore right shoulder as he lifted it. The poultice had helped, though, and he was on the mend. He placed the kettle in the deep sink and turned on the tap. Cold. The colder the better for his purposes.
This was not something he wanted to do, he thought, watching the water fill the kettle. But he really could think of no alternative. Then he grimaced as he thought how heavy the kettle would be when full. When the water reached the brim, he turned off the tap.
Somehow, grimacing, he lifted the kettle out of the sink. But he immediately set it on the floor. He would have to drag the thing into the lounge bar, where Gunner was waiting for his big surprise.
Nick lost about a quart of water, dragging and sloshing the kettle all the way from the galley
to the lounge with his left arm only. It seemed to take an hour, but finally he was in position behind Gunner’s chair. But he had one more chore.
He returned to the galley and poured a large mug full of steaming hot coffee. Back in the lounge, he placed the mug and a steaming pot of coffee on a table near Gunner’s chair. He wanted to get this hot coffee down Gunner’s gullet as quickly as possible. He needed his friend’s attention, and he needed him to make some sense.
“Gunner,” he shouted, “please wake up!”
No effect.
He knew he would have only one shot at lifting this heavy kettle above Gunner’s head, and lord knows what it would do to his shoulder. But there was nothing else for it.
He squatted behind the pot, right hand on the handle, left hand under the bottom, and rose up, using his leg muscles to get him upright and his upward momentum to get the kettle high enough. And then he tilted the kettle over Gunner’s head so that most of the cold water splashed full into his face and the rest drenched his chest and stomach.
Gunner sat straight up, sputtering, and shouted, “Who’s there?” not even seeming to notice that he was now drenched in cold water and soaked to the very skin.
Nick stepped around to the side of the chair, where Gunner could see him, now holding a mug of hot coffee.
“Who’re you?” Gunner mumbled.
“Why, Nicholas McIver, of course. At your service, sir. Just returned from the briny deep.”
“Nick?” he blurted out, rubbing the water from his already bleary eyes. “Nick McIver, as I live and breathe?”
“In the flesh.”
“God above, I ain’t dreamin’! It is you!” he said, reaching his arms out for his young friend. “You’re alive, for all love! Come! Come here,” he said. “Come and let me hold you a moment before I realize ‘tis just a dream after all.”
Nick bent down and embraced his sopping companion, patting him warmly on the shoulder. When Gunner released him, still in shock, Nick put the mug into his trembling hands and said, “Drink. All of it. Now.”