A Bodyguard of Lies

by Donna Del Oro

  “There was a fire, an explosion,” Meg filled in, “and Grandma told us people jumped into the water. They couldn’t wait for the lifeboats, so many drowned. The ferry capsized eventually and even the skipper went down with his ship. Bodies were found later, floating by the shore at Fishguard, the place where they were supposed to dock. Some of the passengers and crew on the manifest were never found. Swept out to sea. Grandma made it to a lifeboat, thank heavens, with just her purse and coat. Some people believed it was an attack by a German U-boat. Grandma kept the news clippings and showed them to us.”

  Part of the account jibed with MI5’s report, Jake noted, but not the cause. Evidence from the salvaged ferry showed that the explosions and resulting fire originated from within the engine room. Sabotage had caused the ferry disaster. Not a German U-boat’s torpedo.

  Major Temple believed either the impostor Mary McCoy or her accomplice—or someone entirely different—had arranged the explosion. Perhaps to cover up the murder and disappearance of the real Mary McCoy? Even Jake thought that was overkill—a lot of trouble and risk to go through to make one young woman disappear. Simpler methods would’ve sufficed.

  “Amazing, to have lived through such a thing, Mrs. Snider,” Jake said, “but like Meg assured you, there’s no need to worry. Today’s ferries are very safe. They have modern, computerized ballasts. Faster, too. Our crossing’ll take only three-and-a-half hours. Your crossing, back in what, 1940, took—how long?”

  “Don’t remember,” Mary Snider mumbled. “Much longer. It was an overnight crossing and I had my own stateroom. I remember it. Stateroom 5-C.”

  Jake again mused over the old woman’s selective recall. She remembered the number of her stateroom but blocked out other details. Unless she was lying, of course.

  “Grandma, you told us you shared the stateroom with a girl who drowned. You said they never found her body.” Meg patted her grandmother’s arm. “You were lucky then, and you’ll be lucky now. Besides, we’re crossing in broad daylight.”

  Jake gazed at the old woman as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. If Mary Snider was one of the saboteurs who had caused the deaths of fifty-six people on that ferry, she was one cool customer. Even after sixty-five years, he expected to see some emotion from the woman. According to the file he’d read about the incident, over two-hundred passengers and a crew of fifteen were on that ferry that fateful night. One quarter of them hadn’t lived to see the dawn.

  “Good thing the ferry was close to shore,” he remarked casually, “In the middle of the Irish Sea, at night—with few fishing boats around—everyone would’ve drowned.”

  The old lady’s head whipped around; dark blue eyes drilled into him. “How did you know we were close to the Welsh coast when it happened?”

  Shit! Had Meg mentioned it? Didn’t she say that bodies washed up near Fishgard? The town along the Welsh coast?

  “I just assumed,” he covered, shrugging. “Since bodies were found near Fishguard. Wouldn’t more people have drowned if the ferry had capsized in the middle of the Irish Sea?”

  The old woman nodded.

  “So, good thing it happened close to shore,” he repeated.

  “It was planned that way,” Mary Snider muttered, her eyes unfocused for a second, then refocusing quickly to meet his gaze again, “The newspapers said the U-boat planned the attack that way. So more people wouldn’t die.”

  What had Mary Snider just said? Jake tried to maintain his composure. Inside, his mind was swirling.

  “Why would a German U-boat attack a passenger ferry? I mean, Ireland was neutral during the war. Why would the Germans attack a neutral country’s ferry? Wouldn’t that risk turning the Irish against them? Make them side with the British?”

  Mary made a small snorting sound. “The news didn’t say why. U-boats were all around the Irish coast. One surfaced one morning near Dungarvon Bay. Everyone was talking about it.”

  Jake started at the mention of Dungarvon Bay. He’d read the name in the major’s file. It was true about the news stories’ coverage at that time of the ferry sinking; there had been a lot of speculation about the incident, including the local belief that the U-boat spotted in Dungarvon Bay was the one that might have torpedoed the ferry.

  Something stabbed Jake’s finger. He frowned and looked down at Mary’s coat and flipped aside the lapel. A large, glittery pin attached to the lapel had become unfastened and had stuck his knuckle. He shifted the weight to his other arm and sucked on his knuckle for a second to stanch the blood. Meg’s attention was drawn.

  “Oh, Grandma, your pin came undone. Jake, do you need a band-aid? I carry a nurse’s first-aid kit in that carryon.”

  “No, it’s nothing.”

  With her free hand, Meg took the pin off the coat lapel.

  “Don’t want to lose this, do you, Grandma? Your hummingbird pin. I told you not to bring it. It’s too costly to replace if it gets lost.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. A hummingbird pin? Jake looked over, studied it.

  A jeweled bird, its plump, sapphire-filled body flanked by ruby- and emerald-encrusted wings, nestled in Meg’s palm. Its long, gold beak held a series of small diamonds. It was a beautiful, intricately designed pin. Glittered like a starburst. Looked valuable. And it was old, maybe WWII vintage.

  Hummingbird.

  Code name for one of the Wehrmacht’s female spies.

  Hummingbird and Black Widow. Two Nazi moles never caught by the Allies. Two clever, diabolical women who’d managed deep, undercover lives all during the war. Jake swallowed. His breakfast began to rise up. He willed the bile down, studied the pin again.

  “That’s quite a piece of jewelry, Mrs. Snider. Did your husband give this to you?”

  The old woman stared ahead at the elevator door as it opened. She stepped out with Meg, ahead of Jake.

  “Don’t remember,” she mumbled. Meg turned around and smiled at him. Her grandmother was pulling on her arm, urging her in the direction of the motor coach.

  “Grandma does, too. She told me a friend of hers during the war gave it to her in exchange for a big favor. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And unusual.”

  “Some friend,” he said, arching his eyebrows at Meg. Her expression was innocent. She didn’t have a clue about its significance, he was certain of it. To her, it was just an old, valuable piece of jewelry.

  “One of her beaus,” Meg leaned back and whispered, then winked at him. Jake tried to smile.

  Mary Snider let go of her granddaughter’s arm. Took the proffered hand of Robert Morse, whose cheerful, escort façade was close to cracking.

  “Hush now, Meggie, that’s personal. We’re the last ones, by gosh. Why, thank you, young man.” Mary turned a tight, specious smile up to Robert, hooked her arm around his and added, “I don’t like ferries. Will there be beer on board? To help me relax?”

  “Naturally, dear lady. You can drink yourself into a stupor.” He leaned down conspiratorially. “Maybe half the group will do just that. Then we’ll have a pleasant, quiet crossing. We’ll be in Ireland before you know it.”

  The man went on to blather about the other amenities on board: the lounges, cafes, cinema, child’s playground corner, etc. Jake tuned him out. He watched Meg safeguard the valuable hummingbird pin inside her purse. Then she turned to hoist the carry-on with its portable pharmacy off Jake’s shoulder. Her hand lingered on his arm.

  “Thanks, Jake. You’re almost too good to be true.”

  “Yep, that I am.” He heard the touch of irony in his voice and felt a stab of guilt. A part of him felt sorry for Meg. She was oblivious. She trusted him as a child might trust a smiling but dangerous stranger.

  More and more, the evidence was mounting, pointing to Mary Snider; he could almost hear the bewigged English barristers listing in court the war crimes: Espionage, sabotage, conspiracy to commit treason, cold-blooded murder of civilians. Still, he needed proof. A jeweled pin in the form of a hummingbird was not proof.
Mary’s lawyers would tear the case apart.

  If Mary Snider was the Hummingbird spy, Meg would have to learn the truth some day about her grandmother. And Jake would have to reveal his role in exposing her. His stomach churned at the thought. Bile rose again and burned his throat.

  What exactly was the truth, anyway? Hell if he knew. All he’d managed so far was to piece together a couple of suspicious facts, circumstances and one coincidence into an amorphous, blurred picture. Still, a picture was emerging.

  A theory supported by circumstantial evidence. Nothing more.

  One thing was sure: He still didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On board the fourteen-deck, diesel-powered ferry, Jake upheld his promise to assist Meg. He carried their gear as they climbed from deck five, the vehicle-storage deck, where their motor coach was safely parked with all the other trucks and cars. In front of them was the entire motor coach group, trudging up the five flights of stairs.

  The going was especially slow for Meg and her grandmother, and by the time they emerged onto the vast lounge area on deck ten, the old lady was huffing and puffing. He found Meg and her grandmother a comfortable place along a curved, upholstered bench that ran the width of the lounge. Tables and chairs crowded the area, all facing a huge screen on which CNN flashed the latest news with a ticker of superscript.

  Behind them on the fore side of the ship, two large cafeterias lured the passengers who couldn’t go four hours without eating or drinking something. Beer and alcoholic drinks were available at a small bar along one side. As Jake surveyed the scene, truck drivers who’d left their vehicles below on deck five were already lining up to tip a pint. Probably figuring they’d clear their system by pissing it all out before they docked in Ireland.

  “Can I get you ladies some hot tea? Coffee?” he asked Meg and Mary Snider as he laid down their carry-on. He’d left his on the locked coach.

  Meg smiled and said, “Tea sounds great. Thanks, Jake. I’ll treat you to drinks tonight at one of the pubs in Killarney.”

  Her grandmother looked at them both and frowned, then gazed out the enormous side window, her mouth pursed in a taut scowl of disapproval. In her own way, Jake realized, the old lady was tolerating a situation that she apparently disapproved of but had no control over. The younger generation was not to be thwarted, and all that.

  Jake wondered what she was thinking; was her mind plotting a scheme to break up his and Meg’s fledgling relationship? Or were her memories taking her back to that fateful night on the Irish Sea? What really happened on that ferry? Or rather, since Major Temple had included the specifics—an explosion in the engine room, followed by a fire and more explosions at various locations—the more germane question was: Who was the saboteur?

  He or she was never caught. The bodies of the one engineer and his apprentice were never found, along with those of a dozen passengers. Forty-two other passengers drowned, their bodies found floating near Fishguard, the nearest dock in Wales. All the rest of the crew and thirty-nine passengers were rescued from two lifeboats and four rubber dinghies. The ferry itself went down.

  Jake had reread the news clippings that Major Temple had included in the file about the ferry disaster. Civil Defense volunteers had spotted the antenna of a German U-boat in the vicinity just days before. The public was outraged over the fifty-two people killed in the ferry’s sinking but the War Office had more pressing matters, the Blitz being one. The United States hadn’t yet entered the war and precious supply ships sent from the U.S. faced attacks by those same damned U-boats.

  Ruminating over the history, Jake paused at the condiments counter. His back to the lounge, he turned on the digital recorder in his jacket pocket and affixed the American flag pin to the lapel. The wireless mike would pick up anything within a radius of twenty feet.

  A few minutes later, Jake returned to the women with two paper cups of hot tea and one cup of the strongest coffee he could squeeze out of a large, impersonal urn. As they all sipped and watched the Welsh shore recede from view, Jake, tired of dancing around the issue, decided on a frontal assault. It bordered on rude, but he figured he had no choice.

  “So, Mrs. Snider, what big favor did you do for that beau of yours during the war that earned you such a valuable pin? The one with all the jewels?”

  Meg turned to her grandmother and nudged her. “C’mon, Gran, tell us. I’ve never heard the whole story, either.”

  Mary frowned, kept her eyes on the glass wall. “I don’t remember.”

  “Gran, was it like an engagement present?” Meg settled her mischievous gaze on the elderly woman and patted her arm. “You can tell us. It’s been so long ago, who cares, anyway? Or a lover’s gift?”

  Slowly turning her head, Mary glanced first at Jake, then her granddaughter. A shrewd smile formed on her mouth.

  “Yes, an engagement present. The pin was more important to me than a ring. I didn’t want people to know I was engaged.”

  “Why not, Gran? Surely, the War Office wouldn’t care if you were engaged, would they?”

  “They would if he were a German soldier…and the enemy.” The old woman shrugged, as though the mere mention of such a long-ago occurrence was barely worth mentioning. “Of course, we were all soldiers during the war. There were no civilians. Every man, woman, child—all soldiers defending their country.”

  Meg appeared shocked. “Grandma, you never told me you were engaged to a German soldier during the war! Was it the Helmut guy you met in Dublin?”

  “Horst…his name was Horst.” Old weary eyes swiveled on Jake. “Horst Eberhard,” she added quietly. “He was a man of great courage, strength of mind and character. And loyal. You could always depend on him to get things done.”

  Meg’s voice gentled. “Was he the student who had to return to Germany? The one who died in the war?” Her grandmother assumed an air of sorrow, as though a small part of her still grieved. Shoulders slumping, the old lady’s mouth quivered when she nodded. “Oh, Gran, how sad.”

  Jake witnessed Meg’s tenderheartedness as the girl draped an arm around her grandmother. He, on the other hand, fixated on the old woman’s words.

  “What do you mean, Mrs. Snider? He always got things done?” Jake asked after taking a slow sip of coffee. This conversation was so vital, he half expected his hand to tremble a little; but no, it was as steady as a rock. Yet, he kept his voice casual, as if he were just killing time and going along with Meg’s inquiries.

  Mary Snider looked up at him, her eyes growing hard. Her mouth had stopped quivering and was now set in a thin, stubborn line. What an actress, he marveled. Yet, Meg saw none of this subterfuge.

  “Done? I meant, he was a good soldier. He carried out the Third Reich’s orders. They gave him medals. Then he made the ultimate sacrifice and died in the war. November, 1944. They gave him the Iron Cross, the Abwehr did. It was the least they could’ve done.”

  “What do you mean, Grandma?” Meg looked confused. “How do you know they gave your fiancé the Iron Cross?”

  Jake said nothing for a whole second, reluctant to tip his hand prematurely. Again, the elderly woman just shrugged off her question.

  “I learned about this in a communiqué the War Office intercepted. After Horst was killed, they gave him the Iron Cross of the Third Reich. The highest honor a soldier could earn.” There was pride in her voice.

  “The Abwehr,” Jake explained for Meg’s benefit, “was the Third Reich’s Defense department, or military. They controlled spies and informants all over the globe. I recall reading about an Abwehr agent who’d infiltrated a U.S. Naval shipyard in Evansville, Indiana. She escaped, was never caught.”

  Meg’s mouth gaped open. “German spies in Indiana during WWII? And a woman? How is that possible?”

  “From what I’ve read, women spies were often the most effective. Y’know, the old stereotype of female roles then. Dumb and helpless. Damsels in distress.”

  “German spies and sympa
thizers were all over Britain,” said Mary Snider, her eyes flicking over as if to gauge Jake’s reaction. “And British spies were all over Europe, too. This was before spy satellites, Meggie, so that was how military information was gathered. Horst was a spy, but all spies were soldiers for the Third Reich.”

  Jake held his breath. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Did he hear correctly? Mary Snider was exposing her relationship with a bona fide Third Reich spy?

  “My God, Grandma!” Meg looked stricken; she was starting to connect the dots. Jake nodded at the old woman, as if agreeing with her statement. If he could get her to talk, what a wealth of information she’d be—former Nazi spy or not.

  Jake didn’t want to lose this thread of conversation.

  “So your German fiancé was an Abwehr spy? Wasn’t Admiral Canaris in charge of the Abwehr then? I remember reading about him in one of my history books on World War II. The Gestapo, the SS, hated Canaris, distrusted him, and eventually executed him. Because of the false information he passed on to Hitler, Switzerland was never invaded. Which would’ve been a fool’s errand, anyway, given the narrow mountain passes.” His gaze fell on Mary Snider. “Do you agree?”

  The old woman shrugged again. “Perhaps.”

  Jake smiled benignly. “Of course, working for the War Office, Mrs. Snider, you would’ve learned all this. You would’ve known about Admiral Canaris and his attempts to undermine the Nazi cause from within.”

  They’d wandered a little off topic and Jake knew he had to maneuver the conversation back to Horst Eberhard. His pulse was racing with excitement. Finally, they had a definitive name…unless Mary was lying, of course.

  “So, your German fiancé, this Horst Eberhard, gave you the valuable pin,” Jake went on, “then returned to Germany. And you learned about his death in an intercepted radio message?”

  “Yes. I was manning the French and Italian desks, keeping track of the Americans’ march up the boot. Horst was killed in Italy. A secret cell of the Italian resistance sent the message as the German division retreated. I remember it like it happened yesterday.”