James Benn - Billy Boyle

“Yes. We’ve been training for two years now, and we’re eager to get back into the fight. Do you have any news for us?”

“ Unnskyld meg,” came a voice from behind us, as an enlisted man in a white server’s jacket held a tray of covered plates. “Excuse me,” he said again in English. I moved, thankful for the interruption. The eager beaver would have to wait for his news.

“Take your seats please, gentlemen,” the king said as he offered his arm to Daphne and led her to the place on his right. I noticed Birkeland and Skak make a beeline for the open seat on his left. Skak was faster. I ended up next to Birkeland and across from Cosgrove, with Kaz on my left. Harding sat across from some Norwegian officers I hadn’t met. Waiters served us fish with a yellow sauce, boiled potatoes, and cauliflower. It was quite the white meal. The knives and forks were heavy, real silverware, the kind of stuff you counted after your guests left.

“Ah, Pouilly-Fume, just my choice for turbot with hollandaise sauce!” Kaz raised his glass to the king. “To your health, Your Highness!” The toast was repeated by all and glasses raised. The wine was all right and the potatoes fine, but I was more interested in a different color.

“So what’s all this about gold?” I asked. I noticed several forkfuls of fish suspended in midair, just below pairs of widening eyeballs. Only the king continued eating, royally ignoring my question and me.

“Don’t they report the war news in Boston, young man?” Cosgrove snorted at me. “The Norwegians smuggled their entire treasury of gold bullion out of the country in 1940, practically under the noses of the Germans. Hundreds of cases of gold bars and coins. A logistical feat, under any circumstances!”

“So it’s all here, in England?” I watched for a reaction from Skak or Birkeland, but Harding cut in.

“No, Lieutenant, the gold was taken to the United States on several different vessels, and deposited in banks to be at the disposal of His Majesty’s government.” He spoke quickly, as if to close the conversation.

“That’s great. I must’ve missed it in the papers.” I turned to Skak and Birkeland with a gee-golly look that came disturbingly easy. “Were you fellows involved with this gold transport?”

Skak looked straight ahead and drummed his fingers on the table. Birkeland spoke very deliberately. “We each were given different duties by the king. I was responsible for transferring the gold from ground transport to fishing boats and British warships, when they were available. We didn’t want the gold to be all in one place, in case a ship was sunk or captured.”

“How did you manage it-all those fishing boats, I mean?” Daphne asked. I wondered if she was really curious or just trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Many of them were actually mine,” Birkeland said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I own a small fishing fleet in those waters, and it was relatively easy to coordinate the loading. Most of the boats met up with British destroyers and other vessels. A few came directly to England.” He took a drink of wine and set his glass down, adding, “Vidar was responsible for the bookkeeping.”

He speared a potato and popped it in his mouth. He smiled at Daphne as he chewed, satisfied that the questions were over. Hold your horses, buddy.

“So you got it all to England?” There, that got a reaction. Birkeland’s face flushed and Skak looked tense. The king patted his lips with a napkin and stopped eating, which was the biggest reaction I had gotten out of him. It must have been the colonial in me that got a kick out of needling royalty.

“Yes, essentially,” Birkeland said. “There were a few gold coins lost when a crate broke in Molde, and a few discrepancies in paperwork when everything got to England. But nothing that affects the balance of our national treasure.”

At this, Skak finally turned and spoke. “The leavings of a national treasure may be minor, Lieutenant, but only to nations. To a single person, it is a great fortune.”

There was a second of interminable silence. Skak had a good point, but nobody agreed with him. Finally the king spoke.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Boyle. Are there many Norwegians where you come from?”

I said something polite, and then took the obvious hint to drop the questions. I didn’t know what the gold had to do with a spy, but sometimes you just had to kick over a few garbage cans to see what was hidden behind them. There would be plenty of time to poke a stick in it later.

Then it came to me. That thing beneath the surface bubbled up and came to the top. It was only a small thing, and it didn’t even make sense or have anything to do with the gold. But there it was.

I was more used to a ham and cheese on rye washed down with a Coke for lunch. I really wanted to take a nap after drinking two glasses of wine and eating that big meal, but it would have been tough the way Harding was yelling at me.

We were in the library, sitting in cozy leather chairs, but I wasn’t enjoying it. Not like Kaz was. I could see him lifting one edge of his mouth and suppressing a smile every time Harding looked away. Kaz sat back in a reddish brown leather chair, the brass buttons on his uniform matching the shiny nail heads decorating the leather. His legs were crossed and one arm was lazily draped over the arm of the chair; the other held a cigarette. His eyes darted back and forth between me and Harding, like we were swatting tennis balls at each other.

“I told you, Boyle, that this was supposed to be a nice social conversation. Not an interrogation! We’re not here about the missing gold, damn it!”

“Maybe the spy is after the gold,” I said, my cop’s mind going right to one of the two motives that everything ultimately came down to. Greed. The other was love, or rather love gone bad. I preferred greed. It was more direct, pure in its own way. And usually not as messy. Greedy people just wanted to get away. Ex-lovers wanted revenge, or blood.

“Everyone with half a brain knows the gold is in America, Boyle.”

Well, he had me there. I didn’t want to go into my theory of investigative techniques, the “poke-everyone-with a-stick” theory. I had come up with that one myself. And if I said, “Yes, sir” one more time to this guy I was going to puke.

“It gives me an excuse to ask questions, Major. We’ve got to ask questions to find this spy; if he thinks it’s about the gold, all the better.”

I could see Harding hesitate before he launched into his next lecture. He was actually thinking about what I had said. Ah, the joys of being an Irishman with the gift of the gab. I hadn’t even realized it was a good idea until after I had said it.

“OK, Boyle. At least you had a reason. But keep a lid on it. Lieutenant Kazimierz, make sure he does. You are now officially Lieutenant Boyle’s nursemaid. Be certain he doesn’t cause an international incident.” Harding leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigarette, shaking his head as he blew smoke toward the ceiling.

“It will be my great pleasure, Major. Is he to be allowed to attend this afternoon’s meeting?”

“It will be your responsibility if he does,” said Harding, still eyeing the ceiling. Kaz cocked an eyebrow at me that seemed to say, I don’t care what you do; I’d just like to know one way or the other.

“Don’t worry, Kaz. I won’t get you into hot water.”

“Hot water? Does that mean trouble?”

“Yeah, trouble.”

“No hot water, Billy. Lukewarm is all you are allowed for the rest of the day!” Harding rolled his eyes but seemed to accept Kaz’s pledge. Kaz smiled at Daphne, pleased with his own little joke. She smiled back as she rose from her chair and walked to the window. She had the patient look of a woman waiting for men to calm down and talk sense.