Hurricane Hole

by John Kerr

  Evelyn’s servant answered the bell and led Hamilton through a passageway outside to a flagstone path through the garden, filled with plumeria, hibiscus, and tangled wisteria to an old green gate beneath a trellis blanketed with jasmine. Opening the gate, he observed a patio and rectangular pool, at least 25 metres in length, the colour of deep azure, enclosed by pale-pink walls overflowing with bougainvillea. The surrounding palms and ficus trees were so tall that the entire enclosure was shaded. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, Hamilton could see Evelyn at the far end of the pool, resting her slender arms on the smooth limestone rim as she lazily stirred the water with her outstretched toes, sending ripples across the mirror-still surface.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘It’s no wonder you don’t get much of a tan. But you must be freezing.’

  ‘It’s marvellous,’ she said as he walked up. ‘We keep it heated in the fall and winter. The changing rooms are over there.’ She pointed to a cabana at the end of the pool.

  After a few minutes Hamilton emerged from the dressing room, tossed his towel over the back of a chaise, and dived into the pool, swiftly swimming its length with long strokes and a powerful kick and gliding smoothly out of the water like a seal onto a rock. ‘My,’ said Evelyn, ‘where did you learn to swim like that?’

  Hamilton smiled as he drew up his knees and ran his hands through his wet hair. ‘The Australian crawl, you mean?’ he said. ‘Tex Robertson taught it at the University of Texas, so I tried it out at Yale.’

  ‘You swam for Yale?’

  ‘The freestyle and medley.’

  She gazed up at him with her chin resting on one arm as she lazily floated in the warm water, admiring his wide-shouldered swimmer’s build.

  ‘This pool,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’

  ‘It’s made entirely of mosaics,’ she explained. ‘Tiles of varying shades of blue. Creates quite an effect.’

  ‘I should say so. And this setting is spectacular.’

  ‘I thought you’d like it,’ she said with a smile. ‘Samuel says you’ve been quite persistent about calling.’

  Hamilton looked into her eyes, thinking they seemed a deeper shade of blue against the backdrop of glittering tiles. ‘True,’ he said. ‘I gathered you were away.’

  Evelyn stood up in the waist deep water and gracefully vaulted out of the pool. ‘Yes,’ she said as she sat down next to him. ‘I’ve been on a nice cruise about the islands.’

  ‘Sailing?’ he asked.

  ‘No, a motor-yacht. Quite a large one actually. We cruised around Eleuthera and then up to the Abacos and back.’

  ‘No worries about German U-boats?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Why should the Germans bother with a pleasure craft? I should imagine they’re hunting more valuable prey.’

  Hamilton nodded and said, ‘Whose yacht was this, though it’s none of my business?’

  ‘It belongs to a friend,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Nils Ericsson. You mentioned him the other night at dinner, if I recall correctly.’

  ‘The Swedish industrialist?’ said Hamilton. ‘I’ve heard of him, of course. The one with the fabulous villa on Hog Island?’

  ‘Yes. He and his wife are quite charming. He made his fortune in appliances….’

  ‘The toaster king,’ said Hamilton. And with armaments, he thought to himself.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave him a quirky smile. ‘At any rate, he owns a fantastic yacht, the Northern Lights, and was kind enough to invite me on a lovely cruise. You must meet him, Tom.’

  ‘I’d like to.’ He wondered whether Evelyn was merely beguiled by Ericsson’s apparent charm and luxurious lifestyle, or whether she shared the man’s well-known fascist sympathies. Standing up, he leaned down to help her to her feet. For a moment they stood holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Let’s change,’ she suggested, ‘and then have lunch by the pool.’

  ‘An excellent idea.’ He walked with her to the cabana, stealing a glance at her rounded breasts and slender waist accentuated by the clinging fabric of her swimsuit.

  ‘Boys on the right,’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she added, stopping to look at him. ‘Do me a favour, would you? Go up to the house and tell Samuel we’ll be ready for lunch in fifteen minutes. And then be a dear and bring down the cold drinks I asked him to have ready.’

  ‘At your service, ma’am,’ said Hamilton, reaching for his towel from the chaise and draping it over his shoulders. As soon as he had disappeared through the gate, Evelyn hurried into the changing-room where Hamilton’s clothes were folded over a chair. She felt in the back pocket of his slacks for his wallet; lifted it out and quickly studied its contents: a driver’s licence, wad of bills, several business cards, and a folded slip of paper with the pencilled word ‘Washington’ and a phone number. Her heart pounding, she hurried from the dressing-room, went to her purse and copied down the number, and then quickly replaced it in his wallet, leaving his clothes as she’d found them. A few minutes later she was safely in her own dressing-room, hooking her bra as she studied her reflection in the mirror. When she emerged, wearing a low-cut, sleeveless cotton blouse and pale yellow pants, Hamilton was seated at the table by the pool, looking relaxed and refreshed in a plaid shirt and slacks with his damp hair neatly parted and combed. He smiled and reached for a frosted pitcher, pouring each of them a bubbly orange and pink concoction.

  ‘Mimosa?’ said Hamilton as he handed her a glass. ‘I couldn’t help but notice that Samuel fixed them with a bottle of Dom Perignon.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy put up cases and cases of the stuff before the war. And now that you can’t get it…. Well, why not?’

  ‘Why not,’ agreed Hamilton, taking a sip. He put down his glass and looked across the table at her, struck again by her delicate beauty. ‘Your parents are coming for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes. They’re travelling to America first, on the Pan Am Clipper to Washington. Did I mention that Lord Halifax is my mother’s cousin?’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘He invited my parents to visit the embassy.’ She lifted her glass and took a sip. ‘Do you dislike Halifax?’ she asked.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Well, most Americans are so taken with Churchill, and Halifax, of course, was Churchill’s rival. They can’t abide one another.’

  ‘I see,’ he said with a nod. ‘I’ll try to keep an open mind.’ The gate swung open and Samuel appeared, bearing a tray with a porcelain bowl, plates, linen and silverware. ‘My, my,’ said Hamilton as Samuel lowered the tray to the table. ‘What have we here?’

  ‘Fresh lobster salad,’ said Samuel with a smile. ‘With diced conch, Bahamian style.’

  After several servings of the delicious seafood and the last of the mimosas, Hamilton sat back with a sigh of contentment. ‘You’ve been too kind, Evelyn,’ he said. ‘It’s my turn to treat you.’ She leaned across the table toward him and gave him a dreamy look.

  ‘I expect you’ll be leaving soon,’ she said, as she lightly placed her hand on his.

  He stared into her eyes, his heart pounding at the sensation of her touch. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m planning to stay for … well, longer than I’d planned.’ Impulsively, she rose from her chair and took a step toward him. Hamilton stood up, hesitated, and then opened his arms to her. For a moment she stared up at him, moulding herself to his body, and then kissed him; a slow, lingering kiss. At last he pulled away and said, ‘You know, I could fall for you if I’m not careful.’ She kissed him lightly again. ‘I can’t let that happen,’ he said, as much to himself as to her.

  ‘You seem the type of man,’ she said softly, ‘who’s had a lot of women.’

  ‘This is different.’

  She gave him a curious, inquisitive look and then, with a light squeeze of his hands, said, ‘Well, Tom, I should send you off before we get any deeper into trouble. But I’m going to hold you to your word.’
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  ‘Yes,’ he said, strangely relieved. ‘I’ll call.’

  Later, in his room, Hamilton felt almost light-headed, with a strange feeling, like butterflies, in his stomach. She was right, he reminded himself, as he studied his reflection in the mirror. He had been involved with plenty of other women. But none of them married. And none of them like Evelyn Shawcross, married or virginal. He swore under his breath. It was obvious that Evelyn might prove very useful in finding out more about the mysterious Nils Ericsson and, as Sir Philip suspected, that she was part of the inner circle surrounding the Duke of Windsor. He’d have to be very, very careful. With a quick glance at his watch, he reached for his wallet, extracted a slip of paper, and went to the telephone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I NEED A stateside line,’ said Hamilton impatiently. After a brief delay, he said, ‘A toll call, to Washington, D.C. Capitol four, six-eight-four-seven.’

  ‘Hello,’ answered a woman after a few rings. ‘How may I direct your call?’

  ‘It’s Tom, Betty,’ said Hamilton. ‘I need to speak to the boss.’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  ‘Hello, Hamilton,’ said a man in gruff voice. ‘Are you planning to retire down there?’

  ‘It’s taking longer than I expected.’

  ‘Well, you need to finish up and get back here.’

  ‘What’s the rush? I’m still trying to put my, ah, deal together.’

  ‘We’ve discovered that your man is involved in some interesting activities in South America. I’d like to send you down to look into it.’

  Hamilton’s heart sank. ‘Listen, Bill, I think I’m on to something. I may be able to confirm our worst suspicions.’

  ‘OK, but hurry it up. And be sure to bring home some nice snapshots.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Hamilton. ‘Goodbye, Bill.’ He walked out on the balcony and stared at the dark, heaving sea with patches of pale turquoise where the sun broke through the clouds. Colonel William J. Donovan, the Director of the Office of Strategic Services, was one of the smartest and toughest men Hamilton had ever met. The most highly decorated American officer in the First World War and afterward a prominent Wall Street lawyer, Donovan had been recruited by Franklin Roosevelt to oversee the creation of the OSS in 1942, the first US agency dedicated to espionage on foreign soil. Leaning against the railing in the cool breeze, Hamilton’s mind drifted back to Evelyn, floating in the water, her pale skin and blue eyes against the glittering mosaic tiles of the pool. Not only beautiful and intelligent, but sophisticated in a way that none of the girls he’d known from Smith or Vassar had been. She obviously didn’t care much for her faraway husband, nor did she seem to have much interest in the faraway war. Thinking back to the conversation over lunch, he felt a sudden pang of remorse. He had lied so effortlessly; lied about everything, even feigning surprise at her mention of the family connection to Halifax, while she unsuspectingly welcomed him into her home. God, this was such a dirty business. Maybe he should level with her and enlist her help in finding out what Ericsson was really up to. No, that would not only jeopardize his mission, it would also endanger her safety. Well, he would be leaving soon, and God knows if he’d ever be back. One thing was certain: he intended to see her again.

  Like many older and very wealthy men, Nils Ericsson had grown fussy about his personal appearance and very particular about small, odd things such as his cufflinks and studs and the precise knotting of his tie. At the moment he was searching in a Florentine leather case for a missing silver and mother-of-pearl stud. ‘Aha. There it is,’ he said aloud, as he examined the article on the dresser. After inserting the stud, he carefully parted and combed his silver hair, once blond, observing himself in the mirror with his chin thrust forward, satisfied with the sheen imparted by his hair tonic and the pink glow of his cheeks. With a final tug on his bow tie, he slipped on his dinner jacket and walked from the room. The butler stood with a tray under his arm, wearing gloves and a white jacket trimmed in gold like a steward on an ocean liner.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ said the butler with a bow. With the exception of the kitchen staff, all of the servants at Shangri-La had accompanied Ericsson from Sweden, and it pleased him to hear only his native tongue spoken in the large colonial villa.

  Ericsson walked to the French doors that opened out on a screened-in gallery facing the sea. ‘I’m expecting Major Krebs,’ he said, as he unfastened the latch and opened the doors. ‘Show him up as soon as he arrives.’ Within minutes, the butler reappeared, followed by a short, compact man who looked uncomfortable in a borrowed tuxedo. Ericsson, standing at the French doors, turned to him with a smile and said, ‘Guten abend, Major.’

  ‘Good evening,’ repeated Krebs in German as he strode across the room and vigorously shook Ericsson’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, Johann,’ said Ericsson in Swedish. ‘That will be all.’ Once the butler was gone, Ericsson, reverting to German, said, ‘How was your voyage?’

  ‘Well,’ said Krebs, ‘as a soldier, I’m not very fond of life at sea. Especially on an old merchant tub, or pretending to be a sardine in a U-boat.’ He flashed a brief smile at his witticism.

  ‘You came by way of Martinique?’ asked Ericsson. Krebs nodded, reverting to his grimly serious demeanour. Ericsson motioned to the armchairs that faced the gallery. ‘Let’s sit, shall we? You must tell me the latest news of the war.’

  Sitting next to his host, Krebs said, ‘Well, according to my sources in Berlin, the situation on the Russian front is quite serious. Sixth Army is locked in a desperate struggle for Stalingrad. But Manstein has launched an offensive across the Don, and the Führer is confident a decisive victory is almost within our grasp.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Ericsson. ‘And now, Major, tell me about the submarine offensive.’

  ‘Operations in the Caribbean,’ said the German officer, ‘are suspended. We don’t want to arouse suspicions at this critical moment.’ Ericsson nodded. ‘But we have U-boats in the Gulf of Mexico,’ Krebs continued, ‘intercepting shipments of fuel. British stockpiles are perilously low.’

  ‘And so,’ said Ericsson, ‘once Stalingrad has been taken, the time will be ripe for our … our little surprise.’

  ‘Precisely,’ agreed Krebs. ‘Those favouring peace in Great Britain will see that the time has come to take action, and with the prospect of no fuel for their ships and tanks—’

  ‘And the turn of events in Nassau,’ added Ericsson.

  ‘We shall see,’ concluded Krebs. ‘But it is absolutely essential that the facilities here are ready before we act.’

  ‘The submarine pens.’

  ‘Of course. And how, may I ask, is construction progressing?’

  Ericsson crossed his legs, dangling one patent-leather pump, and extracted a cigarette from the case in his breast pocket. ‘Very well, I would say. The men are working in twelve-hour shifts. We’ve poured some twenty tons of concrete, and I’ve got sufficient Portland cement on hand to complete the job.’ Taking a gold-plated lighter from his pocket, he lit his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  ‘And the canal?’

  ‘Progressing satisfactorily, with the exception of a minor nuisance. I’ve employed virtually every able-bodied man, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t be ready in six weeks.’

  ‘A minor nuisance?’

  ‘A small strip of land on the Nassau side of the island,’ explained Ericsson, ‘is owned by local investors. An American arrived out of the blue and is negotiating to buy it.’

  ‘Well, you mustn’t let that happen. Who is this American?’

  ‘A Texan, with oil money. Rather aggressive. With the backing of the wealthy Jew, Sassoon. But I’m checking to see if there’s more than meets the eye.’

  ‘An oilman from Texas,’ said Krebs derisively, ‘backed by an old, crippled Jew. I should think the men we’ve supplied you with should be able to manage him quite easily.’

  Ericsson nodded, thinking how the American had turned back three of
his best men. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You needn’t worry.’ He puffed on his cigarette and said, ‘Tell me, Krebs, have you finalized your plans?’

  Leaning forward, the major, speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone, said, ‘We have two infantry companies, crack troops, training on Martinique, under my command. When the order is given, we’ll arrive by merchant ship, come ashore in rubber boats at night. Your men will lead us across the island to Oakes Field, which we’ll assault at dawn. Meanwhile, a destroyer, the Breslau, will take up position overnight and will simultaneously begin shelling the port. As a diversion, the men I’ve assigned to you here will stage an attack on the army barracks in Nassau.’

  ‘Do you worry about the Spitfires at Oakes Field?’ asked Ericsson.

  ‘With the exception of one or two instructors, all of the pilots are in training, with no combat experience. My men will secure the airfield in a matter of minutes and put down any resistance. Our destroyer will knock out the British patrol boat, steam into the harbour and begin shelling the army barracks. With Oakes Field secure, one party will proceed to Government House and place the duke under house arrest, while I lead the rest of my men to demand the surrender of the British garrison. Meanwhile, a squadron of six U-boats will proceed into their new base. If the attack begins at dawn, I’ll be enjoying a cup of tea with the duke by eight o’clock.’

  ‘What a grand surprise for the British,’ said Ericsson with a grin. They’ll wake up to discover a German submarine base and fully operational airfield lying astride the Straits of Florida. And with the Duke of Windsor under house arrest, possibly broadcasting an appeal for peace. Peace,’ repeated Ericsson in a serious tone, ‘among the civilized white races.’

  ‘You’re making progress with the duke?’ asked Krebs.

  ‘We’re getting along quite well. He has let it be known, both privately and publicly, that he favours a negotiated settlement with your government.’ Ericsson stubbed out his cigarette. ‘It’s time for dinner,’ he announced. ‘Follow me.’