Hurricane Hole

by John Kerr

  Sir Philip Sassoon was alone in his study with a book in his lap and pipe clenched in his teeth. He grasped the wheel of his chair and pivoted toward them as Hamilton and Carter appeared on the stairs. ‘Come in, Tom,’ said Sir Philip. ‘I’ve been watching you. You remind me of a schoolboy, daydreaming the morning away.’

  Hamilton frowned. ‘Not exactly daydreaming,’ he said, though it was more accurate than he cared to admit. ‘But trying to think.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Sir Philip. Hamilton dropped onto the sofa and Carter into the chair beside him. ‘You’ve managed your real estate ploy rather nicely,’ said Sir Philip, as he reached for a book of matches. ‘With the coverage in the newspaper, I’m sure you’ve given Oakes and Ericsson something to think about.’ He struck a match and cupped the flame over the bowl of his pipe. ‘Knowing Ericsson, I’m certain he’s had someone check his leads, which would cause him to conclude that you’re in Texas. A clever manoeuvre.’ Hamilton nodded with a tight-lipped smile. ‘So what’s your next move?’ asked Sir Philip.

  ‘No matter how hard I try,’ said Hamilton, ‘I can’t seem to work out a solution. Hurricane Hole is virtually impregnable to a commando-type raid. Without photographic proof, there’s no way the duke will send in the Royal Navy. And our government’s not about to take unilateral action on British soil.’

  ‘You might make another reconnaissance,’ suggested Sir Philip.

  ‘Too risky,’ said Hamilton. ‘And besides, we’re out of time.’

  ‘You’ve ruled out Evelyn as a go-between?’ asked Carter.

  Hamilton frowned. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. Anyway, I asked, and she … Well, she was upset and pleaded with me to leave Nassau.’

  ‘At any rate,’ said Sir Philip, ‘unless you can change the duke’s mind, which is highly unlikely, it appears you’re powerless to stop Ericsson.’

  ‘Unless,’ interjected Carter, ‘there’s another way.’ He gave Sir Philip an encouraging look.

  Leaning back in his wheelchair, Sir Philip thoughtfully sucked on his pipe. ‘Well …’ he said after a moment, ‘one thing you said, Tom, makes me wonder.’ Hamilton’s eyes widened. ‘That the Americans would refrain from action on British soil.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that we’d—’

  ‘No, you’re quite right,’ said Sir Philip. ‘But the point is, what if Ericsson were not on British soil, or at least not within the jurisdiction of Nassau proper?’

  Hamilton smiled. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘If there were a way to lure him out of his hiding place, his Shangri-La,’ said Sir Philip, ‘you might be able to do a snatch-and-grab.’

  ‘We’d have to set a trap,’ said Hamilton excitedly. ‘A suitable bait, something to draw him out.’ Sir Philip nodded. Hamilton abruptly stood up and began to pace in front of the plate-glass window. ‘If the Americans seize Ericsson,’ he said, pausing to look at Sir Philip, ‘and announce to the world they’re interning him as a Nazi sympathizer and threat to Allied security, the British would have to take action, no matter how loudly the Duke of Windsor objects.’

  ‘We can do it, Tom,’ said Carter. ‘We can grab him. If we can just get him to come out.’

  ‘All right,’ said Sir Philip, knocking out the unburnt tobacco on the heel of his hand. ‘But you’d better move quickly. This press report of the land sale may spur the Germans to speed up their timetable. And one other thing,’ said Sir Philip. He fixed Hamilton in his gaze. ‘You may need Evelyn’s help if this plan has any chance of success. She has access to Ericsson. And there’s something about her reaction to seeing you that causes me to wonder … You may discover that you have, shall we say, some leverage with her.’

  Hamilton shook his head and started to speak.

  ‘Put aside your feelings,’ said Sir Philip gravely. ‘And do what you have to do. We haven’t much time.’

  Like some tropical Versailles, Shangri-La shimmered in the noonday heat at the end of a long alleé of areca palms. Nils Ericsson smiled as he admired the creamy-white villa, with its graceful arches and red-tiled roof, through the shady bower of palm fronds. Wearing a Panama and a white linen suit, he strolled along the path, studying the rare flora he had meticulously collected for his island retreat: delicate irises and gaudy orchids, bright green casuarinas with their feathery foliage, and the massive kapok tree whose folded, smooth-skinned trunk reminded him of an elephant’s haunch. The branches were alive with flashes of colour: chartreuse parakeets flitting from tree to tree, scarlet and blue macaws overhead, and the black and yellow toucan on its perch. Ericsson strolled to the limestone-rimmed reflecting pool, pausing to inspect the bright orange koi swirling beneath the lily pads.

  Taking off his hat, he considered the stupendous implications of the bold plan he was on the verge of carrying out. With its new, bomb-proof sanctuary, Doenitz’s U-boat fleet would be free to roam the Caribbean and attack every American and British tanker venturing out of the Gulf of Mexico. Their precious cargos of fuel were the vital life-blood sustaining the Allied war effort, without which the promise of a second front against Germany would be a mere fantasy. The British and Americans would be forced to come to their senses, seeing Churchill and Roosevelt as the fools they really were. What madness to embrace Stalin as an ally. No, with their ill-conceived war plans in a shambles, the British and Americans would turn to new leaders, men like Halifax, who would bring the senseless war with Germany to a rapid close. There would have to be concessions, of course – certain coveted overseas possessions, hegemony on the Continent – but the British would have their Empire and, he considered with a smile, his friend David, Duke of Windsor, would resume his rightful place on the throne, with his American queen at his side. Nodding to himself as he ambled along, he thought of the extraordinary opportunities peace would bring for an enterprising man like himself, positioned to exploit the vast mineral resources of Mexico and South America under the protective shield of the new Pax Germanica.

  As he trudged up the steps to the loggia, Ericsson withdrew a thin, gold hunter watch from his ample waistcoat pocket and snapped open the cover. Either Krebs was uncharacteristically late, or no one had sent for him during his perambulations to announce his guest’s arrival. The moment he stepped under the cooling shade, he observed the German officer standing by the windows. Moments later Krebs, distinctly uncomfortable in his wool, field-grey tunic, strode out on the loggia, halting with the heels of his boots touching and a quick nod of his head.

  ‘Guten tag, mein Herr,’ he said, reaching out to give Ericsson a firm handshake.

  ‘Major Krebs,’ said Ericsson with a smile. ‘Let us sit here’ – he motioned to the wicker furniture – ‘where we can enjoy the view.’ Once they were seated he noticed the perspiration wetting the fringe of pale-blond hair above Kreb’s stiff collar. ‘Rather warm today,’ he remarked. ‘Perhaps you would care for lemonade, or a beer?’

  ‘Danke,’ said Krebs, tugging at his collar. ‘A beer would be excellent.’

  ‘Johann,’ said Ericsson to the servant standing in the shadows. ‘Bring us two Becks and a plate of herring. And now, Major,’ he said, dispensing with the pleasantries, ‘when will you be ready to launch your attack?’

  ‘My men are prepared,’ replied Krebs, sitting ramrod-straight. ‘Once we have established a firm date, I shall send for the transport.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Six hours to load, eight hours to sail from Martinique.’

  ‘Were the maps adequate?’

  ‘Excellent. We should have no difficulty.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Ericsson, ‘let us choose a date.’ A servant appeared with their drinks and a plate of pickled herring. Once the man had gone, Ericsson lifted a frosted mug and said, ‘Skaal. Perhaps by this time next week, Nassau shall be ours.’

  Krebs repeated the toast and joined his host in downing a large swallow. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘how we can proceed before the canal is ready?’

&nbs
p; A dark look clouded Ericsson’s stolid face. ‘The canal will have to wait,’ he said flatly. ‘I would prefer it were otherwise, but we haven’t any choice.’ In response to Krebs’s puzzled expression, he said, ‘The newspaper reported that the American has purchased a parcel of land that lies directly in our path.’

  ‘The American?’

  ‘We’re virtually certain the man’s an intelligence agent. And now, with the publicity, we can’t proceed with the excavation.’

  ‘But our navy insisted on access to the port.’

  ‘Yes, and they shall have it. It will only take a few weeks to complete the canal, and that can be done after you’ve seized the island. What matters is that the pens are ready for your boats. The time is ripe.’ Lifting his mug, he took another long swallow, and then reached for a piece of herring. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘From Norway.’

  Krebs sampled a morsel. ‘If this American agent is in Nassau,’ he said, with a pensive look in his pale-blue eyes, ‘how can you be sure he’s not planning an action?’

  ‘An action?’ said Ericsson with a hearty laugh. ‘One man? In any case, I’m certain he’s nowhere near Nassau, but back in America, afraid to show his face.’

  ‘But how, then, was he able—?’

  ‘Through a local lawyer. We’ve checked it out thoroughly. And what’s more, Mrs Shawcross is keeping an eye out for him.’

  ‘I see. Her home is under surveillance?’

  ‘Naturally. Someone was observed leaving by the back entrance last week, but it was dark and there was no reason to believe it was Hamilton.’

  ‘Women like that,’ said Krebs dismissively, ‘are not terribly particular about the men they sleep with.’

  ‘Perhaps you should meet her,’ suggested Ericsson. ‘After we’ve completed the operation, naturally.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Krebs, reaching for another piece of herring.

  ‘Let’s choose a date, then,’ said Ericsson emphatically. ‘The British are notorious for their beloved weekends. Should we say a week from Saturday?’

  ‘Saturday,’ said Krebs. ‘Nine days hence. More than enough time to get ready.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Ericsson. ‘You have the Bofors guns I sent you?’

  ‘Yes, the 77s. An excellent weapon. I can assure you that the island will be secure and your friend the duke under house arrest before breakfast.’

  Lifting his mug, Ericsson concluded, ‘Let’s go indoors, then. Our lunch is waiting.’

  Lying on a chaise-longue by the pool, Hamilton trailed his fingers across the surface of the water as he enjoyed the afternoon sun on his back. Marnie, lying beside him with the straps of her bathing suit untied, slowly flexed and unflexed the hamstring of a long, slender leg as she turned the page of the novel on the flagstones beneath her. ‘Have you read du Maupassant?’ she asked, without looking up.

  ‘No. Mind if I ask something?’ said Hamilton, rolling over on his side. Shading his eyes, he said, ‘Did Sir Philip say anything about Evelyn? His suspicions?’

  Marnie closed her book. ‘What Philip shares with me,’ she replied, ‘is none of your business. Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Both times I mentioned Evelyn’s reaction when I went to see her, Philip made this elliptical remark about his suspicions….’

  ‘Elliptical?’

  ‘Yes, elliptical,’ said Hamilton with a trace of asperity. ‘I thought he might have explained.’

  ‘Well, what was her reaction?’

  ‘That she wanted me to leave, pleaded with me to leave Nassau.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Marnie. ‘Did she think you’d been seen?’

  ‘No. I made it clear no one knew I’d come back.’

  ‘Well,’ said Marnie slowly. ‘From a woman’s point of view, I’d have thought she would have begged you not to leave. I’m sure that’s what Philip meant.’

  ‘Then why would she want me to leave?’

  ‘Maybe she knows something you don’t. Something that makes her think you’re not safe.’

  ‘Or maybe,’ said Hamilton, suddenly sitting up and clasping his arms around his knees, ‘something that tells her my being here isn’t safe for her.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Marnie with a puzzled look.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Hamilton.

  She sat up, reached back to tie the straps of her suit, and said, ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  Hamilton gave Marnie an affectionate smile and said, ‘I think I’ll do just that.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVELYN SAT ALONE in the formal dining room, wearing a yellow robe, staring vacantly at the portrait of her grandmother, unable to touch her breakfast or even look at the newspaper. Every sound – the grandfather clock, the quarrelsome jays outside the window – seemed strangely amplified. A tremor passed over her as she wondered whether she might be going mad. How long could she go on like this? With a sigh, she took a sip of strong, black coffee and lifted her fork with a slice of melon. She froze at the sound of the telephone. Holding her breath, she waited for Samuel to answer it, and then strained to make out his words. It had to be Ericsson … Calling to say they’d found Tom.

  ‘Miz Shawcross …’

  She cautiously looked at Samuel in the doorway. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Mister Hamilton. Can you speak to him?’

  ‘No. Tell him I’m not in.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ With a slight bow, he turned toward the living room.

  ‘No, wait,’ said Evelyn. Samuel stopped and gave her a troubled look. ‘Ask him,’ she said in a calmer voice, ‘where he is. Where he’s calling from.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  After a moment, the servant returned. ‘He’s at the Sassoon place.’

  ‘All right,’ said Evelyn in a composed way, pushing back from the table.

  Sitting at the writing-desk in the living room, Evelyn picked up the receiver and said, ‘Hello? Tom?’

  ‘Evelyn … I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me.’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t. Don’t you know it isn’t safe?’

  ‘No one knows I’m here.’

  ‘What? After that story in the paper?’

  ‘I can explain that.’

  ‘Oh, Tom.’

  ‘Everyone thinks I’m in Texas, even my own lawyer. Evelyn, I need to see you.’

  After a brief silence, she said wearily, ‘You told me yourself how dangerous it is to go out. Nils Ericsson is … well, if he’s who you say he is, he must be very ruthless.’

  ‘I need your help, Evelyn.’

  ‘My help?’ Looking desperately around the empty room, she massaged her forehead and then said, ‘No, I can’t help you. Won’t you please just leave me alone?’

  Stunned, Hamilton considered giving up. No, he thought, she was his only chance. ‘Listen to me,’ he said calmly. ‘Will you at least do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Sure it’s risky for me to see you. But it’s even riskier if I do as you say and leave Nassau. Not just for me, but for you and Sir Philip and the whole damned Colony. You’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘All right,’ she with a tone of resignation. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘I swear, no one knows I’m here.’ He sensed he was making headway. ‘I can come to the gate at the back.’

  They’re watching, thought Evelyn, watching the house day and night. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s too risky.’ She paused and bit her lip. ‘You know the Royal Victoria?’ she asked.

  ‘The old hotel?’

  ‘Yes. Could you arrange to pick me up there? After dark.’

  ‘How would you get there?’

  ‘Leave that to me. There’s an entrance on a side street. Could someone pick me up there, say at nine this evening?’

  ‘I’ll send Sir Philip’s man, Carter. Just make sure no one’s watching.’

  God, thought Evelyn, was this madnes
s? ‘Don’t worry,’ she said.

  ‘Evelyn,’ sighed Hamilton. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Tom.’ Afraid she’d change her mind, she hung up and summoned Samuel with a bell. When he entered the room, she said, ‘You mustn’t say a word about this to anyone.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘No one must know Mr Hamilton called. Or even that he’s in Nassau. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Can you drive, Samuel?’ asked Evelyn, rising from the desk. ‘Father’s old car?’

  ‘I s’pose so, but it’s been a long time.’ He gave her a questioning look.

  Dressed in a long, dark coat, belted at her trim waist, with a black scarf wrapped around her hair, Evelyn descended the stairs shortly after 8.30, careful to leave the usual lights burning upstairs. Samuel was waiting in the kitchen, dressed in his white jacket. ‘Take off that coat,’ she instructed him, ‘and put on a dark shirt. And then meet me in the garage. Once you’re there, don’t say a word.’

  ‘If you say so, ma’am,’ said Samuel, turning toward his room. Evelyn let herself out the back door and hurried to the garage where her father’s 1936 Buick was parked. She was sure no one had driven it since her parents had left for London. She opened the back door and climbed in, closing the door as noiselessly as possible. Moments later Samuel appeared, almost invisible in a long-sleeved black shirt, peering nervously around until he saw Evelyn in the back seat. She rolled down the window and handed him the car keys. ‘Open the garage doors,’ she whispered, ‘and then get in and drive out. Turn right and drive to the Royal Victoria Hotel.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Act relaxed, Samuel. Whistle a tune or something. And if anyone follows us, let me know, but don’t turn around. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He slid open the heavy garage doors and whistled a cheerful tune as he climbed in the driver’s seat and started the engine. After a few pumps of the accelerator, he started down the driveway. Evelyn slumped flat on the seat, her heart racing. Switching on headlamps, Samuel slowly swung into the street, adopting a casual pose, with his head back and arm resting on the open window. As he cruised down the street, a man behind the wheel of a car concealed in the shadows flipped up the brim of his hat and watched as the Buick slowly passed by. As its red tail-lights disappeared down the block, the observer lowered his hat and slumped back on the seat.