by John Kerr
‘Jesus!’ cried Hamilton, instinctively pushing back.
‘Hands up!’ screamed one of the commandos, as all three crouched with their Schmeissers aimed at Hamilton. ‘Drop your weapons or we shoot!’
Standing up with his hands raised, Hamilton stared coolly at the men. ‘I’m unarmed, understand?’ he said. ‘Verstehen? No weapon.’
Glancing nervously around, the apparent leader barked a brief command. Hamilton stared at the man, smiled and lowered the cigarette to his lips, took a drag and then casually tossed it away. The cigarette struck the linoleum floor with a loud pop and simultaneous explosion of brilliant white light. One of the men fired a wild burst, ripping into the wall, while the others staggered blindly. Rising up from behind the counter, the UDT men fired a short volley with their Thompsons, instantly dropping one of the commandos. Vaulting over the counter, they quickly disarmed the others, who were stumbling with their hands to their eyes. Hamilton, who’d managed to close his eyes just before the explosion, called to Carter behind the counter: ‘Toss me a .45! I’m going after Ericsson.’ Carter flung the weapon to Hamilton, who raced out the door.
Glancing down the empty street, Hamilton thought he saw movement, a dark shape disappearing into a doorway. He gave chase, sprinting recklessly down the rough pavement, keyed up from the brief but violent encounter. The figure fled from the doorway, moving with surprising agility and vanishing down a narrow alley. As Hamilton rounded the corner, he lost his footing in the gravel and sprawled on all fours with the handgun clattering on the pavement. When he looked up, his breath caught in his throat. Not more than twenty paces away stood Nils Ericsson, holding a pistol aimed at Hamilton with a grim smile visible even in the darkness. Hamilton blinked, heard a loud crack, and watched in astonishment as Ericsson shuddered, dropped to his knees and crumpled to the ground. Turning to look over his shoulder, Hamilton saw Carter at the corner, arms extended with his .45 in a two-handed grip. Hamilton slowly got up. ‘Nice shot,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘I thought I was a goner.’ The two men cautiously examined the form on the pavement. Carter felt for a pulse at Ericcson’s carotid. ‘Dead,’ he said as he stood up and dusted his hands. ‘I’d better get down to the boat and take care of the crew.’
‘Take two of the frogmen,’ said Hamilton. ‘And be careful. He may have left another man behind. I’m heading for the lighthouse.’
Feeling a surge of elation, Hamilton started jogging toward the lighthouse. Though the rain abated, a hard breeze was blowing out of the north-west, cold on his wet face. In less than a minute he reached the lighthouse-keeper’s shack, relieved to see a lamp burning in the window. Trotting up, he rapped on the door. Within moments it opened a crack.
‘Is she here?’ asked Hamilton.
With a look of relief, the man pulled open the door. ‘No, I ain’t seen her.’
Hamilton could hear a door blowing open and shut in the steady breeze. He glanced at the nearby lighthouse, where, in the darkness, he could just make out the door at the base swinging back and forth. ‘Thanks,’ he said to the perplexed lighthouse-keeper. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
Thinking Evelyn had misunderstood, Hamilton ran to the lighthouse, which was perched on a rock and concrete base at the water’s edge. Stepping inside, he peered up the winding staircase, suffused with faint yellow light from the upper chamber. He listened to the hissing of the oil pump and the wind shrieking through the windows. ‘Evelyn!’ he shouted. ‘It’s Tom!’ He ran part way up the stairs, paused to listen, and then shouted to her again. When she failed to answer, he surmised there’d been trouble at the boat and hurried down the narrow stairs. When he reached the waterfront, gasping for breath, Carter and two of the navy men were standing guard over a group of men on the dock. Racing up, Hamilton blurted, ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s not at the lighthouse?’ said Carter.
‘No,’ said Hamilton, fighting despair.
‘I thought for sure she’d be there,’ said Carter. ‘She got clean away from here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ericsson left a man behind to keep an eye on her. We found him dead, a bullet right through the heart. Below the wheelhouse,’ Carter added, pointing at the boat, ‘lying in the cabin.’
‘What did the others say?’ asked Hamilton, pointing to the crew.
‘They don’t speak much English, but the captain says they left the boat, and when they came back the guard was dead and Evelyn gone.’
Hamilton quickly crossed the gangway and bounded down the stairs to the salon. The lights were burning and the guard was sprawled on his back, a look of surprise frozen in his wide-open eyes. Hamilton stooped down and picked up Evelyn’s lipstick case. He hurried back on deck and said to Carter, ‘I’m going back to the lighthouse. Wait for me here.’
Hamilton ran all the way to the keeper’s house, where the man informed him for a second time that he’d seen nothing of Evelyn. Where else on the tiny island could she have gone? He walked wearily to the lighthouse and stood on the rocks, listening to the crash of the waves and gazing out at the storm-tossed sea. For an instant he thought he saw a far-off light that blinked and disappeared in the murk. Looking up, he waited for the lamp to complete its rotation and watched as the bright shaft of light shone far out to sea, a beacon that surely she could see, no matter where she might be. He turned and walked inside the conical structure, slowly ascending the winding staircase. When he reached the machinery below the upper chamber, his heart was pounding, either from exertion or his growing sense of panic.
Maybe, he considered … somehow they’d missed one another in the darkness, and now he’d find her, waiting in the safety of the chamber atop the old lighthouse. Hamilton ascended the last flight and shoved open the rusty iron door. He briefly studied the brightly burning lamp in the glass enclosure, turning in a slow, steady ambit. Aware of the rush of wind, he dashed to the other side of the chamber. A large, rectangular window had blown open. Hamilton peered out in the darkness and then looked down at the black water surging against the rocks. Fighting vertigo, he dropped to the floor, resting his back against the wall with his arms clasped around his knees.
He stayed there all night – dreaming he could hear her voice, that she had suddenly appeared through the doorway – not stirring until the first light of dawn. Hamilton slowly stood up and looked out the open window. The sky was deep blue, without a trace of cloud, above the rim of the rising sun, and a cold, steady breeze was blowing. He stared at the vast, empty sea, with jagged whitecaps, and then lowered his gaze to the foaming waves that surged on the rocks. No one could survive a fall into those waters. With a deep sigh, he walked slowly around the turning beacon and started down the staircase, every muscle and joint aching. When he reached the bottom, he noticed a small envelope partially hidden beneath the last stair. Stooping to pick it up, he saw the single word ‘Tom.’ He tore it open and read Evelyn’s simple, farewell note:
Dearest Tom,
You will never know how much I love you, or how much I regret what happened. The simple truth is, I could never be worthy of you. Please promise me that you will try to forgive me and think only of the happiness we had.
Evelyn
For hours, Hamilton and Carter slowly patrolled the Hope Town harbour and the waters surrounding the lighthouse in an inflatable boat, searching for some clue – an article of clothing, a scrap of paper – to Evelyn’s mysterious disappearance. As the warming sun rose in the sky, Carter finally spoke up: ‘Tom, do you think we ought to head back?’
Hamilton stared into the clear water, seeming to ignore the question. ‘I’ve got to believe,’ he said finally, ‘that maybe … with that storm, the way the wind was blowing …’ He lifted his eyes and gazed at the horizon.
‘Tom,’ said Carter firmly, ‘those navy boys will be wanting to get underway.’
Looking toward the stern, Hamilton shielded his eyes and nodded. Carter turned the handle on the outboard to steer back to the marina.
As they approached Ericsson’s cruiser, two of the navy men were standing on deck, waiting with their arms crossed.
‘Any luck?’ one of them called out. Hamilton grimly shook his head as Carter brought the boat up to the stern ladder. Climbing on deck, Hamilton could see that everything was ready for an imminent departure, with the Germans and Swedish crew locked up below with the bodies of Ericsson and the two dead guards.
‘Time to shove off?’ he said, as he shook the petty officer’s hand.
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘Thanks for everything,’ said Hamilton. ‘Tell your skipper to take these prisoners in right away. I’m cabling my report as soon as we’re back in Nassau.’ Crossing over to the dock, Hamilton and Carter watched as the boat passed beneath the lighthouse and out to sea.
‘Tom,’ said Carter quietly, ‘there’s nothing more we can do.’
‘OK,’ said Hamilton, running a hand over his stubble of beard. With a final glance at the red and white lighthouse, gleaming in the bright sunlight, he said, ‘Let’s go.’
Despite his total exhaustion, Hamilton stood at the dash of the Chris Craft, holding on to the windshield, for the entire two-and-a-half hour run, never uttering a word. When the pier at Eves finally came into view, Hamilton gave Carter a weary smile and said, ‘Go get some rest while I report in.’
As the minutes ticked past, Sir Philip positioned himself in the living room with a clear view of the pier, maintaining a solitary vigil, as Marnie had chosen to wait, and pray, in her bedroom. When at last the boat came alongside the pier, and Sir Philip saw both men standing in the cockpit, he offered a silent word of thanks to God, though not a praying man. ‘Philip,’ said Marnie, appearing suddenly and rushing to her husband’s side. ‘Thank God.’ But as Hamilton and Carter began walking up to the house, it was obvious that something was wrong. When they reached the terrace, Marnie was waiting at the door. ‘Tom,’ she said, shocked by the dark shadows under his eyes and his dazed expression. ‘Are you all right?’ Unable to answer, he looked from Marnie to Sir Philip, who was watching impassively.
‘Maybe,’ said Carter, making eye contact with Sir Philip, ‘it would be better, Tom, if you wash up and let me explain.’
‘We got Ericsson,’ said Hamilton unexpectedly. With a deep sigh, he added, ‘Dead, but we got him.’
‘Excellent,’ said Sir Philip in a strong, reassuring voice. ‘Why don’t you do as Carter suggested…?’ Glancing uneasily at her husband, Marnie took Hamilton by the arm and walked with him toward the bedroom hallway. When they were out of earshot, Sir Philip turned to Carter and said, ‘What’s happened to the man?’
‘It’s Miz Shawcross,’ Carter said quietly. ‘We lost her.’
‘Lost her? She was killed?’
Carter shook his head. ‘Don’t know. She disappeared. Tom’s, well … he’s pretty bad off.’
Despite Marnie’s insistence that he lie down, Hamilton politely refused, anxious to explain to Sir Philip what had happened and initiate the sequence of events that would expose Ericsson’s treachery and shame the British into seizing Hurricane Hole. Resting his arms on the basin, he cupped his hands and splashed hot water on his face. After towelling off, he examined his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. With a growl from his stomach, he felt a sudden craving for food and coffee.
‘I wonder,’ said Hamilton as he strode into the living room, ‘if I might get a cup of coffee and a piece of toast.’
‘Darling,’ Sir Philip called to Marnie. ‘Please tell Henry that Mr Hamilton is ready for his breakfast.’
‘Well,’ said Hamilton as he slumped on the sofa, ‘I suppose Carter filled you in….’
‘Not entirely,’ said Sir Philip. ‘Though he briefly described the action at the café.’
‘The café,’ said Hamilton, thinking back to the scene which, in the light of day, had a surreal quality. He glanced up as Henry entered the room with a tray of eggs, bacon and toast and a steaming cup of black coffee. ‘Thanks,’ said Hamilton, lifting the cup to take a sip. ‘At any rate,’ he said, ‘everything went pretty much according to plan.’
‘The Germans were utterly disabled by that device of yours?’ said Sir Philip. Hamilton nodded, pausing to take a bite. ‘Very ingenious,’ Sir Philip continued, ‘a tiny canister of white phosphorous concealed in a cigarette.’
‘It made one hell of a flash,’ said Carter, who looked rested after a shower and change of clothes. ‘Those Dutchmen were blind as bats.’
‘Anyway,’ said Hamilton, ‘it was over before you could say Jack Robinson. That’s when I went after Ericsson, and unfortunately—’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Philip. ‘A pity Carter had to shoot him. Even so, with the two Germans you captured, your government has more than enough evidence. I’ve taken the liberty of telephoning Colonel Donovan.’ Hamilton gave him an expectant look. ‘He asked me to convey his congratulations,’ continued Sir Philip. ‘Your government will announce that Ericsson was caught aiding and abetting the enemy. So far as the public will know, he was lost at sea in the storm.’
Hamilton stared at Sir Philip and slowly exhaled. ‘And what about your government?’
‘Donovan is sending a cable to the Foreign Office, demanding the immediate seizure of Ericsson’s holdings in the Bahamas. The duke won’t have any alternative. The Royal Navy will send in that gunboat, and so much for Hurricane Hole.’ Sir Philip gave Tom a look of almost paternal pride. ‘Tom,’ he said, ‘following the incident in the alley—’
‘I went to the lighthouse,’ said Hamilton. ‘Evelyn was supposed to wait for me there.’
‘I gather she escaped from Ericsson’s boat.’
‘They left a man behind to guard her,’ said Carter. ‘We found him dead, shot right through the heart. Don’t know where she got the gun.’
‘And you found nothing?’ asked Sir Philip. ‘Not even a note?’
Hamilton stared off into the distance. ‘I waited at the lighthouse all night,’ he said quietly. ‘She must have gone before I got there. And then I found her note.’
Carter looked at him with surprise.
‘It didn’t say much. Just that she was sorry and, in so many words, would never see me again.’
‘Utterly baffling,’ said Sir Philip. ‘How she could have vanished without a trace. It’s not the only mystery that last night yielded, nor was the death of Ericsson the only sensational death.’
Hamilton and Carter exchanged puzzled looks.
‘Sir Harry Oakes,’ explained Sir Philip, ‘was found murdered this morning.’
‘Murdered?’ said Hamilton, his bloodshot eyes open wide.
‘In his bed during the night, bludgeoned and set on fire.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Hamilton.
‘Harold Christie found the body. He was staying over at Westbourne, sleeping in the room next door. The duke has assumed personal responsibility for the investigation,’ said Sir Philip. ‘He’s flown in the chief of homicide from the Miami Police Department.’
‘Miami?’ said Hamilton. ‘That’s a bit irregular.’
‘Highly. Rumour has it, they’re interrogating Alfred de Marigny.’
‘De Marigny,’ said Hamilton. ‘I knew there was bad blood between those two, but I would never have thought de Marigny the type to commit murder….’
‘Nor I. But the duke detests de Marigny.’
‘Oakes murdered,’ muttered Hamilton. He closed his eyes, fighting a powerful wave of drowsiness.
‘Tom,’ said Sir Philip, ‘you should rest.’ Hamilton looked up wearily. ‘You’re devastated about Evelyn, we all are. In all probability, we’ll never know what happened, but the operation could never have succeeded without her. If she died, she died a heroine.’
As Hamilton loaded the last of his things for the trip to Oakes Field, Marnie sat at Sir Philip’s side in the living room, her arm around his shoulder. ‘I can’t believe he’s leaving,’ she said. ‘After all these months.’
‘Yes, darling,’ he agreed. ‘B
ut the war’s far from won, and I’m sure he’s needed elsewhere.’
‘Philip …’ She paused. ‘Is there anything you’ve learned that might help explain what happened?’
‘Nothing,’ he said after a moment, ‘that would be of any comfort to him.’
‘But what?’ Marnie persisted. ‘What have you learned?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid, that sheds any light on her disappearance.’ Marnie narrowed her eyes. ‘Only that her husband was detained in Cairo, suspected of spying for the Germans.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Marnie. ‘How long have you known?’
‘I received a telegram,’ said Sir Philip, ‘the very day Tom departed on his mission.’
‘I wonder,’ said Marnie, ‘did she – Evelyn – know?’
‘If she did,’ said Sir Philip as he stroked his chin, ‘we’ll never know.’
Hamilton strode into the room, looking to Marnie exactly as he had the first night she met him, wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks. ‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘The plane’s waiting.’
‘Oh, Tom,’ said Marnie, throwing her arms around him. ‘If only you could stay.’
‘I’ll be back, though I can’t say when.’
‘Who knows,’ said Sir Philip, ‘perhaps you’ll come back some day to build that hotel and casino.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Marnie. ‘What’s next?’
‘I’m headed to Washington. But I’m planning to quit the OSS.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Sir Philip.
Hamilton nodded. ‘I’ve got my commission in the navy.’
‘Well,’ said Sir Philip, ‘Colonel Donovan may have other ideas. Good luck, Tom.’ He warmly shook his hand.
‘Goodbye,’ said Marnie, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘We’ll be waiting for you.’
