The Sentinels: Fortunes of War

by Gordon Zuckerman

  She looked him squarely in the face. “During our last semester at Cal, I was approached by an agency of the United States government. They asked me if I would be willing to use my family contacts throughout Asia to assist them in establishing a network of people who could help the enemies of Japan remove their wealth from probable confiscation. That’s how I guessed what Claudine’s phone call was probably about.”

  Mike stared at her, his mind beginning to whirl.

  She continued matter-of-factly. “Our networks were used to convert their proceeds of sale into gold and smuggle it into Hong Kong. In earlier days, I would like to think my work was essential, but for the last year, the need for my services has been steadily declining. Everything is already in place and running smoothly, and that’s why I’ve been trying to resign. I am learning, however, that it’s difficult to walk away from classified government work. That phone call this afternoon was another in a long line of fruitless efforts to free myself. Believe me, I’m more frustrated about all this than you are.”

  Mike was stunned speechless. It’s hard to believe that my not-so-quiet little friend from Hong Kong has been acting as an American secret agent.

  Chapter 4

  OVER THE ATLANTIC

  Just before the Pan American Airways Clipper flight took off, their attractive stewardess brought Jacques what he hoped would be the first of several Boodles gin martinis. He sipped it appreciatively as the craft’s takeoff pressed him back in his seat.

  When the airplane had begun to level off from its initial ascent, Jacques turned to Mike, seated beside him. “I can’t tell you how envious I am of your relationship with Cecelia. You make me feel that for the first time ever, I would really like to have someone to share my life with. Picking the right girl for the right event no longer seems so important. Maybe, just maybe, I think I would enjoy taking an interest in someone else—for the long term.”

  “These things must be stouter than I thought,” Mike said, eyeing his martini.

  “I’m serious. Hearing from Claudine again after all this time has got me thinking. You know, it’s been three years since I saw her in Europe. It was strictly business, of course. We traveled around Europe talking to bankers, answering their questions, preparing for meetings, responding to inquiries, trying to get the gold bearer bond program she was initiating off the ground.”

  “Sounds like loads of fun.”

  “Well, that’s the odd thing,” Jacques said. “It was the first time I can remember deriving that much enjoyment from working so hard—not for profit or for my own glory, but to help someone else.”

  “Not just ‘someone else.’ Claudine.”

  Jacques nodded and sipped his drink. “And as much as I was physically attracted to her, I was determined to keep our relationship strictly professional. Thinking back, I must have cared more about having her as a friend than as my latest conquest. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Jacques, my old friend, I do believe that you are finally on your way to becoming a decent human being.”

  A few more hours into the flight, Mike interrupted Jacques’ reading. “I thought I would share this with you now, when we’re high over the Atlantic with no chance of escape.” He was holding some documents that he had removed from his briefcase.

  Seeing Jacques’ irritated expression, Mike went on. “It’s not all business. It has to do with Tony. Cecelia and I stopped by his vineyard in Napa Valley. Seems he bought up all the land that his family’s money could cover. Altogether, I’d say he has assembled more than five hundred acres of the best grape land that the valley has to offer, at very attractive prices. He’s even got an enormous limestone cave for storing wine under controlled temperatures. You really need to see the place to appreciate it. It looks like an old European feudal estate.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Jacques said. “Knowing Tony’s ambition, it’s not difficult to understand how he could accomplish so much in such a short period of time. The question is, will he be content transplanting his family operation from Italy to California, or will he want to conquer the whole West Coast?”

  Mike laughed. “He has already picked out another five thousand acres he hopes to develop. It’s not greed, though. He’s convinced he needs that much land to produce a premium quality wine. These papers,” Mike said, handing them to Jacques, “are part of an investment memorandum he has prepared. It calls for twenty-five million dollars to be spent over a seven-year period. That’s the amount of time he thinks is required to complete the development, bring the early plantings into production, age the wine, and generate enough revenue to make the entire operation break even. I think Tony is relying on us to raise the twenty-five million dollars.”

  Jacques raised his eyebrows. “That’s a tall order.”

  ______

  On Friday morning, one stop and fifteen hours after takeoff, Mike and Jacques awoke to freshly squeezed orange juice, softly scrambled eggs, and an unparalleled view of the Irish coast. The Clipper had begun its gradual descent toward the port of Southampton.

  The landing on the waters of the Thames River was smooth and uneventful. As they taxied toward the docks, Mike nudged Jacques and asked, “When did we start calling Ian ‘Father Time’?”

  “I’m not really sure. Always, it seems. The name just seemed to fit. Who else do you know that drove around in old cars, wore a tie to school every single day, and used both a belt and suspenders?”

  Mike smiled and nodded. “Ah, but the women all loved him. Unlike wise guys like us, he was never interested in conquests or bragging rights. He seemed to like getting to know them as real human beings.”

  “Yes,” Jacques said. “Unfortunately, like me, he seemed to want to get to know them all. Ian was never content to date just one woman at a time. He wanted various women to share in each of his various interests. It was like—”

  “—grocery shopping!” they both burst out at the same time.

  “Remember when he came up with that idea?” Mike said.

  “He was a genius!” Jacques said. “Where else, on any given day after work, would we find all the single girls, secretaries, bookkeepers, and typists? But Ian had it figured out. We’d walk the aisles of the local grocery store, pretending to be helpless bachelors trying to shop.”

  “Pretending, huh?” Mike said.

  As the plane neared the dock, they caught a glimpse of Ian standing next to his family’s vintage Rolls Royce limousine. His very posture was British. Even from a distance, Mike and Jacques could see Ian’s aristocratic profile, his long, thin, crooked nose that was the oddly perfect complement to his habitual devil-may-care attitude. He was dressed in his traditional gray and maroon tartan hat and freshly pressed, unbuttoned mackintosh. From the ground up, he wore his standard uniform: well-shined brown wing tips from Church’s, gray flannel slacks, a white dress shirt, school tie, and brown Harris Tweed jacket, all to suit the English weather. With not a strand of his sandy hair out of place, he looked like a male model from a Harrod’s catalogue.

  Ian was waiting for them at the top of the gangway. “Can it really be five years since we’ve seen each other?” he asked.

  They all began talking at once, and continued until Ian noticed they were holding up the line. The other passengers were patiently waiting, trying to figure out who these three young men, accompanied by a Rolls Royce and a chauffeur, might be.

  Without missing a word, the three of them moved over to the car, waited for the baggage to be loaded in “the boot,” and settled into the backseat.

  An hour and a half, two bottles of champagne, and many stories later, the limousine pulled to a stop at the front entrance of Claridge’s.

  The hotel manager was waiting curbside to greet them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Meyer—it’s good to see you again. The suite is ready for you and your guests.”

  He gave a little bow as he snapped his fingers for help.

  The manager accompanied them to the top floor, unlocked the door of the suite, and us
hered them inside. Mike whistled his appreciation. “Wow, this is some kind of campground! How were you able to arrange all this on such short notice?”

  “Finding the right furniture and paintings for this suite was one of my first assignments when I reentered the employ of Meyer & Company. In exchange for my continued services at the hotel, the owners let me make use of this suite whenever it’s not otherwise occupied.”

  The Royal Suite occupied the southwest corner of the top floor. From the balcony, they had a wonderful view of London and Hyde Park. Three master bedrooms opened onto a large sitting room, complete with piano, bar, and refrigerator. The ceilings were fourteen feet high, and the furniture appeared to be mostly composed of original Victorian and French provincial antiques. French Impressionist and Dutch Masters paintings graced the walls. Noticing his friends’ appreciative looks, Ian said, “They call it ‘the Royal Suite’ for a reason. Why don’t I call for room service? We have enough time for a late lunch, showers, and a short nap before we are due at the theater.”

  “Due at the theater! Have you lost your mind?” Jacques exclaimed. “We’ve come all this way, and with only three days in London, you want to take us to the theater? Boy, have you lost your touch.”

  Smiling his winning grin, Ian said, “Oh, didn’t I tell you that we are hosting the wrap party for the cast and crew of Red, Hot and Blue? What better way to introduce you to some of London’s loveliest sights? And I’m not just talking about the sets…”

  Chapter 5

  NATALIE OF SUSSEX

  The theater had been sold out for weeks. Even in wartime, tickets were selling on the street for multiples of their face value. For Londoners, a good show made the war disappear, if only for a few hours. Tonight, the loyal patrons of the musical theater were out in force, standing in line to attend the closing performance of Red, Hot and Blue.

  From the moment the curtain rose to the last of the standing ovations, Jacques couldn’t take his eyes off the female lead. She was tall and buxom, with a small waist and long legs. But, more than that, she was blessed with an astonishing stage presence.

  “Miss Natalie Cummins,” as she was listed in the program, made Jacques feel as if he were the only person in the audience, and he knew from long experience that this was the true test of a great actress. His hands were sore from clapping when Ian suggested they go backstage.

  So engrossed was he with the vision of Natalie, Jacques had, without realizing it, pushed any thought of Claudine completely out of his mind.

  It was crowded and noisy. London’s most ardent theatergoers were congratulating the exhilarated and exhausted cast. Almost immediately, Ian spotted his girlfriend, Emily, and guided his two friends over to meet her.

  “You’ve already heard so much about each other,” Ian said. “Allow me to make the proper introductions. Jacques, Mike, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Emily Smythe.”

  Giving them both a warm hug, Emily seemed genuinely happy to meet them.

  “It’s taken so long, I didn’t think I would ever meet you,” she said. “Ian talks about you all the time. I feel as if we’ve known each other forever.”

  “Emily,” Jacques said, “Ian has been telling us that we are supposed to behave ourselves around you. He thinks you may be the ‘real deal.’ I can’t speak for my friend, Mike, but I would like to apologize in advance, just in case.”

  “I accept, but I’m not sure that we shouldn’t be the ones doing the apologizing. As theater folk, tonight will be our last night to howl before we have to return to the reality of finding new work. We even invited Natalie, our lead, to reprise some of the show’s best songs. That should keep things under control, at least for the first hour.”

  “Speaking of Natalie, Jacques hasn’t been able to pry his gaze from her all night. Will you please introduce them?” Ian asked Emily.

  Seeing Natalie standing with a group of admirers, Emily walked over to them, made a brief excuse, and gently guided Natalie back to meet her new friends.

  Jacques was fascinated. Up close, she was even more exquisite. Curly, cropped, caramel-colored hair framed her face. Her brown, doe eyes were large and expressive. She had the kind of clear, pink complexion that the English seemed to have invented.I can understand why she has no trouble captivating an audience.

  “Hello, Jacques Roth,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Suddenly London’s most successful musical star disappeared and in her place appeared one of the most charming and unself-conscious women Jacques had ever met.

  Eventually, he and Natalie drifted into a corner and fell into the kind of conversation normally reserved for old friends. The noise, crowds, and backstage confusion dissolved. They became so engrossed in their talk they lost track of time and failed to notice when people started to leave.

  It was Emily who broke the spell. “Jacques, if you don’t take this poor girl to her party soon, you’re going to be late and your guests will be most unhappy.”

  The reception in the Royal Suite at Claridge’s was in full swing by the time they arrived. Any thought that Jacques might have had of monopolizing Natalie’s attention quickly evaporated.

  “Sing us a song, love,” was the constant refrain from everyone who saw her.

  Seated on top of the piano with a drink in one hand, Natalie sang the best songs from the show, then their favorites from other shows, and finally some that had special meaning for all of them.

  Standing in the rear, Jacques could see how the girl draped over the piano was a different person from the well-publicized star of the musical stage. She was among her friends, she was relaxed, and she was having a good time doing what she did best: entertaining.

  After about an hour, Natalie eased down from the piano, swallowed the last sip of her drink, took a deep bow—to her friends’ enthusiastic applause—and acknowledged the several musicians who had accompanied her. Then she grabbed Jacques in one hand and her purse in the other.

  Heading toward the door, she said in a stage whisper, “If you don’t take me away from here now, we shall never be allowed to finish our conversation.”

  They went to the bar downstairs. The hour was late; the place was almost deserted. The bartender stood behind the long mahogany bar, quietly cleaning and polishing glasses. A piano tinkled softly in the far corner. Natalie guided Jacques to a small table next to a wood-burning fireplace, where the bartender took their order of Napoleon cognac in warmed snifters, and then left them alone.

  Natalie looked into Jacques’ eyes and said, “In case you were wondering, I recognized you from your football—excuse me, soccer—playing days. As a young girl, I accompanied my brothers to most of England’s matches. Whenever they played the French, I waited for the sight of the tall, handsome captain. Of course, I always hoped the best for England,” she laughed. “But you were my prince. Then, eight years ago, you suddenly disappeared—no more newspaper articles, no more soccer games. I lost track of you. So tell me, prince, where have you been?”

  “Never in my wildest imagination would I have expected you to recognize me, Natalie. I’m so flattered. But I’m afraid that I have turned into a boring banker.” He talked for a few minutes about his recent history, and then abruptly said, “But enough about me. I would like to know more about you, the star of the London stage.”

  She smiled and looked away from him for a moment. “I’m really just a country girl from Sussex. I grew up on a farm with two older brothers, and I was always a tomboy. I took care of my share of the daily chores: milking the cows, stacking bales of hay, mucking out the animal pens. No special treatment—my brothers made sure of that.”

  “Wow! What happened to that tomboy?” Jacques exclaimed, eyeing her appreciatively.

  Pausing to take a sip of her cognac, she continued. “At the age of eighteen, I became interested in the theater. I loved going to movies, particularly musicals. I would always be dancing and singing the scores as I worked around the house. It all seemed so natural, and I
never really thought much about where it could lead me. Then, at twenty, I had had enough of Sussex. I just somehow knew that there was a different kind of life waiting for me.”

  “So you headed to London?”

  “Where else?” She shrugged. “I found some part-time work waiting on tables, serving drinks in the pubs. Afternoon and evening jobs were never hard to find, but getting morning work was always more difficult. To fill up my spare time, I got into the habit of attending early theatrical rehearsals and auditions. I would just sit there in the empty theater, picturing myself as one of those women on stage. I used to think, ‘What is it that they’re doing that I haven’t done a thousand times around our house?’ So, one day I decided, the hell with it, and went up and stood in line. And I got in! It was just a part in the chorus, but that’s how it all started.

  “After that, I began to use whatever money I was able to save to pay for dancing, acting, and singing classes. I auditioned for every part that was open and was fortunate to get enough roles to keep me going. A few years later, I was chosen for the lead in Red, Hot and Blue. And here I am now, with the charming ex-captain of the French football team.”

  “What about your personal life?” Jacques asked. “Certainly, there must be someone special, or at the very least a long line of broken hearts?”

  “Not really. You’d be surprised. Between work, singing, dancing, and acting lessons, there has been precious little time for much of a personal life. In my world, there is no such thing as a dinner date. By eight o’clock, I’m always on the stage.”

  Jacques felt an unexpected tremor of elation at that news. Easy, boy; you’ve only just met her.

  As their conversation continued, they once again lost track of time. The bar was closing, and they were the only remaining patrons. Not wanting the evening to end, and not sure of what to say next, Jacques extended his hand toward Natalie. Naturally and without hesitation, she reached out and grasped it, and allowed him to lead her to the elevators. When the elevator doors closed, and he pressed the button for his floor, Natalie broke the silence. “My prince, I don’t know where all this is headed, but I think I should warn you—I’m a healthy girl with healthy appetites.”