“And this boat?”
“It’s a relic of that same era,” Mike said. “You might be surprised at some of the folks who were involved in rum-running during Prohibition.”
“Then again, maybe I wouldn’t.”
Jacques smiled and tilted his face to the wind, enjoying the sea air. When they cleared the harbor, Mike pushed both throttles forward and the two Rolls Royce engines roared louder. Surprised by the power and acceleration, Jacques said, “What the hell is going on?”
“Find a seat and enjoy the view! We’ve got a long way to go and there’s no sense in taking all day.”
The fishing craft had risen up out of the water and was skimming over the light, afternoon chop at nearly fifty knots.
“Is this some kind of boat or what?” Mike yelled above the engines. “The Ashbys bought it from the Maddox family after the repeal of Prohibition. This is what he used to make his offshore pickups. Even fully loaded, it could outrun any police boat from here to Maine.”
“What’s with all the fishing equipment?”
“Nowadays, all these waters around the Cape—Nantucket Sound and Buzzards Bay and the entrance to Newport harbor—are patrolled by the Coast Guard on the lookout for German U-boats. Only registered fishing boats are allowed to pass.”
Jacques nodded. “What happens when it gets dark? Are you going to get us lost?”
Mike grinned and shook his head. “Not likely. It’s easier than you think. See this chart? That light over there to starboard is at Allerton Point. Once we pass it, we turn south-southeast for the next forty miles, until we see the lighthouse at Provincetown. From there, we turn south along the eastern coast of Cape Cod for another forty miles or so until we approach Chatham harbor. We’ll work through some islands and shallows and enter Nantucket Sound. Another fifty miles along, we’ll come to Woods Hole Point and the opening to Buzzard Bay. Across the bay maybe thirty miles toward the light at Skonnet Point, we’ll be within ten miles or so of Brenton Point, close to our destination.
“Look, it’s a beautiful moonlit night. Why don’t you grab us a couple of beers, then shut up with all the questions and just enjoy the ride?”
When the bluffs overlooking Newport harbor finally came into view, Mike began pointing out the magnificent mansions illuminated by the full moon, naming each of their owners. To Jacques, the list sounded like a Who’s Who of the East Coast establishment. To Mike, they were simply old friends and neighbors.
Mike slowed the boat as they neared the bluff. “Watch this,” he said with a grin. Slowing the boat to a snail’s pace, he maneuvered it around a large outcropping of rocks and into a cave completely hidden from the sea. On the right side, cleverly hidden just inside the entrance, was a light switch. He reached out and turned it on, and the cave and rocks marking the path under the cliff were suddenly illuminated. The light seemed to come from below the water.
“This is astonishing!” Jacques said. “What a perfect way to hide a dock!”
After turning off the engine, Mike handed Jacques a large, wooden pole. It was low tide, and the rocks on the bottom of the entrance were exposed. Standing on opposite sides of the boat, they used the poles to maneuver the boat between the rocks. It was slow, difficult work.
“I can tell you one thing,” Jacques said, wiping off his brow. “Getting through this cave would be impossible for anyone not familiar with the rocks. But at high tide, I’ll bet you could drive a boat through at full speed.”
“You’re right,” Mike said. “We generally time our trips to take advantage of that fact.”
They poled the boat for another hundred yards until they reached a well-illuminated, deep lagoon. Jacques stared, his mouth open. On both sides of the cavern were concrete docks, equipped with large, heavy-duty overhead cranes. Behind each crane was a large, empty warehouse that had obviously been excavated out of the stone cliffs. Freight elevators, leading to the upper stories, were located on either side of each warehouse, and groups of hand trucks lay idle in each storage area. Jacques could visualize the cases of liquor that must have been stored there during a bygone time.
After securing the boat, Mike led the way toward the nearest elevator. “These were used to transport liquor to the smaller quarters located in the rear of the house. From there, it was transported to major eastern cities in the many service vehicles that came and went each day. It was a beautiful operation… and apparently, it worked well for a very long time. To my knowledge, it was never discovered.”
“That bodes well for us, then,” Jacques said.
“My thoughts exactly. We’re going up to the servants’ quarters,” Mike said, pressing a button. “They know we’re coming. I had Parker call ahead, and everything has been arranged.”
“Why the servants’ quarters?”
“It’s still off season, and most of the houses are closed except for skeleton staff. It would look strange if lights or residents were seen in the main part of the house, especially on the upper floors. In a small community like this, that’s cause for the local police to investigate. Tomorrow, we’ll check the blackout curtains in the main bedrooms, and if everything seems okay, we’ll move upstairs.”
As the elevator began its ascent, Mike went on. “The staff here aren’t the normal servants you’d expect in a Newport mansion. Paul is their leader—still very strong for an older guy. He was Mr. Maddox’s personal bodyguard. On their runs to supply ships, Paul manned the machine gun attached to the top of the cockpit. Rhoda, his wife, drove the boat. The other two servants handled the cargo, loaded the service trucks, and did odd jobs around the estate. Wait until you hear some of their stories! Incidentally, they’re all very accustomed to not asking questions, so they don’t know the real reason we’re here.”
When the elevator reached Level S, Mike rotated the wheel to a stop. Paul, Rhoda, and two other servants were waiting to greet them.
After the introductions were completed, Jacques asked, “How did you know when we’d be arriving?”
“Oh, we didn’t. You set off a silent alarm the minute you entered the cave,” Paul said. “We have them everywhere. Look up there on the wall. See the flashing light and the plaque below it? When the light over the ‘Cave Entrance’ sign began to flash, we knew you had arrived. Those alarms haven’t been used in years, but we still test them every week—out of habit, I suppose.”
Rhoda showed them where they’d be bunking for the night and told them that cocktails would be served at six. “You’ll be eating very well here. We appreciate the opportunity to dust off some of our old skills. But tonight, it will have to be dinner in the kitchen with the rest of us.”
______
The next morning, Mike and Jacques made their way upstairs. With the blackout curtains carefully inspected and securely closed, the two visitors began to inspect their new quarters.
Each had his own master suite—complete with balconies opening onto the sea. At night, with the lights out, they could open the balcony doors and enjoy the sound of the waves crashing on the bluffs below, the soft sea breezes, and the lights of Newport in the distance.
Noticing the sad look on Jacques’ face, Mike asked, “Are you thinking about Ian and Claudine? Here we are, seemingly safe in this fortress of luxury and comfort, not knowing what’s happened to them.”
“Mike, you read my mind. I’ve been thinking that as soon as it’s safe, I need to return to Europe and see what I can do.”
Gradually, over the next few weeks, they grew accustomed to their surroundings—and the staff became accustomed to their peculiar habit of leaving score sheets from cribbage and other card games scattered everywhere. Paul and the others looked on, convinced that the two friends were playing for great sums of money. But on the fifth night, over dinner, when Mike was totaling up the score, they were astounded to hear, “Well, Jacques, it looks like you’re the big winner. According to my scoring, which is not open for audit, you have won a grand total of five dollars and seventeen cents.”
Accepting the money, Jacques said, “I’m quite grateful for all of this. But,” he added, lowering his voice, “rolling around in this grand old mansion is becoming a bit boring. Haven’t we waited long enough to try out those uniforms?”
Smiling, Mike responded, “Jacques, my old pal, you are about to understand why those U.S. Navy uniforms are about to become our passports to the world of anti-boredom. Less than a quarter mile away, down some unmarked path, there is a very nasty town that has everything a sailor could wish for: booze, wild women, hot jazz, and at least one good fight every night.”
“Reporting for duty, sir,” Jacques said, snapping off a salute.
From that day forward, they fell into a daily routine. After sleeping late, they would awaken to breakfast cooked by the staff, read the local newspapers, then conduct daily gin rummy, dominoes, cribbage, and backgammon tournaments. The loser was expected to pay that night’s bar bill at the winner’s honky-tonk of choice.
In the afternoon, they would work out in the fully equipped gym, followed by a growing number of laps in the indoor pool, a steam bath, and a massage administered by Rhoda and her surprisingly strong hands.
Following a nap, they would shower, shave, and put on their freshly laundered uniforms. Already half-smashed from the richness of dinner and the grand assortment of vintage wines, Jacques and Mike would make their way down the path to Newport and the world of the swabbies from whatever ship happened to be in port.
Though the atmosphere of each of the bars was similarly tawdry, for reasons Mike and Jacques could never quite fathom, the crew of one ship would favor a different bar from the crew of another ship. Fights were generally limited to those places frequented by sailors from separate ships, or else they occurred over any one of the ladies of the night, who were always in attendance.
Gradually, Mike and Jacques learned which bars to avoid and which ones to frequent. Their choices normally centered on what musicians were in town and where they were playing. Lately, a real hot horn man had been hanging out in Shanty Malone’s, which was fast becoming one of their favorite hangouts. As word spread, other musicians began to appear and sit in for jam sessions. Dixieland jazz, swing, the blues… whatever the impromptu band played fit like a hand in a glove.
One night, a tall, slight, bespectacled man with long, graceful hands sat in at the piano. The horn man usually waited a few bars before coming in. As the pianist started to play, everyone in the club knew something was different. They were hearing the same tunes they’d heard many times, but the pianist had improvised the music and played it in an entirely new way. Even the horn man forgot to start playing, he was so fascinated by what the pianist was doing. The room became amazingly quiet.
Waving to the horn man and the other musician, the jazz pianist indicated his desire to have them join in. At first they would play an old standard swing song straight. The second time through, they would begin to improvise. By the fourth time, you had to listen carefully to hear the notes of the original melody.
Word about this special talent spread quickly. From that night forward, Jacques and Mike learned that if you didn’t get to the bar early, you couldn’t get a seat.
______
One night, while Jacques and Mike soaked up jazz and whiskey in equal quantities, one of the Maddox staff members noticed a strange vehicle parked outside the nearby Stone mansion. Two men sat inside the car, watching the house intently.
Paul said to his wife, while looking out the window, “Look at those men in that parked car. They are obviously looking for somebody. I don’t know what kind of trouble those two young men are in, but I’m ready to do whatever’s required to protect them. Quite frankly, our current domestic duties have become a little boring. I’d appreciate some action!”
Paul assigned one of the staff to watch the men in the car for a couple of hours. Before the first shift ended, the men had left their vehicle and were going from mansion to mansion, knocking on doors and, with the aid of their heavy flashlights, looking around the grounds. Seeing the men headed in his direction, the staff member barely had time to warn Paul before there was a knock on the front door.
Paul greeted the pair. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Well, we’re looking for a close friend of ours—Mike Stone,” said one of the men. “We were supposed to meet him in town, and he hasn’t arrived yet.”
“I’m sorry, sir, this is the Maddox residence. The Stone mansion is over there, on the opposite side of the bluff. Maybe you can find him there.”
“We’ve already been there and it seems that no one’s home. Do you mind if we come in and use your telephone?”
Paul’s instincts, honed by years of operating as a Prohibition rumrunner, kicked in immediately. “I’m afraid my employer has left specific instructions not to let anyone in—at least without a search warrant.”
______
While the two Samson agents went door to door, another pair was looking around the yacht club where Mike and Jacques had taken the boat from. Unfortunately, this was the one day in the month that Metro had off.
Approaching the attendant, a Samson agent reached into his pocket and withdrew what appeared to be an FBI badge and identification. “Excuse me, do you have the Stone yacht moored here?”
Trained to please, the substitute attendant answered, “Yes, sir, you can see it berthed over there. It’s the big white one with the teak decks, moored in 3B.”
“Do you know if it has been used within the last few weeks?”
“No, sir, it’s been here the entire time. Just look at the dust on it.”
Glancing over at the boat, the agent scanned the other berths, noticing only one empty space. “Whose boat belongs there?”
“That’s the Ashby boat. I believe it’s being borrowed by a family friend,” the young man answered.
“Thank you,” the agent said, shoving a few dollars into the attendant’s hand. With no way to talk to the agents that were already in Newport, the two men began the two-hour drive to the Ashby mansion, stopping en route in Boston to pick up two other agents.
As the Samson operatives searched the Ashby house and its deserted boat dock, one of them noticed that the Maddox mansion next door didn’t have a docking facility.
“Strange,” he said, studying the adjacent property more carefully. “Why would only one of the mansions not have a boat dock?” It was then that they saw the large exhaust vents that emerged out of the stony cliff connecting the mansion to the water below.
The smallest of the four agents agreed to climb down the cliff to inspect the closest vent. Pulling off the cover, he carefully climbed down the iron ladder welded to the inside of the large vent. Almost immediately upon reaching the hidden dock area below, the agent spotted the docking lines hanging in the water, which suggested that a boat must have left in such haste, the captain or crew failed to coil and place them in their accustomed spot. The agent suspected that those on board were the two men the FBI were hunting, namely, Mike Stone and Jacques Roth. He hurriedly retraced his steps and headed back to report what he had discovered.
______
A yellow, blinking light inside the mansion told Paul that someone had crawled through the air duct to the boat dock. He had just enough time to stash away all of Mike and Jacques’ belongings and alert Rhoda to head out down the back path before the four Samson agents made a second call on the Maddox residence.
As Paul opened the door, a pistol was pointed directly into his face. The same agent who had been there before said, “Will this warrant suffice?”
“Come in, fellows. You were looking for someone, weren’t you? Well, feel free to look.”
The Samson agents began searching the house. They couldn’t find any trace of visitors in the immaculate master bedrooms upstairs. In fact, they were beginning to think they had made a mistake until one agent held up a sheet of paper—a scorecard with Jacques’ and Mike’s names written on it.
The agent’s eyes widened when
he saw Jacques’ name and knew for certain that he was still alive. “Where are they?” he asked, shoving his gun into the side of Paul’s face.
“Don’t… don’t shoot me, okay, buddy? When they saw you pull up outside the Ashby home, they took the speedboat and headed out. You can probably catch up with them at the yacht club.”
The agents raced out the front door. A moment later, Paul went to the door and closed it quietly. Rhoda came up behind him. “Think they bought it?”
“I hope so. We’ve got to get Mike and Jacques out of here.”
______
It had been a great night at Shanty’s. Sitting at the bar, Mike and Jacques had been served immediately and frequently. Musicians from various ships moored in port had joined in on the horn man and pianist’s session, knowing it would be their last night there. They were determined to make it a great gig. The music was loud, and the excited crowd was even louder.
It was past midnight before the first fight broke out, signaling that it was time for Mike and Jacques to leave and begin their unsteady trek up the path back home. They were still laughing and discussing the events of the evening when they noticed Rhoda standing quietly in the shadows, waiting for them.
“You two need to come with me,” she said.
After quickly explaining what had happened, she led them up a different path to a fourth mansion, whose staff had already been informed and was waiting for them. Without comment and without belongings, Mike and Jacques were led into an old service van. They lay down in the rear cargo area, where Rhoda pulled some old blankets over them and gave each a silent pat good-bye.
Two hours later, the van came to a halt outside Boston’s old produce warehouse near a dock, a short walking distance from Sculley Square. The driver handed them the name of a “no questions asked” hotel, neatly written on a scrap of paper.
The Sentinels: Fortunes of War Page 20
