The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  My original idea had been for her to help smuggle Rosa into France. Given that she was likely going to be rip-roaring drunk or passed out when we landed, that was definitely off the table.

  Meanwhile, Sam just sat in his seat and stared out the window for the first couple of hours of the flight.

  At some point, Christine began to ask everyone what they wanted to eat. There was still plenty of food from the basket that Marge had given her. As she'd said, it was basic but it was good. I had half a sandwich standing up, but I wasn't hungry. I decided I wanted to take a nap in the bedroom.

  Carter and Rosa decided to make a picnic of it and sat next to each other at one of the long, narrow tables that ran along the bench seats against the wall of the plane behind the three front rows.

  I woke with a start to the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door. I looked out the window. The sun was about to set over the Atlantic.

  "Nick?" It was Sam.

  "Come in." I was just laying in my socks, trousers, and shirt. I'd kicked off my shoes and taken off my coat and tie. I sat up on the bed, crossed my legs, and reached over to my coat to grab my Camels from the right pocket.

  Sam walked in and closed the door behind him. He said, "Can we talk?" His accent was less American than usual.

  I nodded. "Sure. Wanna Camel?"

  He smiled. "Thanks."

  I took out two and lit them both. I handed him one.

  After taking in a drag, I said, "I'm really sorry about that trick we played on you, Sam."

  He exhaled and sat down on the bed in front of me. "I know. What a fucking awful day this has been."

  I nodded. "How are you?"

  He looked out the window. "Angry. Sad. Hurt. Grateful."

  "Grateful?"

  "Yeah. I know it's strange, but I was just up front sitting there, and I suddenly realized how wonderful my life has been since I've known you."

  "Yeah." I snorted. "It's been a fuckin' walk in the park."

  Sam shook his head. He moved closer and took my hand in his. "No, Nick. I've known this day was coming with Ike. I don't know exactly what he did, but I knew it was coming." He sighed. "And so did Anna."

  I started at that. "She did?" I tried to remember if Mrs. Kopek had mentioned anything to us about Ike in the last few months.

  "Yeah. We've been talking about it for the last couple of months, trying to figure out what to do."

  I looked down at his big, thick hand. Several small scars ran across the back. "Why didn't you ask me or Kenneth for help?"

  "Help for what? Ike has always tried to be a good boy." We both smiled when he said that. He sounded a lot like Ike's late father as he spoke. "But he always thought he was beyond the law. As if it didn't apply to him or as if he wouldn't get caught."

  I nodded. Based on my experience with the kid, I had to agree.

  He continued. "So, what could you do? There are some things that money or good lawyers or even good friends can't ever fix."

  Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just sat there while he held my hand. Finally, I said, "I'm glad you're coming with us."

  He nodded, let go of my hand, stood, and walked over to the window. Leaning over, he said, "I remember the first time I ever saw an airplane. It was 1912 and it was an Austrian biplane. It landed in a field near our house. Everyone came from all around to see it. It was something. And look at us now. We can easily go anywhere in the world. And now I work for a man who owns a fleet of modern airplanes. Before long, you'll probably own one of those jets. It's amazing."

  I walked over and stood next to him. "Where would you go if you could go anywhere?"

  He laughed. "I have to be careful answering since you might send me there."

  I grinned. "I was just wondering where your favorite place in the world is. You've been to so many places."

  He shook his head. "Not that many."

  "Compared to me or Carter, you have."

  He nodded but didn't say anything. After a moment he said, "If I could go back in time, I'd like to be in Moscow in the 20s. You have no idea what it was like then. I know it's not a popular American sentiment right now, but that was a real hopping place back then. Before Stalin lost his mind." He licked his lips. "And the sex. You have no idea."

  I laughed. "And now?"

  "Now?" He sighed. "There's only one place."

  "Where?"

  Sam laughed. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Home. San Francisco. Where else?"

  . . .

  Carter and I were talking with Rosa and Sam. We were sitting on the benches on the port side of the plane. The four of us sat in a row like teenagers gossiping about high school romances.

  The stories were mostly Rosa's and Sam's. They were telling us about their different adventures.

  Rosa's were all about the women she'd chased around the world, very much on Nacho's dime and very much with his consent. As she'd said, "That gave him more time to collect his men."

  Carter and I had laughed at that.

  Sam told us about some of his more interesting adventures in the underbelly of San Francisco. And he'd added stories of some of the men he'd known, some more intimately than others. He was telling us a juicy one about a mobster when Christine walked up to me.

  "Mr. Williams?"

  I stood up. I didn't like the tone in her voice. "What's happened?"

  She tilted her head towards the rear of the plane and began to walk in that direction. As we came to the door of the small cabin where Annie had locked herself in, I saw that it was open. There was an awful smell of booze, vomit, and urine coming from the room. Before I walked in, I turned and asked, "Is she dead?"

  Christine nodded. "Yes. When she didn't answer, I had to unlock the door."

  "Suicide?"

  She shook her head. "No. She aspirated on her vomit. I've seen it before."

  I walked in and had a look. She was face-down on the floor. Her face was blue, and everything was an awful mess. Except for her hat. It was still in place.

  I walked back into the passageway and pulled the door closed. "Let's leave it for the French authorities. How long until we land?"

  She looked at her watch. "Another hour."

  I nodded.

  . . .

  Captain Morris said, "Fuck."

  I nodded. "I know. Any ideas?"

  "Morocco?" That was Captain Obregon

  Captain Morris replied, "No."

  The cockpit was silent for a long moment. Finally, Captain Morris said, "I know what we'll do." He looked at his co-pilot. "Are you up for a white lie?"

  I said, "I don't want either of you doing anything illegal."

  Captain Obregon laughed. "We passed that line a while ago. We're smuggling someone into a foreign country, right?"

  I shrugged and didn't reply.

  . . .

  Leaving Captain Obregon at the controls, Captain Morris and I walked back to where Carter, Sam, and Rosa were solemnly huddled along the benches. Looking at Sam, he asked, "Do you have an American passport?"

  He nodded.

  I held up my left hand, looked over at Carter, and wiggled my pinky finger. "Do you mind if I loan this out? It's for a good cause."

  He looked at the ring and smiled wanly. "If it's for a good cause, sure." He shrugged. "I guess."

  I pulled off the simple gold band that Carter had given me in Ensenada back in '53 and handed it to Sam.

  "What's this?"

  "It's the ring you're gonna give Rosa when you propose to her in the next thirty seconds."

  They both replied in unison. "What?"

  I said, "Captain Morris is gonna marry the two of you right now. We're gonna land in Spain. When the Spanish police ask, you'll be heading for your honeymoon in the Pyrenees." I looked at Sam. "You'll have to find a way to smuggle Rosa into France."

  He nodded slowly. I could tell he was taking the news of Annie's death particularly hard. He sighed. "That's no problem. I'll need some cash."

&n
bsp; I nodded. "Of course." I then looked at Rosa. "Where are your friends in France?"

  "Marseilles. Once we cross the border, I can take the train."

  I looked at Carter. "Meanwhile, we'll leave Spain and fly right into Paris. Sam, you take the train and meet us there as soon as you can." He nodded.

  Captain Morris added, "When we land at Le Bourget airport, we'll inform the French police about Annie. She's still a French citizen, so that makes it easier."

  Rosa asked, "Why not land in Bordeaux?"

  Sam answered quickly. "Because the Spanish police are bribeable and the French police are not. That's the only way to get you off the plane without a passport."

  She nodded and then stood up. "Well?"

  He grinned half-heartedly as he stood. "Rosalinda Esparza? Will you make me as happy as you can ever make any man?"

  She nodded with a wry smile. "Yes, Sam Halversen. I will do that if you will make me as happy as you can ever make any woman." She extended her hand.

  Sam slipped on the ring and turned to Captain Morris, who said, "By the power invested in me, I hereby declare you are man and wife."

  Rosa gave Sam a single kiss on the cheek. That seemed about right, all things considered.

  Chapter 19

  Hôtel de Crillon

  10, place de la Concorde

  Paris, France

  Tuesday, January 25, 1955

  Half past 8 in the morning

  Sam, who had arrived on the train on Sunday night, didn't show up for breakfast. We waited for a few minutes and then put in our order. Fortunately, the waiter was friendly and spoke English. Once he realized we wanted an "English breakfast," it had been easy to add and subtract things. We added more eggs and bacon. We subtracted beans and black pudding. I was afraid to ask about whatever that last thing was.

  We were about done when Sam waltzed into the dining room looking very satisfied with himself. He plopped down next to me and said, "I'm hungry as anything."

  "Where you been?" asked Carter as he finished the last of his eggs.

  "Running an errand. And it's all for you, Carter."

  "Really?" I asked, trying to keep from sounding jealous.

  Sam turned and said, "Yes, Nick. This one is for Carter. Your gift happens tonight."

  I laughed. "Shouldn't we be showering you with gifts?"

  He smiled. "You do every day. I just wanna make sure you both know there's no hard feelings."

  I nodded as Carter said, "Whatever it is, you really don't—"

  Sam raised his hand. "It's already done. Be ready at 11."

  Right then the waiter came by and said something in French. Sam replied and put in his order for something or other. He'd been systematically charming the hotel staff, from the housekeepers to the Hotel Manager since he'd arrived Sunday night. It was short work for just shy of thirty-six hours.

  . . .

  Carter and I took a long walk after breakfast. The hotel sat in front of a large park, of sorts. Something called Cleopatra's Needle stood in the middle, pointing to the sky and covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics. The concierge had told us that Napoleon had brought it back from Egypt. On Monday we'd walked over and had a look at the thing. After that, we'd wandered around the city until we got tired. Then we'd grabbed a cab. Carter had figured out how to pronounce the name of the hotel and to say some polite words in French. I was hopeless so I kept my mouth shut.

  That morning we did the same thing but went in the opposite direction. We wandered around a very large garden until half past 10 when we grabbed another cab. We were back in the lobby by a quarter until 11. There we found Sam sitting in a big comfortable chair reading a French newspaper.

  We both sat down next to him on a long sofa. I asked, "What's going to happen?"

  Sam put the paper down. "It's not what but who."

  I nodded. Carter asked, "Who?"

  Sam replied, "You'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, you're in the papers, Nick."

  I rolled my eyes. "Do I wanna know?"

  "Probably. The French press is much more tolerant of us than back in America. Except for the right-wing rags, but that's to be expected. Here it's much more live and let live. You're not even breaking the law each night like you are in San Francisco."

  I smiled. "Carter is really good at breaking the law."

  Sam laughed and folded over the newspaper. "See here?" He pointed to a picture of Carter and me. It was the one from my infamous night at the Top of the Mark when I'd given one George Hearst a piece of my mind. That particular photo was the cropped one that didn't include Ben and Martinelli. That was also the night they met and fell in love. That was also the night that Consolidated Security had been conceived. All in all, I tended to think the night had been a success.

  I handed the paper over to Carter who asked, "What does the caption say?"

  Sam leaned across me as Carter showed him the paper. "Mr. Nicholas Williams and Mr. Carter Jones of San Francisco. They are principal owners of Consolidated Security in that city."

  "What's the article about?"

  "It talks about how you flew into Le Bourget airport late Thursday night and how you discovered that one of the passengers had died tragically between a quick stop in Spain and the arrival in Paris."

  I sighed. I still had mixed feelings about Annie. On the one hand, I had an odd sense of relief that she was gone. Not for me but for her. Life would have been hard for her, no matter what. On the other hand, it was a terrible tragedy all the way around. Annie had lost so much in such a short space of time. It was mostly of her own doing, but I couldn't dance on her grave.

  "It goes on to talk about Annie and the revelation that she was a long-standing member of Action française who'd gone undercover to infiltrate the Communist Party back in the early 30s before becoming disillusioned. It mentions Razzie's death in San Francisco. It says that the F.B.I. has denied having anything to do with Annie at all. There's also mention of Monsieur Veladier at City of Paris and how stunned he and the staff were to discover a collaborationist had been working there. There's even been a call for a judicial inquiry into who else from Action française might have been hiding as communists during the occupation and whether they should be tried for war crimes. There's going to be quite a scandal before it's all done. But," he grinned at me, "you two come out in the story as heroes for having uncovered the real traitor."

  Carter took my hand in his and said, "I don't think we did anything other than our jobs."

  I nodded.

  Sam looked at us both, from one to the other, and said, "That's why I can't stay mad at you. That's all you ever do. Your jobs."

  While I puzzled that out, I saw Sam turn. His face broke into a big grin. He stood and said, "Be right back." With that, he dashed towards the front door, nearly knocking down a woman covered in fur and wearing an astonishingly large hat.

  Carter squeezed my hand. "He's right. That is all we do."

  I nodded. "I know. Seems like we should get a hobby or something. Of course, you have your surfing." Carter had started surfing the previous summer when we'd been on the island of Kauai in the Hawaii Territory. We'd started making trips down to Santa Cruz where there were plenty of surfers, and they'd more or less welcomed him into their ranks. And no one had said much when they realized who he was and who I was. That had been a refreshing and unexpected change. Carter was good on the board, and that was more important to them than anything else out of the water.

  Carter laughed. "And you have your surfer ogling."

  I smiled. "It's hard but someone has to do it."

  Right then Sam walked over. Behind him was a short and thickly built man. He had white hair and looked to be somewhere north of 50. His face was broad and almost flat. He probably stood five and a half feet tall. Under his coat and trousers, it was obvious the man was a bodybuilder. Considering his age, he might have been one of the first.

  We both stood up as Sam brought the man forward. Sam said something in French to the man who stepped
towards us. He offered his hand to Carter, who shook it. Then he offered his hand to me. It was thickly calloused and just as dry as Sam's. When he shook, I had the sense that he was carefully squeezing so as not to break my hand. I appreciated that.

  Sam said, "Carter, this is Monsieur Ernest Cadine." The other man grinned at the mention of his name. Suddenly I realized how much he looked like a much shorter version of Mike. He had that same thick neanderthal face. Only Mr. Cadine's eyes were just brown instead of being a shocking blue like Mike's. When he smiled, however, his whole face lit up. That was just like Mike.

  Sam continued, "He won the gold medal for weightlifting in the 1920 Olympics."

  Carter nodded and smiled broadly. He looked down at the man and slowly asked, "Do you speak English?"

  Cadine shook his head. Using his hand to indicate something small, he said, "No. A little. Maybe."

  Carter laughed. "That's more French than me."

  The older man shrugged and laughed as well. He said a long string of something in French to Sam. Whatever it was involved a lot of hand movements.

  Sam laughed and said to Carter, "He says you are the tallest bodybuilder he's ever met."

  Carter smiled and shrugged. He was definitely the tallest one I knew and I secretly felt like I had my own gold medal in the category of being husband to the most handsome man on three continents.

  . . .

  Carter, Sam, and Cadine took off for a gym somewhere that was far enough away that a cab was needed. Being left alone in a strange city where I didn't speak the language was intimidating, but I asked the concierge to give me a couple of cards with the hotel name and address and then headed out on my own.

  . . .

  By about 12:30, I was ready for some lunch. I had walked and walked, more and more steadily uphill, until I came to a broad avenue and a building with a windmill on it. It was the famous Moulin Rouge, a place my Great-Uncle Paul had mentioned visiting in his journals. I wasn't much of a tourist, but one thing I remembered from our visit to New York City back in '49 was to never eat at places near the local attractions. So, I ventured away from the avenue and back into the more narrow side streets.