“Major, I am not the type of man to grant a post to a family member as an act of nepotism.”
Harding looked a little flustered at this rebuke. Since family patronage had been the thing that got me this far in life, I wondered what was wrong with it.
“William brings something special to us, Major. He is a dedicated police detective, decorated for bravery. Sooner or later, I am going to need someone who can handle potentially delicate investigations. Anytime this many people are brought together in an enterprise, with so much bounty in supplies and multiple chains of command, there are bound to be a few rotten apples.”
“For the good of the family, they need to be removed, quietly.” I surprised myself with this, but I knew exactly what he meant.
“Exactly, William! We need to be sure the top officers running this war are as pure as Caesar’s wife. If any of them get into the black market or something worse, the publicity could lead to divisions within our ranks. It would only help the Germans.”
“So my job is to hush things up?”
Ike raised his eyebrows and glanced at Harding. “Well, no, William,” Ike said, crushing out his cigarette in a glass ashtray mounded with ashes and butts. “Things will have to be handled discreetly, but when the need arises, we will deal with anyone who violates the military code of justice or the laws of Great Britain. No one’s going to get away with murder. I just don’t want them tried in the Old Bailey for the world to see, that’s all.”
“How do I fit in, sir?” Harding leaned forward and I could see he was hoping to be let off the hook.
“I hope I won’t be utilizing William’s talents full-time. He’ll need some other work to do to keep himself busy and useful. He can act as your aide.” I saw astonishment, followed by resignation, flicker across Harding’s face and vanish, buried under that West Point facade that never seemed to relax.
“Thank you, General.” With that, I knew Harding could have a second career as a diplomat.
“You’re heading off to that briefing with the Norwegians on Monday. Take William along and let him get the feel of things, get to know people. OK?”
Uncle Ike made it seem like a question, as if Harding would be doing him a favor.
“I’m sure he’ll be a great help, General.”
Ike nodded and the interview was apparently over. As we got up, he took me by the arm and walked me over to the window. Harding closed the door behind him and it was just Uncle Ike and me in the room. From where we stood, we could see all of Grosvenor Square. Some buildings were bomb damaged; the front of one was gone, revealing couches, beds, and tables in the rooms, like a giant dollhouse. He pointed to an intact structure on the opposite corner.
“John Adams, our second president, lived right there when he was ambassador to Great Britain. Just over that way a few blocks is Buckingham Palace and beyond that the Houses of Parliament. There are many ties that bind us to the English, William. We will have to rely on these bonds to get us through this war. They must be strengthened. And protected.”
I had remembered Uncle Ike as a guy always ready with a grin. Now he looked like somebody else. Somebody with a grim job ahead of him. Somebody who needed a trusted hand at his side. I trembled a little, realizing that he thought that was me. I wanted to tell him I was the wrong guy, that I was a fake and a cheater. It was the first time in my life I ever felt ashamed of anything, but what could I say? That the Boyles were all talk and no action? His eyes were on me again, and he spoke in a low voice.
“William, I want you to know that I picked you for this job for two reasons. First, you’re a trained detective. Second, you’re family, and I’ve always believed in trusting family.”
He lit another cigarette and drew on it heavily.
“Can you do this for me, William? And for your country?”
It must have been the lack of sleep. There was something solitary and lonely about Uncle Ike standing there, looking out over the ruined buildings and John Adams’s ghost, maybe wondering if he could handle it all. I didn’t feel sorry for him. At that moment, I just wanted to help him, more than anything else. If I had been more rested, I would’ve thought to ask what it was I’d get out of it. But I didn’t.
“Sure, Uncle Ike. You can count on me,” was what I said.
CHAPTER THREE
As I left Uncle Ike’s office I asked a passing PFC where I could find Second Officer Daphne Seaton. He pointed toward a hallway and told me to go one flight down. The stairway emptied into one large room with about a dozen desks and countless file cabinets. Maps covered any spare wall space, and the paint job was a fresh coat of army green, with some brown trim for flair. I saw Harding standing next to one of the desks, talking with Daphne. He looked up, crooked his thumb in my direction, and without another word walked away in the opposite direction. I threaded my way between desks and a sea of uniforms, American, British, army, navy, all busy moving lots of paperwork around, the walls echoing with a constant murmur of low voices and the shuffling of files. A telephone rang and I had to dodge an RAF officer as he ran to grab it. I put on my best smile as I approached Daphne’s desk.
“Do you have time to show me around, Second Officer Seaton?” I asked.
“Please call me Miss Seaton if that’s easier for you; saves time all around.”
Harding must have said something to her because I actually felt the temperature rise above freezing. I guess he told her that Ike had asked for me, and what he had in mind. I mentally thanked him for the boost and tried to act modest, but it was a new experience for me, especially around a pretty woman.
“Well, Miss Seaton, the first place I’d like to see is the mess hall, and a pot of coffee, maybe some doughnuts.” Once a cop…
She finally smiled, and that did me a world of good. I always felt better when I could get someone to smile, especially when they were inclined otherwise. If someone’s smiling-a genuine smile, not a leer or the phony grin of a two-bit grifter-then you can be pretty sure they’re not going to cause any trouble. And trouble wasn’t what I was after.
Daphne led me down to the mess hall, which took up most of the basement. There were long trestle tables, three in a row, and a few small round tables, probably reserved for Uncle Ike and the rest of the brass. Steam tables fronted the kitchen area, and the smell of cafeteria cooking, the clanging of pots, and the clacking of stacked plates all somehow made me feel at home. It was familiar. First thing I went for was the coffee urn. I grabbed a heavy mug and topped it off with joe that carried a faint whiff of eggshells. We picked a spot on one of the tables that wasn’t too crowded and sat across from each other. It was about lunchtime, but the place wasn’t exactly packed. Some people were just drinking coffee, or tea if they were Brits, while others ate breakfast or a lunch of sandwiches and some sort of stew. Daphne caught me eyeing the room.
“People pretty much work around the clock here. You can always find somebody looking for breakfast at the oddest times,” she said.
“You mean this place doesn’t run regular office hours?” I dropped two sugar cubes in the dark coffee and swirled the spoon around, not taking my eyes off her.
“Not anymore we don’t, not since General Eisenhower arrived, and thank goodness for that. It used to be a nine-to-five headquarters, with just a skeleton staff on weekends. It was as if the Americans-excuse me, I mean the previous general-didn’t take the war very seriously.”
“Ike does?” I blew on the coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup. She was animated, excited, explaining how things were to the new kid.
“Yes! Staff here works seven days a week, and long days are the rule rather than the exception. Every section is staffed twenty-four hours a day. General Eisenhower knows this war can’t be won on bankers’ hours.”
“How long have you been here?” I drank the coffee, bitter and sweet.
“I joined the Women’s Royal Naval Service-they call us WRENs-in 1940. My father was in the navy, so it seemed a good choice. I started at Portsmouth Naval Base, went through women’s officer training, and then went back to Portsmouth to do the same thing I had done before I was made second officer. File papers and make tea. I kept asking for assignments with a bit more purpose. I think all I really did was irritate my superior officers.”
