from a dirt-poor family. They had been midshipmen together at Annapolis. They had become friends on their first day, in the vast white mess hall. While the other plebes were bitching about the chow, Eddie cleaned his plate. Looking up, he saw that there was one other cadet poor enough to think this was great food: Steve. Their eyes had met and they understood one another perfectly.
They had been pals through the academy; then later they were both stationed at Pearl Harbor. When Steve married Nella, Eddie was best man; and last year Steve did the same service for Eddie. Steve was still in the navy, stationed at the shipyard in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. They saw each other infrequently now, but it did not matter, for theirs was a friendship that would survive long periods with no contact. They would not write letters unless they had something specific to say. When they both happened to be in New York, they would have dinner or go to a ball game and would be as close as if they had parted company only the day before. Eddie would have trusted Steve with his soul.
Steve was also a great fixer. A weekend pass, a bottle of hooch, a pair of tickets for the big game—he could get them when no one else could.
Eddie decided to try to get in touch with him.
He felt a little better having made some kind of decision. He hurried back into the hotel.
He went into the little office and gave the number of the naval base to the hotel’s proprietress; then he went to his room. She would come and fetch him when the call came through.
He took off his overalls. He did not want to be in the tub when she came, so he scrubbed his hands and washed his face in the bedroom, then put on a clean white shirt and his uniform pants. The routine activity calmed him a little, but he was feverishly impatient. He did not know what Steve would say but it would be a tremendous relief to share the problem.
He was tying his tie when the proprietress knocked at the door. He hurried down the stairs and picked up the phone. He was connected with the switchboard operator at the base.
He said: “Would you put me through to Steve Appleby, please?”
“Lieutenant Appleby cannot be reached by telephone at this time,” she said. Eddie’s heart sank. She added: “May I give him a message?”
Eddie was bitterly disappointed. He knew Steve would not have been able to wave a wand and rescue Carol-Ann, but at least they could have talked, and maybe some ideas would have come out of the discussion.
He said: “Miss, this is an emergency. Where the hell is he?”
“May I ask who is calling, sir?”
“This is Eddie Deakin.”
She dropped her formal tone immediately. “Oh, hi, Eddie! You were his best man, weren’t you? I’m Laura Gross. We met.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Unofficially, Steve spent last night off the base.”
Eddie groaned inwardly. Steve was doing something he shouldn’t—at just the wrong time. “When do you expect him?”
“He should have been back before daybreak, but he didn’t show up.”
Worse yet—Steve was not just absent but possibly in trouble too.
The operator said: “I could put you through to Nella. She’s in the typing pool. ”
“Okay, thanks.” He could not confide in Nella, of course, but he could find out a little more about where Steve might be. He tapped his foot restlessly while he waited for the connection. He could picture Nella: she was a warmhearted, round-faced girl with long curly hair.
At last he heard her voice. “Hello?”
“Nella, this is Eddie Deakin.”
“Hello, Eddie. Where are you?”
“I’m calling from England. Nella, where’s Steve?”
“Calling from England! My goodness! Steve is, uh, out of touch right now.” She sounded uneasy as she added: “Is something wrong?”
“Ayuh. When do you think Steve will be back?”
“Sometime this morning, maybe in an hour or so. Eddie, you sound really shook. What is it? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Maybe Steve could phone me here if he gets back in time.” He gave her the phone number of Langdown Lawn.
She repeated it. “Eddie, won’t you please tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“I can’t. Just get him to call. I’ll be here for another hour. After that, I have to go to the plane —we fly back to New York today. ”
“Whatever you say,” Nella said doubtfully. “How’s Carol-Ann ?”
“I have to go now,” he said. “Goodbye, Nella.” He hung up the phone without waiting for her reply. He knew he was being discourteous but he was too upset to care. His insides felt tied in knots.
He did not know what to do, so he climbed the stairs and went to his room. He left the door ajar so that he would hear the ring of the phone from the hall, and sat down on the edge of the single bed. He felt close to tears, for the first time since he was a child. He buried his head in his hands and whispered: “What am I going to do?”
He recalled the Lindbergh kidnapping. It had been in all the papers when he was at Annapolis, seven years ago. The child had been killed. “Oh, God, keep Carol-Ann safe,” he prayed.
He did not often pray, nowadays. Prayer had never done his parents any good. He believed in helping himself. He shook his head. This was no time to revert to religion. He had to think it out and do something.
The people who had kidnapped Carol-Ann wanted Eddie on the plane—that much was clear. Maybe that was a reason not to go. But if he stayed away he would never meet Tom Luther and find out what they wanted. He might frustrate their plans, but he would lose any slight chance of gaining control of the situation.
He stood up and opened his small suitcase. He could not think of anything but Carol-Ann, but he automatically stowed his shaving kit, his pajamas and his laundry. He brushed his hair absently and packed the brushes.
As he was sitting down again, the phone rang.
He was out of the room in two strides. He hurried down the stairs, but someone got to the phone before him. Crossing the hall, he heard the proprietress say: “October the fourth? Just let me see whether we have a vacancy.”
Crestfallen, he turned back. He told himself there was nothing Steve could do, anyway. Nobody could do anything. Someone had kidnapped Carol-Ann, and Eddie was just going to have to do whatever they wanted; then he would get her back. No one could release him from the bind he was in.
With a heavy heart he recalled that they had quarreled the last time he saw her. He would never forgive himself for that. He wished with all his soul that he had bitten his tongue instead. What the hell had they been arguing about, anyway? He swore he would not fight with her ever again, if only he could get her back safe.
Why wouldn’t that goddamn phone ring?
There was a tap on the door and Mickey came in, wearing his flight uniform and carrying his suitcase. “Ready to go?” he asked cheerfully.
Eddie felt panicky. “It can’t be time already!”
“Sure is!”
“Shit—”
“What’s the matter? You like it so much here? You want to stay and fight the Germans?”
