Louise's Blunder (19 page)

‘What’s this about, Sergeant?’ one of the drivers asked.

‘I’m doing the talking here, not you,’ Royal said. ‘I need to know who picked up a fare here about seven this evening. Middle-aged guy who looked like he might work for the government. Attractive woman in round-rimmed glasses and a raincoat, not young. They did not look like they were having fun.’

‘It was me,’ said one of the drivers, a scrawny guy with slicked back hair. ‘The man had a hold of the woman’s arm real tight and she didn’t look pleased about it.’

‘Where did you take them?’ Royal asked.

‘To the docks on the Washington Channel. Near the Capital Yacht Club. Hell of a drive from here. Nearly to the end of Maine Avenue. One of the best fares I ever got. The guy paid me with a handful of cash as if it was nothing. Two dollars over the fare! And they just walked off.’

‘Did you see where they went?’

‘Down the wharf opposite the Capital Yacht Club. Damn rainy day to go on a boat ride.’

Royal drove with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his radio mike. The radio static was bad because of the storm but he could still hear Wicker on the other end.

‘The girls say that Leach had access to a little sailboat on the Potomac,’ Wicker said. ‘He talked about using it for a picnic. It’s moored on the Virginia side below the railroad bridge.’

‘That has to be it,’ Royal said. ‘I found the taxi driver who picked them up. He drove them all the way from the Worth Hotel to a wharf on the Washington Channel. Across from the Capital Yacht Club. He said that Leach gave him a handful of cash and took Louise down the wharf.’

‘If Leach stowed Louise on that boat while he negotiated with Gachev she must still be there,’ Wicker said.

‘I’ll meet you at the wharf,’ Wicker said. ‘We’ve got to find her. This is one hell of a storm to weather in a little sailboat.’

The coastguard captain of the port stood at the end of the wharf with Royal and Wicker. He’d lent the two men rubber raincoats and sou’westers. The storm had diminished but a heavy rain still fell steadily. Looking off the end of the wharf the men could see nothing but the shadows of boats moored a few feet from the end of the docks.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the coastguard captain, whose name was Meacham. ‘I just can’t institute a search tonight. Visibility is terrible. The electric current is out on the Virginia side so there’s no loom to help us. No moon most of the time, either. And most of my cutters are guarding the entrance to the Potomac. The submarine net gates were left open because of the storm.’

‘The woman we are searching for may be locked aboard a small sailboat,’ Wicker said. ‘It might have been damaged during the storm.’

‘I can’t risk my own men in these conditions,’ Meacham said. ‘I swear that as soon as daybreak comes I’ll institute a full search. I’ll call out the auxiliary too. We’ll find her.’

‘I hope it’s not too late,’ Royal said. If Louise was dead this would be the biggest failure of Royal’s career. He’d retire with her death on his mind for the rest of his life.

Wicker knew that he’d made a terrible mistake by not briefing Louise on the true nature of Leach’s ring, so that she could be on guard. He’d known from her personnel file that she was trustworthy and smart. He’d thought that she would react more naturally to events if she didn’t know that she was being courted by a spy ring. He’d believed that Leach wasn’t physically dangerous. It was only recently that OSS Security had identified Gachev. If Louise was dead he’d be the one who’d write her parents. What would he say? ‘I’m responsible for the death of your daughter. So sorry.’

‘It’ll be a few hours until dawn,’ Royal said. He needed a drink.

‘We can wait at my HQ,’ Meacham said. ‘There’s always a pot of coffee on. Or I’ve got something stronger in my desk.’

‘Something stronger,’ Wicker said.

So ironic. The storm was passing by, but I was still going to drown. And maybe never be found! Spending years lying on the bottom of the Potomac River hosting barnacles. Someday perhaps a fisherman would hook one of my bones and feel sorry for me after he reeled it in.

Growing up on the coast I knew lots of people who’d drowned. The Atlantic off North Carolina boasted nasty rip tides and powerful hurricanes. Then there were the folks who drank and surfed, or drank and sailed. And the occasional fisherman who got tangled up in his nets. Or the weekend sailor who was knocked overboard by his boom. But I’d never heard of anyone who drowned locked in the cabin of a sinking boat.

I sat on the bunk trying to quell the physical signs of my panic. Tears filled my eyes so I could barely see, my heart pumped so hard it resonated in my head, and my bladder and intestines contracted. I had no more ideas on how I could escape. Or fantasies, either. Only if Captain America showed up was I going to survive. If I only had a hand grenade!

A hand grenade! That was it!

Before I knew it I was at the galley rummaging in the cabinet under the stove looking for the propane bottle. I found it and unscrewed it from the line that fed the burners, quickly closing the shut-off valve. It was a small canister, about the size of a quart of milk. I hoped it had enough gas in it to do the trick. Not that this wild idea of mine was going to work, but I had to try it.

Opening a drawer I discovered a small miracle – duct tape! Duct tape was an adhesive tape that could hold absolutely anything together. It had been invented for military use but civilians could buy it now in hardware stores. It was just what I needed.

By now the boat listed to starboard at a significant angle. I almost had to crawl on the sloping floor to get to the hatch. With my arms wrapped around one of the side rails of the ladder to keep from falling, I taped the propane tank to the door. It wasn’t easy to balance myself on the ladder, hang on to the propane tank, tear off sections of the duct tape, then tape the tank to the door, as near as possible to the screws that secured the hinged metal plate of the hasp to the door. On the other side of the door the heavy padlock held the loops of the hasp together. Would the blast be powerful enough to destroy the padlock without killing me too?

I gathered all my energy. I needed to accomplish a lot in the next few seconds. I twisted the valve on the propane canister and heard the hissing of gas escaping. Then I bolted toward the back of the cabin, grabbing the thin mattress from the bunk with one hand and lifting the kerosene lantern from its hook with the other. I backed up against the head.

Damn it! I forgot! I dropped the mattress and went back for the life ring. How could I hang on to all this stuff? How much propane had hissed away while I went back for the ring?

I backed up against the head again, with the life preserver hooked over my left arm, the mattress gripped in my left hand and the lantern in my right. I turned the lantern’s control knob as high as possible. The flame leapt halfway up the globe.

I judged the distance between me and the propane tank as well as I could. Then I heaved the lantern directly at the tank and backed into the head, pulling the mattress and the life ring in after me.

It wasn’t much of an explosion. Muffled up in the mattress as I was I barely heard it. The ship didn’t react to the blast, if you could call it that, at all. There was no break to the slow rhythm of its sinking. There must not have been enough propane in the tank. I was devastated. Broken in spirit, I felt numb enough to be dead already. I thought about staying in the head so I couldn’t see the water rise from the hold to engulf me, but instead I pushed away the mattress and went back into the cabin.

The hatch door was missing. Gone! Blown away!

I pulled the life ring over my head and entwined my arms in the ropes that circled it. I raced up the ladder through the gaping hole that had once been the hatch and flung myself on the deck. Sliding down the sloping deck I regained my footing by grasping the boat’s handrail.

Gathering all my strength I climbed over the rail and leapt into the sea.

Rain was falling softly but I could see a few stars blinking in the night sky. What a beautiful, wonderful, stunning sight.

A loud gurgling noise distracted me from my admiration of the heavens. Kicking my legs, I swiveled to face the sailboat. It was sinking quickly now. The gurgle I’d heard was air bubbling up from the cabin. I watched the ship sink until the tip of the mast dipped under the ocean.

I was utterly exhausted. I leaned my head on to the ring and felt that I could fall asleep. But I shook myself awake. I’d escaped drowning on the boat, but I could easily succumb to exhaustion and hypothermia if I didn’t get out of the water. I could loose consciousness, slip right through the life ring and still drown. The District was too far away, all the way across the Potomac. I needed to paddle for the Virginia shore. There were no lights showing there, the electric current must be out, but I thought I could find my way if I could keep the stars in sight. And then clouds filled the sky again and I no longer knew where I was.

I was so tired I almost didn’t care if I reached shore or not. Just as long as I wasn’t trapped in that coffin of a ship’s cabin anymore.

Then out of the wet silky mist a string of lights emerged.

[S]tress at the outset the importance of time—the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.

‘1943 Guide to Hiring Women’,
Mass Transportation
magazine, July 1943.

T
hree parallel strings of lights, actually. A motor yacht with three full decks came into view. With my last ounce of energy I screamed as loud as I could and kept screaming. The beam of a searchlight responded, streaming out from the yacht, roving across the water until it found me. Then I heard a bullhorn screech, and a voice cry out ‘Man overboard!’

I was being rescued. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t squeeze out any tears. I settled for a few moans instead.

A motor dinghy reached me quickly. I was hauled out of the water by two Navy seamen. One of them wrapped me in a heavy wool blanket while the other steered us back to the yacht.

Even in my exhausted state I could see that the yacht was lovely. All glowing wood and brass, every porthole streaming light, and a beautiful sun deck that stretched across the top of the second level, strewn about with deck chairs that looked like they belonged on a fancy cruise ship. A canvas roof stretched over the deck because of the storm.

My two rescuers half carried me up the yacht’s ladder and when I reached the top two more Navy seamen helped me on board, exchanging my now soaked blanket for a new dry one.

I wondered why Navy sailors were manning a yacht.

I found out when I was escorted into the main salon and met a middle-aged man, square in body and face, wearing round-rimmed spectacles. His thin hair was combed straight back from his forehead. He was wearing a silk dressing gown. I recognized him. He was Frank Knox, Secretary of the Navy. I was standing on the main deck of the
Sequoia
.

‘Welcome aboard, ma’am,’ Knox said. He stretched out a hand and I shook it. ‘What on earth happened to you?’ he asked.

I hesitated, tongue-tied. I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t tell him the truth, could I?

Knox himself gave me an idea.

‘Was this perhaps a personal incident, ma’am?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I answered. ‘I went out on a party boat with some people I didn’t know very well. Some of their activities were, well, unsavory. I became quite uncomfortable and wanted to get away from them. Had to get away, actually.’

I had just lied to a cabinet member.

‘So you abandoned ship. Rather extreme, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir. But I was in extreme circumstances.’

‘There’s no one else out there who needs rescuing, is there?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good job, then, very good!’ Knox said. ‘All young ladies should take such good care of their reputations. Petty Officer Grymes,’ Knox said.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the young sailor who’d been standing by my side, holding me up.

‘Would you please show this young lady …’ he began, then looked at me.

‘Mrs Louise Pearlie,’ I said.

‘Would you please show Mrs Pearlie to one of the guest staterooms and see that she is comfortable? And try to find her something to wear.’ Knox glanced at his watch. ‘Dawn will break soon,’ he said. ‘Would you like to join me for an early breakfast at six?’

I was starving! ‘Yes sir,’ I said.

‘Ma’am, there’s a bathrobe and slippers in the closet,’ Petty Officer Grymes said to me when he showed me into the tiny stateroom. ‘And that door there leads to the bathroom. There’s lots of hot water. If you’ll toss your clothes outside your door we’ll have them dried and ironed for you by the time we get into port. And I’ll find something for you to wear in the meantime.’

‘Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘When do you think we’ll arrive?’

‘I expect the captain will hoist anchor once the sun is fully up,’ he said. ‘We should dock at the Capital Yacht Club around eight in the morning.’

If Clark Leach did return to retrieve me from the boat it would be right about now and he would have quite a surprise waiting for him. Served him right.

When I joined Secretary Knox in the Grand Salon two places had been set at the long mahogany dining table that could easily seat twelve. The place settings gleamed with silver and china. I was wearing the uniform of a mess corpsman, white trousers and a white jacket that buttoned up to my neck, and the slippers I’d found in my stateroom closet. Knox had changed into a natty double-breasted suit that made him look even more box-like. The square of handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket matched his blue-striped tie.

‘You look none the worse for wear,’ Knox said to me, standing while a colored mess corpsman seated me.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Knox continued, speaking to the corpsman. ‘Mrs Pearlie, you are wearing Corpsman James Wood’s spare mess uniform. You look much better in it than he does.’

‘No one will argue with that, Mr Secretary,’ Jim said.

‘Thank you for lending me your clothes,’ I said to the corpsman.

‘You’re welcome, ma’am,’ he said as he poured my coffee. The odor of the coffee was overwhelmingly wonderful. I noticed there was plenty of sugar in Secretary Knox’s sugar bowl. I shoveled three teaspoons into my cup.

As the sun rose over the Potomac the view outside the Grand Salon windows was breathtaking. What a wonderful place to live, I thought. I knew that Knox, who was separated from his wife, lived aboard the
Sequoia
full-time. It had been the President’s yacht but Roosevelt had commissioned a bigger one for the duration of the war. The
Sequoia
had just four staterooms and the Grand Salon, not nearly enough for Roosevelt’s entourage.

‘I’ve ordered orange juice, waffles, eggs and bacon for breakfast,’ Knox said. ‘You’re not one of those women who diets all the time, are you?’

‘No sir,’ I said. ‘I could eat a horse.’

‘I took the liberty of calling the coastguard earlier this morning,’ Knox continued, as he tucked a linen napkin into his lap. ‘The captain of the port said that you’d been reported missing and that your friends will meet you at the wharf when we dock.’

I wondered what friends he meant.

I’d kicked off my shoes while treading water in the Potomac, so I was still wearing my slippers with the seal of the Secretary of the Navy embroidered on their toes. I intended to keep them. When I walked down the plank arm in arm with Secretary Knox I found Major Wicker and Harvey Royal waiting for me. They both looked like they’d spent the night in a foxhole under machine-gun fire. I’m sure I looked worse.

I found myself in Royal’s arms in tears while Wicker patted me awkwardly on the back.

Secretary Knox walked past me on his way to his car accompanied by an aide who’d met him at the dock. He smiled at me and touched his hat. I detached an arm from Royal’s hug and waved back at Knox.

After the three of us collected ourselves we walked down the dock ourselves.

‘I got out of the boat,’ I began. ‘The hatch door was locked. I thought I was going to drown.’

‘You need sleep,’ Wicker said. ‘We all need sleep. We can talk later. Everything is under control.’

‘Where is Clark? And Gachev? And Rose and Sadie? You have to tell me.’

‘I’ll drive her home and tell her everything,’ Royal said.

‘We must meet soon to debrief, though,’ Wicker said. ‘Over dinner tonight?’

‘OK, if you’re paying,’ Royal said, handing me into his familiar Chevy police car.

On the way home Royal wasted no time telling me the worst of it. ‘Clark is dead, Louise,’ he said. ‘Gachev killed him. They were meeting at a café and he shot him. We can’t find Gachev either, he’s gone underground.’

I swallowed hard. Poor Clark. His belief in a better future had blinded him to the truth about Stalin and the Soviet Union.

‘What about Rose and Sadie?’ I asked.

‘They’re in custody. But they told us everything, including all about the sailboat Clark had access to. And I found the taxi driver who took you to the wharf. But the coastguard couldn’t search for you because of the weather. Thank God you’re OK. How did you escape?’

I could not look that memory in the eye just yet.

‘I can’t talk about it now,’ I said.

‘Sure, no problem.’

Royal dropped me off at ‘Two Trees’. Last night Wicker had had the presence of mind to get Rose to call Phoebe and tell her I was spending the night at her place. So no one at home would know what I had been through. I was glad of that.

No one was in the hallway. I slipped up the stairs and into my room. I found my ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and hung it on my doorknob. My pajamas felt like the best silk imported from China, my sheets like the finest linen from India, and the Martini I fixed at ten in the morning tasted as delicious as the first one I ever had.

I fell deeply asleep.

I wanted no one at ‘Two Trees’ to know anything about what had happened to me over the last twenty-four hours. I told Phoebe and Ada that I’d had a swell sleepover at my friend’s apartment playing bridge for hours, but that at work I’d developed a severe headache and come home to sleep it off. And I was going out to dinner tonight with more friends and would be home early.

‘You’ve developed quite a social life,’ Ada said. ‘It’s about time.’

Wicker picked me up in front of the Western Market in his big Studebaker. He was out of uniform and Royal was with him. Royal climbed out of the car and opened the passenger seat door for me.

Wicker pulled out into traffic.

‘I’ve booked a private room at Ciro’s,’ Wicker said, ‘where we can talk without being overheard.’

‘Is that the red sauce joint on “G” Street?’ asked Royal.

‘Yeah,’ Wicker said. ‘You like Italian food?’

‘Sure.’

‘Louise, are you OK with Italian?’ Wicker asked.

‘I like spaghetti,’ I said. ‘That’s all I’ve ever had.’

Our conversation seemed stupidly frivolous after all we had been through. I don’t think we knew what to say to each other. This case was so complex we weren’t aware of what each of us had done or what we each knew at any given time; even the timeline of events wasn’t clear.

We weren’t being debriefed at OSS so I supposed it would be up to Wicker to decide how much of this story would find its way into print and a Registry file. We weren’t on our way to the police station either. Would Royal be permitted to arrest anyone for the crimes that had been committed? What would happen to me for my mistakes, starting with idiotically giving my real name to Hughes’ landlady? I would be lucky if I only lost my Top Secret clearance.

The hostess showed us into a back room decorated like an Italian village. Stucco walls, tile-roofed canopies and puffy white clouds painted on the blue ceiling completed the design.

A waiter presented us with thick menus. Wicker pulled out a notebook and pen and laid them on the table.

‘How big are your meatballs?’ Royal asked the waiter.

‘Golf balls,’ the waiter said. ‘Four to a serving.’

‘Good, I don’t like those little ones. That’s what I’ll have. And a beer.’

‘Louise, would you like to share a pizza with me?’ Wicker said. ‘Have you had pizza yet?’

My stomach had contracted as soon as I saw Wicker pull out his pen and pad of paper.

My mistakes were about to be recorded for eternity. I doubted I could eat anything. No, I hadn’t tasted pizza yet, but why not?

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I’ll share a pizza with you.’

Wicker ordered us a Neapolitan pizza and beer.

We were all happy when the beers arrived.

‘Let’s begin,’ Wicker said, opening up his pad.

We took turns telling our stories, beginning with Royal, then me and then Wicker. To say that all three of us learned things we hadn’t known before was an understatement. For instance Wicker found out from Royal for the first time that Hughes’ wallet had been found under a bench days after the murder. They agreed that it must have been planted. I told them that I’d seen Rose pack up Hughes’ lighter, keys and pocketknife in the safe room. We agreed it made no sense for those items to be in Hughes’ room. They should be in a man’s pockets. I had a thought about that, but it hadn’t gelled yet so I didn’t mention it. And when I told the two men of my ordeal on the sailboat my voice broke several times and Royal reached over the basket of garlic bread to squeeze my hand.

‘Mrs Pearlie,’ Wicker said. ‘This is a good time to reassure you that only a commendation will appear in your file.’

I couldn’t believe it! I felt dizzy with relief.

‘It would have been wise not to tell Mrs Nighy your real name, and you ought not to have run errands for Sergeant Royal, but he has assured me you refused to give him any information that he wouldn’t have been able to find out for himself if he had been allowed to pursue the Hughes murder case.’

‘Thank you, Major Wicker,’ I said. ‘But I should have played along with Clark and Gachev when they asked me to join the spy ring. I was just so taken aback.’

‘I put you in a situation for which you had no preparation,’ Wicker said. ‘That was my mistake. If you had died on that boat it would have been my responsibility.’

‘Pardon me,’ I said, ‘I need to powder my nose.’

‘Of course,’ Wicker said. The two men stood as I left the table.

‘You know,’ Royal said to Wicker, ‘if you send that girl back to the file room you’ll be wasting her.’

‘I agree,’ Wicker said. ‘I’m going to find another spot for her. I just don’t know where yet.’

In the ladies’ restroom I let my nerves stop twanging while I sponged the perspiration off my face and neck with paper towels. I still had my job! And a commendation to boot! And I didn’t forget to powder my nose and apply lipstick before I went back to the table.

When I returned to the table our food had arrived and I found that I was hungry after all. The pizza was the prettiest pie I’d ever seen, and scrumptious too. Creamy yellow cheese, baked fresh tomatoes and an Italian sauce full of unfamiliar herbs layered the thick crust. I ate my half of the pie with gusto.

After the table was cleared the waiter brought us fresh Italian coffee. Royal ordered tiramisu for all of us. We waited until the waiter left before discussing the murder again.