Trouble in Paradise (11 page)

“Captain Braun, reporting as ordered, sir!” our father said as he came to attention and gave a smart, sharp salute.

Little Bill looked up. “No need for that, Captain. Please be seated.”

We jockeyed around each other and the chairs. Mom and Dad ended up in the middle, and Jack and I sat to
either side. Little Bill continued to work for a few more seconds before he looked up.

“I trust you all had a good night’s sleep,” he said.

“Yes, our room was first class,” my father said.

“Yes, lovely,” my mother added.

“The Princess is … was … one of the most luxurious hotels in the world. I’m sure it will resurface as such after the war.”

“Did you sleep well?” my mother asked him.

“Sleep?” He looked amused. “There will be time for sleep, hopefully, on the plane.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

“Shortly.”

“Are you going back to Canada or …” I let the sentence trail off because I knew he wouldn’t be able to tell me.

“Time is short, so I must apologize for being very direct,” he said. “In the past I have tried to keep things away from Jack and George. Yet despite the efforts of highly trained personnel and high security, they always seem to discover the very things we are trying to keep from them.”

“It’s more by accident than anything else,” I said.

“Not by accident, but by design, temperament and ability.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“It means that you are very good at finding out what I don’t want you to find out. So we are now going to try another approach.” He paused, and I felt as though our whole future hung on his next few words. “Rather than trying to keep you away from classified information, I am about to tell you everything.”

“What?” Jack asked.

“I am going to tell you—all of you—everything that happens at the hotel.”

“Everything?” I asked. That just didn’t sound right.

“Perhaps not
everything
, because only God knows everything.” He smiled. “And I mean the real God,” he said, pointing toward the ceiling.

I burst out laughing.

“An interesting nickname they have affixed to me, although the person here most likely to know everything that happens is my secretary, the woman who let you into my office.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Actually she’s a little scary. I think if we really want to eliminate Hitler, we should put her in a plane, strap on a parachute and drop her behind enemy lines. She’d have things cleared up in a few days.”

Now everybody was laughing.

“Come with me,” Little Bill said.

He got up from his desk, and we stood as well. But then he turned and faced the wall behind his desk, and when he pushed against it, it slid open!

“I thought we’d take a little shortcut,” he said, smiling at our shocked expressions. “This hotel is much more than it appears.”

We followed him
into
the wall. A few bulbs hanging down from the ceiling dimly lit the space behind. He led us up a black metal spiral staircase. We spun around and around. When I looked up, it seemed to dead-end in cement blocks. I guessed then that another wall was about to open. Sure enough, when we reached the top of the staircase, Little Bill pushed against the wall that faced us and slid it over. Light flooded in, temporarily blinding me. We stepped out and into an office with comfy-looking furniture and big, bright windows at the top of the walls that allowed light in but didn’t let anybody see in.

“Technically this would be my office,” he said, “but I tend to spend more time down below. Much quieter. Do you know anything about the hotel?”

“Not really,” Jack said.

“She’s an impressive lady. Built in 1885, she is fondly referred to as The Pink Palace by Bermudians. She was built to provide an air of elegance, with the most exquisite furnishings. The Princess Hotel was, and I’m quoting, ’the height of modernity and comfort.’”

We left his office and were now in the lobby. “Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Louise, visited the island in 1883. She told reporters that Bermuda was the Shangri-La
of holiday destinations, and that put the island on the international travel map. She was a most gracious woman whom the islanders took to heart. This hotel, The Princess, is named after her, so it is known, more formally, as The Princess
Louise
Hotel.”

I thought to mention that Louise was also the name of Jack’s girlfriend, but decided it was better not to.

“Now, let us talk about the present. Tell me what you know about the wartime operations of the hotel.”

“We don’t know much,” Jack said.

“Tell me the little you do know.”

Jack shrugged. “Our mother works here, and letters travelling between North America and Europe or Africa are censored here. That’s about it.”

“Nothing else?”

“Um … the letters are carried by planes … seaplanes … the Catalina flying boats, and they have to come here to refuel because no plane can cross the Atlantic in one jump.”

“Correct. They must stop here, and then at the Azores for a second refuelling. And how do you know about that?”

“I guess from things my mother has told us, and what I hear from other people at school. We’ve even seen the mailbags being delivered from motor launches at the steps off the water.”

“How did you see that?” Little Bill questioned.

“You can see a lot from the tops of the trees at the side of the hotel,” Jack said.

“I wasn’t aware of that. Perhaps those trees need to be trimmed. The letters are brought first to the basement. I believe you saw the sorting areas on your way to my office?”

“We saw them,” I answered. That was where those women were sitting at the long tables.

“That is the first step. Letters are then directed to different areas in the building, depending on the priority and nature of the letter or package. Now, is there anything else that you know?”

Jack shook his head.

“George?” Little Bill asked.

“I know there’s a lot more going on here than censoring letters,” I said.

“And how would you know that?” he asked.

“The most obvious reason is that
you’re
here,” I replied, pointing at him. “You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t more.”

“That is one of the reasons I try not to make my presence too well known, which is why I couldn’t visit you on my trips to the island. But do you have any other reason to suspect more?”

“What we saw last night. There wouldn’t be spies, and guys following people, or guns, just because of some ‘Dear John’ letter.… Is this a spy school, like Camp X?”

“Judging from the difficulties our operatives experienced yesterday, it would be fair to assume that they do require additional training, but no, there is no spy school at this facility. The operatives assigned to this station are responsible for security throughout the island. Perhaps the best place to begin this discussion is to show you where your mother works.”

We went up the main lobby staircase and along a corridor. There was thick carpet underfoot and lots of fancy pictures on the walls. I could see why a princess would like this place.

“Billy!” a man yelled. He rushed over and shook Little Bill’s hand vigorously. He was little and so thin that it looked as though his clothes were hanging on him.

“It’s good to see you, Ray,” Little Bill said.

“And it’s good to see all of you!” he exclaimed. He had an English accent and looked like somebody from a Dickens novel.

He shook my father’s hand and then Jack’s and then mine—taking it with both of his hands and practically shaking my arm out of the socket.

“I’d better get going now,” he said. “I have places to go and people to—”

Little Bill reached out, grabbed Ray by the arm and spun him back around.

Little Bill held out his hand.

“Just having a little fun,” Ray said.

He handed Little Bill a watch. It looked a lot like mine. I looked at my wrist. It was bare—my watch was gone!

Little Bill handed it to me. “Now the rest,” he said.

Ray produced a second watch—it was my brother’s— and then a wallet. My brother didn’t carry a wallet.

“That’s mine!” my father exclaimed.

“If it’s yours, how did it get into my pocket?” Ray asked.

“I … I don’t know,” my father stuttered. He looked confused.

“You should try to keep it in your own pocket,” Ray said. He handed it to my father.

“It was in my pocket!” my father snapped. “You’re a pickpocket … a thief!”

“I prefer to think of myself as a master craftsman,” Ray said.

“It would be hard to argue with either position,” Little Bill said. “Ray is in fact a thief, one who practises his craft in the service of king and country.”

“To think, what’s helping fight the Nazis is what got me in prison to begin with, and then got me out again.”

“Yes, Ray was a guest of the government, serving a sentence that would still have close to ten years to run,” Little Bill explained.

“But with time off for good behaviour, it could have been much shorter,” Ray said.

“Or, in this case, using your bad behaviour in good ways,” Little Bill said.

My father looked confused.

“So he steals for our side,” I said. “Right?”

“Exactly, George,” Little Bill replied.

“I still don’t understand,” my father said.

“I do,” I said. “He can walk right up to practically anybody and take something from their pocket.”

“He can. But he can also
put
that something back into their pocket,” Little Bill said.

Now
I
was confused.

“He can not only steal something, but also replace it after it has been read and copied, so that the owner would never know the document had been out of his possession,” Little Bill explained.

I could see where that would be an advantage. If they never knew it was gone, they wouldn’t know that the information had been stolen.

“He is one of the best in the entire world,” Little Bill said.

“One of the best?” Ray asked. He sounded offended. “By the way, Billy my boy, this is a bit embarrassing, especially for a man in my line of work, but I seem to have left my wallet at home this morning … do you think you could lend me a pound or two?”

As soon as he said that, I figured I knew what he was
really
saying.

Little Bill reached into his jacket and searched, unsuccessfully, for
his
wallet. Ray had taken it without Little Bill knowing.

“One
of the best?” Ray asked again.

Little Bill held out his hand for the wallet.

Ray held up his hands. “I don’t have your wallet.” He paused. “But I do have a suspicion,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “about where it might be.” He looked at me. “I believe that young man may have stolen it.”

“Me?” I exclaimed. “I would never take—”

“I think you should look in his jacket pocket … front right.”

I put my hand against my pocket. There was something there. I reached in and pulled out a wallet—a wallet that wasn’t mine!

“I told you the boy was a thief!” Ray exclaimed.

“I didn’t take it, honestly!”

“I know you didn’t, George.” Little Bill clapped his hands. “Bravo, Ray. I didn’t feel that at all.” He took the wallet from me and put it back inside his jacket pocket.

“So do you still think I am
one
of the best?”

“My apologies. Let me correct myself. Ray is the da Vinci of the craft of thievery. And that is just one of his many talents.”

Now Ray was looking at me—hard, staring, as though he saw something wrong.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Where … what?” I questioned anxiously.

He reached over and put a hand behind my head, and when he pulled it back, he was holding a watch.

Ray handed Little Bill the watch and he put it on his wrist.

“I don’t think that boy has any
sense
whatsoever,” Ray said, pointing at me.

Before I could even react, he reached behind my ear and produced a dollar bill—an American dollar bill!

“I told you he had no cents … just a dollar. Here, this is for you,” he said, handing me the dollar.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ray said. “You should thank him.” He gestured to Little Bill. “I got the money from his wallet. That dollar as well as this money.”

Suddenly a whole wad of cash seemed to appear magically in his hand.

“Here you go, Billy.” He handed him the money.

Jack started laughing.

“Hey, hey, hey, I don’t think you should be laughing,” Ray said to Jack. “After all, you’re not very bright.”

He reached behind Jack’s ear and a white dove was in his hand.

“See, the boy is nothing but a
bird
brain!”

Jack looked shocked, but everybody else laughed. Little Bill applauded.

“Ray is also a magician,” Little Bill said. “And a safecracker and a locksmith and a master of disguise. He can change his appearance so you could walk right by and not notice him.”

“Speaking of changing appearance,” Ray said, “you two certainly are growing up. You look much older than you did only a few months ago.”

“You’ve seen us before?” Jack asked.

“You’re not the only ones who have spent time at Camp X.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I don’t remember you.”

“I don’t even remember seeing you,” I added.

“Oh, you saw me,” he said. “I just looked a little different, that’s all.”

“Don’t feel badly,” Little Bill said. “I have walked past him more than once without recognizing him. All part of the job.”

“Speaking of jobs, when will I be put to work again?” Ray asked.

“Tonight,” Little Bill said. “A ship is being diverted to the harbour. There are some contents that need to be examined.”

Ray rubbed his hands together in glee. “Can’t wait. I’d better get my tools ready.”

Ray reached out to shake Little Bill’s hand again. Little Bill drew back his hand instead and the two men exchanged a smile.

“I’ll see you boys around … although I doubt you’ll see me.”

Ray walked away chuckling and we continued on our way.

“We have a number of such men in our service.”

“But can you trust them?” my father asked.