Damned little, and as we descended the staircase something about that thought began to bother me. I didn’t know why or what, but I felt like I did that time in Chinatown when I knew the guy coming out of the store in front of me was going to pull a gun. Not scared, but stunned at the sudden knowledge of what lay beneath the surface.
CHAPTER FIVE
I had never heard Norwegian before, but I heard it loud and clear down the long hallway heading to the solarium. The sounds flowed out of the double doors and bounced off the paneled walls, doubling in volume as we approached. The words seemed hard and sing-songy at the same time. I had no idea what the voices were saying, but they were saying it at the top of their lungs.
“Don’t tell me they’re at it again?” Harding asked Cosgrove.
“Have been all morning. Skak is after the king to make up his mind about the senior adviser post. He keeps bringing up the gold.” Cosgrove puffed his cheeks and blew out air, in exasperation over the arguing or in exhaustion from hustling to lunch. Or both, but I was concentrating on something else.
Gold. The eight tons of gold I had read about, I supposed. Gold would complicate everything.
Before I could blurt out a question, an enlisted man dressed in a white jacket opened the glass double doors and we entered the solarium. I wondered what rank army waiters held. There were three of them stationed around the room, which was long and narrow, jutting out from the side of the main house, surrounded by high glass windows. If there had been any sun, it would have been plenty hot. The little light that made it through the cloud cover did raise the temperature a bit, just enough to take the damp chill out of the air. A long table was set for a luncheon. Six places on each side and one at the head of the table, that chair just a little bigger than all the others. My first throne.
A heavyset guy who might have been a well-dressed stevedore sat at the table, smoking a cigar and pointedly staring out at the gardens so he wouldn’t have to look at the guy across from him. The other fellow, dressed in an old-fashioned frock coat with a starched collar, was visibly trying to keep himself under control, his eyes burning with obvious dislike, even hatred, of the cigar smoker. His hands were clenched and shaking, his face red, and he looked like he was currently on the loser’s end of the argument.
As for the third guy-well, I had never seen a king before, but he had it written all over him. Tall and thin, with a thick mustache and a long, aristocratic nose, he looked completely calm, above the fray. He stood ramrod straight, dressed in a naval uniform, and gazed at us with intense interest, as if nothing had passed between the men in the room. It almost made me forget about the gold. Almost.
“Ah, Majors Cosgrove and Harding,” King Haakon said in excellent English. “My Anglo and American compatriots. Welcome!”
He stood, smiled warmly, and looked each of us in the eye as Harding introduced us. He had a firm handshake. When he was done, he stepped back just a bit and folded his arms behind his back, as if at parade rest. I could tell there was still some bad blood in the air. Cosgrove jumped in and introduced the two Norwegian civilians.
Vidar Skak, the frock coat, was deputy minister of the Interior. That must have been an important job a couple of years ago, but since the Germans currently held the note on the Interior I thought he might have some time on his hands. At first I thought he was older, but then I noticed it was mostly how he dressed and acted. He looked like pictures of my grandfather on his wedding day, just not as happy. He was bony and pale, like he never spent a day outdoors, and his handshake was indifferent. But there was a determination behind those pursed lips, and I knew immediately he hadn’t given up on the argument that still hung in the air.
Knut Birkeland was the king’s economic adviser. He was a dark-haired, beefy fellow, barrel-chested, and with a face that had felt the wind.
He gripped my hand like a vise and I could feel the hard calluses on his palms. I didn’t know how much he knew about economics but I was sure he knew about work. He took Daphne’s hand in his big paw and kissed it like a pro. He looked up and caught sight of the latest arrival.
“One of the Three Musketeers! Anders, come here!” He waved the Norwegian officer over to our group and clapped him on the shoulder as they shook hands.
“Major Anders Arnesen, may I present the beautiful Second Officer Daphne Seaton and her Allied escort?”
“ Fortryllet,” said Arnesen, taking Daphne’s hand and kissing it.
“ Enchante, in case you are not familiar with Norwegian,” Kaz said.
We laughed and introduced ourselves, and Daphne glowed. What fun. Next maybe we could play charades.
“What makes you a musketeer, Major?” I asked. Anders Arnesen had a confident, easy look about him, the kind of look that well-trained soldiers displayed. Ready for anything-lunch with the king, assault a pill-box, you name it. It made me nervous.
“Three of us escaped from the Germans and ended up with the king when he left Norway. The king’s party was small and he was glad to have some soldiers about. He… adopted us, I guess you could say. Someone named us the Three Musketeers, but we haven’t seen much of each other lately.”
King Haakon joined our group and put a fatherly hand on Arnesen’s shoulder, much more gently than Birkeland had. For a major, this guy had friends in high places.
“Is Major Arnesen being overly modest again? He and his men were a godsend when we departed Norway. They helped us to load a large amount of our gold reserve aboard ship, in the middle of a German bombing raid, no less! Now one of them is in charge of security here… you’ve met Captain Iversen, yes? And Lieutenant Rolf Kayser is a decorated commando. The Three Musketeers have done well!”
“And we’ll all be together tomorrow. Rolf is participating in the exercise with my battalion,” Arnesen said. “He commands Fifth Troop with Number Ten Commando, an all-Norwegian unit.”
“You’re with the Norwegian Brigade, Major?” Kaz asked.
“Yes. We’ve been training for two years now, and we’re eager to get back into the fight. Do you have any news for us?”
“ Unnskyld meg,” came a voice from behind us, as an enlisted man in a white server’s jacket held a tray of covered plates. “Excuse me,” he said again in English. I moved, thankful for the interruption. The eager beaver would have to wait for his news.
“Take your seats please, gentlemen,” the king said as he offered his arm to Daphne and led her to the place on his right. I noticed Birkeland and Skak make a beeline for the open seat on his left. Skak was faster. I ended up next to Birkeland and across from Cosgrove, with Kaz on my left. Harding sat across from some Norwegian officers I hadn’t met. Waiters served us fish with a yellow sauce, boiled potatoes, and cauliflower. It was quite the white meal. The knives and forks were heavy, real silverware, the kind of stuff you counted after your guests left.
“Ah, Pouilly-Fume, just my choice for turbot with hollandaise sauce!” Kaz raised his glass to the king. “To your health, Your Highness!” The toast was repeated by all and glasses raised. The wine was all right and the potatoes fine, but I was more interested in a different color.
“So what’s all this about gold?” I asked. I noticed several forkfuls of fish suspended in midair, just below pairs of widening eyeballs. Only the king continued eating, royally ignoring my question and me.
“Don’t they report the war news in Boston, young man?” Cosgrove snorted at me. “The Norwegians smuggled their entire treasury of gold bullion out of the country in 1940, practically under the noses of the Germans. Hundreds of cases of gold bars and coins. A logistical feat, under any circumstances!”