“OK,” I said. “I understand. I only know about the two locations because I noticed they’d been marked on the map in your office. And of course I would’ve stumbled upon the Russian connection from the reaction when I asked about it. The transfer of Estelle Gordon was a tip-off that I was onto something.”
“That was a bit heavy-handed,” Bull said, working at not giving Cosgrove a look. “But we have to be sure word doesn’t leak out about this. London is full of rumors, gossip, and informers. You sure you haven’t heard anything else?”
“Nope. Well, except that the Royal Navy is in on it somehow.”
“Good lord, the man’s a menace,” Cosgrove said, mainly to himself and the ceiling.
“Operation Frantic Joe,” Bull said.
“Now simply called Operation Frantic,” Cosgrove put in, as if reminding a child of a forgotten lesson.
“Right,” Bull said. “The idea began as a response to Stalin’s demand for a second front against the Germans. The Soviets wanted us to do something to take the pressure off them on the Eastern Front. We will, but on our schedule, not theirs. For now, we do have long-range bomber forces, and can put them to work pretty damn quick.”
“Did Frantic Joe refer to Joe Stalin?” I asked.
“Yes, but it was thought to be more diplomatic to shorten it to Operation Frantic. We’re going to set up Eighth Air Force airfields in the Soviet Union, flying shuttle missions back and forth between there and our bases in England. That’s what they brought me back from Northern Ireland for, to plan optimal routes for our bombers.”
“So we’ll be hitting targets on the Eastern Front for the Russians?”
“Yes, plus our own strategic targets. You see, the plan has a dual purpose. It’ll play havoc with the German air defenses. They won’t know if we’ll be flying back to the base we started at, or straight through the Reich. Right now, their air defenses try to intercept us on the way to the target, or on the way home. Once we’re set up with the Russians, they’ll have to spread themselves thin, since we can fly to bases in Italy as well.”
“That’s what the Russians were doing at High Wycombe,” I said. “Planning for their end of Operation Frantic.”
“Exactly. No one was supposed to know. Then you show up asking questions, and everyone gets nervous. So here we are. We need you inside the tent, Billy. Just keep your mouth shut about it.”
“It is important that you solve the murder of Egorov,” Cosgrove said. “We must know if that was a security breach, a personal matter, or simply a random crime. If word about Operation Frantic gets out, there will be hell to pay.”
“I need to question the members of the delegation, to see if any of them know anything. I tried at the embassy and got the cold shoulder from Sidorov.”
“He’s NKVD, like Egorov was,” Bull said. “They sat back and watched, hardly ever participated.”
“Yeah. The question is, who’s watching them? Can I have Big Mike in on this, Colonel Harding? And Kaz.”
“Impossible,” Cosgrove sputtered.
“Why?” Harding said.
“Kaz speaks Russian, and I trust him.”
“He’s Polish,” Cosgrove said. “The Russians won’t stand for it.”
“How about he just listens? They ought to be used to that.”
“I’ll see if we can get him back from the Poles,” Harding said. “But he’ll have to remove the Poland shoulder patch. He’ll be attached to SHAEF headquarters, so they won’t have a basis for complaint.”
“Never stopped the bloody Bolsheviks before,” Cosgrove said. “Tomorrow the joint planning committee is moving operations down to Dover. Be prepared to join us, Boyle.”
“Dover? Not High Wycombe?”
“That’s where the Royal Navy comes in. Major Cosgrove decided that Red Air Force officers at Eighth Air Force HQ might lead people to put two and two together. So we’re moving everyone down to Dover Castle, on the coast. It’s a Royal Navy base, secure, with underground tunnels. Made to order.”
“In case there are any spies about,” Cosgrove explained, “we’ve put out word that we are giving the Russians a tour of the castle and of the defensive measures taken in the area, earlier in the war, when invasion was a real possibility. There will probably be a photograph in the newspapers of a Russian or two and some Home Guard chaps, that sort of thing.”
“Perfect. I can interview them while the public relations stuff is going on.”
“You’ll have to cut them out of the herd, Billy,” Bull said. “Those Russkies stick real close together. You can start tonight. We’ve been invited to the opera at their place.”
“Russian opera,” Cosgrove said. “Dreadful stuff.”
“Major Cosgrove,” I said, trying to sound respectful, “I’m investigating one of the London gangs that may have been involved with Egorov’s death. Archie Chapman is the head guy.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Cosgrove said. “He runs a well-organized operation for a fellow who’s off his rocker. Spreads a bit of the wealth around locally, which makes it difficult for the Met, I understand.”
“Right. I’m interested in his son, Topper Chapman. Can I get a look at his file?”
“He’s not in the army, so we wouldn’t have a file on him,” Cosgrove said.
“I mean the secret files you have access to. It may be important.”
“Very well. I’ll see what we have.”
The meeting broke up and I hung back in the outer office until everyone was in the hall. Big Mike sat at his desk, the office chair creaking under his weight as he went through a stack of files.
“What gives?” I asked him. “Didn’t you tell Harding about the truck?”
“Sure I did, Billy. I also told him about your idea to get it back. He liked it.”
“My idea?”
“Well, I didn’t want anything to mess up getting Estelle back here, so I figured we both had to come out looking good. I told him you wanted all the pubs and restaurants in Shoreditch placed off limits to U.S. personnel until the truck and shipment were returned.”
“That’s a stroke of genius, Big Mike. A lot of those joints must pay protection to Chapman. He’ll have to give it up to protect his income.”
“And his reputation. He can look like a hero on his home turf, getting us to lift the restriction. Plus he gets a few crates of peaches out of the deal. We only want fifty back.”
“You make me sound like I’m one crafty lieutenant.”
“That’s a noncom’s job, Billy,” Big Mike said as he returned to the files and forms on his desk.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It’s not every pair of lieutenants who get their shoes shined regularly at the Dorchester, but I almost wished Kaz hadn’t left our best patent leathers out for a workover. The smell of shoe polish was a reminder of home, so I didn’t mind a go with a good brush. When I was a kid, it was my job to take Dad’s shoes down cellar once a week and give them a spit shine. I’d sit on the wooden steps, with the door open behind me, listening to the sounds of the house. Mom cleaning up in the kitchen, my little brother Danny running around, and Dad fiddling with the radio. It felt like it would always be that way, that I’d never run out of weeks to put a shine to my father’s shoes.
So I liked shining shoes, but I couldn’t explain all that to Kaz. It would make me sound like I wasn’t a tough guy. I sipped good Irish whiskey instead, hearing the swoop swoosh of the brush in my mind as it went back and forth over countless pairs of shoes, the aroma in the glass a poor substitute for mink oil, leather, black shoe polish, and the traces of my old man’s sweat that I picked up on my fingers as I curled them inside each shoe, forcing out the folds and buffing them with all my might, desperate to do this job right, as if everything depended on a perfect shoe shine. I always complained, but I worked as hard as I could at it. Funny, the things you miss. Right now, I’d have given anything to have that shoe brush in my hand.