David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Seventy-One

Previously: Mercenary Leon fails on a mission because of David, better known as the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer, also a spy, has an affair with German Joachim Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David becomes king. Wallis divorces, David abdicates and they marry. They fail to kill Hitler. David and Wallis volunteer to help France. Leon receives orders to go to France and says good-bye to his son.
The servants finished packing the limousine while the Windsors bid adieu to the staff. David embraced Monsieur Valat and whispered, “Take care. Thank you for helping Wallis with the recuperating soldiers. As soon as we leave dismiss the staff and lock the residence. I have informed the owner we are not renewing our lease. Then you and your son disappear into the hills. If you can, make it to Switzerland. As a former employee of an Allied officer and a volunteer at a convalescence hospital, you will be viewed with suspicion by the Germans.”
Wallis hugged Jean. “Thank you for saving my life.”
The sun was low in the sky. Valat looked around and frowned.
“Are you sure you do not want to wait until morning?”
“No,” David replied. “The trip to Barcelona will take twenty-four hours. It’s best if most of that time we are traveling in darkness.”
The Windsors pulled away in their car and drove down the winding driveway. After a couple of hours they stopped in Cannes for a supper. They had a salad and soup. Their anticipation of the long drive kept them from a larger meal. David pour the last of the wine into their glasses. After a sip, Wallis leaned in.
“Are you sure all these precautions are worth it?” Wallis asked. “If Joachim’s behavior the last time we saw him is any indication, the Germans have no idea we tried to kill Hitler.” She took out a cigarette and lit it.
“Two points, my dear. One, I’m not concerned about an assassination attempt on our lives. They want to kidnap us so we will be available to place on the throne if their air attacks on London are successful and the country falls. Two, the world must view us as escaping with our lives to keep up the pretense we are the mere abdication couple with no stomach for war.”
She blew smoke his way. “Since when did I give you permission to call me ‘dear’ in private?”
“Haven’t you noticed?” he smiled like an imp. “I always have.”
Amusement danced across her thin lips. “Oh really? You’re right. I hadn’t noticed.” She stood. “And now I have to go to the Johnny.”
“If you must.” David frowned. He didn’t understand why, but Wallis’s use of American slang irritated him. He looked out the window onto the dimly lit street. A motorcyclist sat at the curb staring at him. Normal people might not noticed such behavior, but as an experienced espionage agent David took in every detail.
Wallis returned. “You better go too, unless you want to pee in bushes.”
Damn her slang, David thought; however, what made it so aggravating was that she was right. She goaded him again when she slid in behind the wheel of the car.
“You need to get some sleep.” She turned the ignition. “It’s going to be a long night.”
After midnight, the roads begin to fill with villagers from Frejus, St. Maxine and St. Tropez. They were in a panicked march away from the oncoming German army. David and Wallis settled into a forbidding silence as the traffic crawled to a halt through larger towns like Toulon. At one point an ambulance blocked the road. Two men appeared to be changing all four tires. A woman, wearing a ragged coat stood by the side of the road holding a lantern up to the oncoming traffic. When they reached the woman, she shone the lantern in the car window and motioned them to the side.
“Now what can this be all about?” David muttered.
As soon as he cleared off the road and stopped, the woman limped over to them and opened the car door. She leaned in and whispered, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting all night for you.”
“Thank God it’s you. Now we can get some information.” Wallis grinned like a school girl.
“What do you have for us?” David asked.
“The Germans are moving faster than anticipated,” she began. “Our sources in Berlin say that Von Ribbentrop has taken all of your statements to the press and interpreted them to be your signal to Hitler that you are willing to become the new king once the British lose the war. That makes them even more eager to intercept you. The Spanish ambassador has assured your passage into Spain at Barcelona, but we think he will try to influence you once you arrive. They even have contingency plans to grab you in Portugal before you set sail.”
“Set sail for where?” David wrinkled his brow.
“How the hell would I know?” she retorted. “That’s between you and MI6.”
Wallis reached out to touch her hand. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“I’m on the side of France.” She withdrew into the darkness.
David took over the wheel, and Wallis snuggled in for a nap.
By dawn the Windsors entered Marseilles and realized the gas tank was on empty. The first two stations they passed were still closed which made them nervous. On the western end of the city they found a station just opening and filled the large limousine take, ensuring enough gasoline to reach the Spanish border. They found a small café, and ate a large breakfast. In a few miles the Windsors entered a more isolated countryside; however, the sky darkened with rain clouds. Soon a torrent began and continued most of the day, again slowing their progress. It was night before they knew it. The road narrowed as their car reached the Pyrenees Mountains. Refuges continued to crowd their escape.
A man pulling on a donkey with a child on its back stepped in front of David’s car. He swerved to keep from hitting them, but found himself in the mud unable to pull his car out. The more he gunned the engine the more entrenched it become. He put the car in neutral.
“We’ve got to get out and push,” he grumbled.
Without a word Wallis joined him. Ignoring the downpour, they put their shoulders to the rear bumper to no success. Behind them they heard a noise.
Allez, allez!” a high-pitched male voice called out.
A short man with broad shoulders rode up on his motorcycle and waved to others to join him. Without another word, the stranger and the volunteers he had recruited put their bodies again the car and pushed, eventually placing it back on the road. All the others scurried on their way. David grabbed the stranger’s hand to shake. He noticed the man had a heavy but worn coat, gloves and a knit cap pulled down over his ears.
“We can’t thank you enough.” David patted his back. “It’s as though you arrived by design.”
Pas de quoi.” The stranger laughed. “Indeed, it was by design.”
Wallis squinted at him. His features were obscured by the night. Instinctively she reached to pull off his cap, revealing a strong black face with penetrating eyes.
“You sound like you’re from the Bahamas,” she intoned. “Have we met before?”
“Yes, we have.”
“You saved my life on the Tanganyika Express,” she said in revelation.
“So, are you saying you have been following us?” David couldn’t understand.
“Well, this time just since Antibes.”
“Then why—“David tried to continue.
“You need to be in Barcelona as soon as possible.”
“Can we give you a ride?” David offered.
“I have my own transportation.” He pointed to his cycle. “And it is faster than yours.”
“Just who are you?” Wallis demanded. “Who do you work for?”
Before they could ask any more questions the stranger disappeared into the dark swerving in and out of the hordes of refugees. David remembered the cyclist who stared at them in the Cannes cafe. Knowing he had no time to reflect on the situation, he brushed the thought from his mind. David pushed Wallis to the driver’s side of the wheel.
“It’s your turn behind the wheel.”
They resumed their trek across the mountains to Perpignon where David once again began driving. Once they reached the border crossing, a crowd milled about, discontent murmurs floating around. David went to the Spanish entry office where the immigration clerk told him he had not received any message from the ambassador about the admittance of the former king of England. David tried to maintain his composure.
“You must understand, the German army has instructions to kidnap my wife and me. I am the former king of England.” Even as he said the words he knew they sounded ridiculous.
At that moment, there was a tap on the door to the Spanish side. The clerk opened it and a man stuck his arm in and grabbed the clerk to pull him outside. A moment later he returned. His face was beet red and his eyes wide in fear.
“I—I’m sorry for the delay. You are allowed to enter.”
As they drove across the border the Windsors saw the short man from the Bahamas on his motorcyle waving at them.
Por nada.”

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