David, Wallis and the Mercenary Chapter Seventy-Nine

Previously: Mercenary Leon fails on a mission because of David, better known as the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer is also a spy. MI6 makes them a team. David becomes king. David abdicates and they marry. Leon dies. His son Sidney mourns his death but is approached to join the organization.
Before David and Wallis had settled in the Government House on a high hill overlooking Nassau, they noticed the wall cracks left unrepaired by the previous governor. Soon they found the reason for the cracks—termites. Also they decided the furniture wasn’t up to the standards of British royalty.
Within a week a team of contractors invaded the residence, each concentrating on a different problem area. One of them dressed in overalls and a hard hat linked arms with the Windsors to lead them out to the swimming pool filled with debris.
“We should have privacy out here,” the contractor whispered.
David squinted. “And who, exactly, are you?”
Wallis lifted the man’s hat and smiled. “This is Gerry Greene, the young man who recruited me into MI6. Well, not so young any more, but much more fascinating.”
“Where’s the general?” David felt a twinge of jealousy at Wallis’ attention to the agent. None of this was supposed to be for real.
“General Trotter has retired.” Greene smiled. “And he’s moved to somewhere we’ll never find him.”
David knocked twigs off three lawn chairs and motioned to the others to sit.
“The last time we spoke to General Trotter,” David began, “he informed us we were ordered to the Bahamas to determine exactly who this Harry Oates—“
“Oakes.” Wallis touched his arm.
David was disturbed he enjoyed her correction too much. He winked at her. “Thank you, darling. We don’t know who he’s in bed with.”
“Well,” Greene relied, “you’ll be up close and personal with him very soon.”
“What?” Wallis’s eyes widened.
“The Oakes family has graciously extended an invitation for you to stay at their estate Westbourne, one of the most exclusive Nassau neighborhoods, while the renovations are being done on the Government House.”
“I don’t remember making that request.” David frowned.
“I did,” Greene replied, “on your behalf.”
“How kind of you.” Wallis smirked.
“Harry’s quite a boor,” Greene continued. “Evidently he bought himself the title of baronet, so he’s Sir Harry. When he’s overly excited he slips into this rough American accent.”
“I do that myself sometimes,” Wallis observed.
“He does have a charming family. His wife Eunice is half his age. She has all the social graces. She usually summers at the family home in Bar Harbour, Maine. When she learned she would be hosting the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, she flew back immediately with her a lovely sixteen-year-old daughter Nancy. Nancy’s supposed to look like that Hollywood star—oh, what is her name, ah yes, Katharine Hepburn.”
“I met Katharine Hepburn once, when I lived in California with my first husband—“
“Please, dear, no one cares.” David was delighted that he was able to get even for her correction of his pronunciation of Oakes’ name.
“She’s thought to have inherited her father’s devil-may-care attitude.” Greene, used to be interrupted on a regular basis, carried on with typical British aplomb. “When Nancy is in town, she’s been seen with the yachting crowd, particularly in the company of a much older man, Count Alfred de Marigny who gained his fortune through a couple of quick but profitable marriages with heiresses.”
“My kind of guy,” Wallis murmured.
“We’re not sure if he’s in love with the delightful Nancy or her father’s millions. He also has a reputation for his close friendships with members of the Nazi Party.”
“He’s not going to try to kidnap us, is he?” Wallis asked.
David considered her tone to being in mocking apprehension, but sometimes he couldn’t tell when she was serious or not. What concerned him most was that he found that aspect of her personality erotically provocative.
“Oh no. I think Hitler’s given up on that idea and has resigned himself to putting you two on the throne when—as he said—Germany wins the war.”
“Ooh, the crown jewels,” Wallis cooed.
This time David knew she was joking and let out a slight laugh. “Please dear, Mr. Greene doesn’t know that you’re just kidding.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are,” Greene replied with confidence. “After all, the duke here has already bought you jewelry that cost more than the crown jewels. Besides I know for a fact you had your hands on the crown jewels once and you returned them like a good MI6 agent should.”
“Worst decision of my life.” She cackled.
“Very clever but we must stay on topic,” Greene continued. “Our main concern with Harry is his ownership of the Rialto, a renowned restaurant, dance club and musical revue agenda. It also has a casino, which is strictly illegal in the Bahamas. Every time the authorities ask him about it, he acts surprised and says if people want to use the tables in the Rialto lounge for a friendly game of poker, who is he to say no. The authorities point out the female blackjack dealers, all wear similar tuxedo jackets with no pants. Harry just nods and says, ‘Yes, they are lovely, aren’t they? I don’t know where they come from’. “
“And you believe that crap?” Wallis lit a cigarette.
“They’ve spent years trying to find a paper trail connecting the casino operation to Oakes, and it isn’t there.” Greene shrugged.
“That sounds pretty smart.” Wallis blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “I thought Harry was supposed to be stupid.”
“He is,” Greene replied. “But he has this partner Harold Christie who is the brains of the operation. The problem with Christie is that he has relationships with Meyer Lansky and the rest of the mob.”
David leaned forward. “What about the organization?”
“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about them. They’re strictly for-hire thugs.”
“So we do have to worry about who hires them,” David pressed.
“That’s our main concern. “ Greene nodded. “Who is Harry working for? And what do they want?”

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