Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales, and socialite Wallis Spencer. David abdicates the throne to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney turns mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Mission gives them details of their next mission.
By late August 1944, MI6 had worked out all the details for this singularly peculiar mission for David and Wallis to recover highly sensitive documents from the Meisdorf castle in the Harz Mountains. Captain David Silverberg led an exploratory team of American soldiers in the section of Germany along the Austrian border. Local residents told him German soldiers had forced them to unload many boxes at the castle. This information convinced U.S. and British intelligence these were the German official papers they looking for. The Allies planned a full-scale attack on the castle by late summer.
The Windsors packed for a holiday along the eastern seaboard in August. They would visit Jessie and Jimmy Donohue in Palm Beach, and another wealthy friend in Newport, Rhodes Island before Wallis would fake an appendicitis attack and be rushed to Roosevelt Hospital in New York City. Along the way, Gerry Greene told them, doubles would trade places with them, leaving the Windsors to be secreted into Germany.
As David and Wallis left the Governor’s Palace, Sidney approached them.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you?” he asked.
“You’re so sweet,” Wallis replied, “but no one can protect us from Jessie and Jimmy.”
“You need the time off.” David patted him on the back. “Spend some time at your place in Eleuthera.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed.
David sensed his valet was not pleased, but dismissed the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. He had other matters to consider, not the least were the Donohues. They always put on a spectacular confectionary circus served with lots of champagne which grated on his nerves. Overriding all his concerns was the mission into Germany. Five years had passed since they had used their spying skills and he worried they would not be up to the task.
A British military plane flew low toward Meisdorf as the last beams of sunlight disappeared, the MI6 commander explained to them that a reconnaissance plane had surveyed the area earlier and found one flat stretch about a mile away from the castle that was suitable for dropping them off. They also found a spot next to the castle where they could land and load the boxes of documents. He assured them they would have plenty of help loading them.
The plane landed; the Windsors jumped out proceeded on foot to the castle. They wore their black clothing and were armed with revolvers with silencers, plenty of ammunition and two flashlights. Walking along the tree line by the road, David noticed Wallis was unusually quiet.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Wallis shrugged. “A bit nostalgic. This may be the last time I ever get to kill someone.”
David wanted to laugh, but knew he mustn’t break the silence of the night. Soon the silence was broken anyway by an approaching military truck coming from the direction of the castle.
Just as the truck was even with them, David and Wallis opened fire on the tires and the radiator. The tires exploded and vapor escaped the front of the truck, which caused it to overturn in the ditch. David rushed around to the driver’s side to find the soldier dead. Wallis ran to the opposite side where the guard’s upper body dangled out the window.
She placed her revolver next to his head. “How many soldiers are stationed at the castle?” she asked in broken German.
“Huh?” the woozy soldier mumbled.
“Tell me how many soldiers are guarding the secret files,” she repeated.
His eyes were glazed. “Nein.”
“If you don’t tell I’ll put a bullet in your head.” She spoke with a guttural hiss.
He spoke in German and held up both hands and spread out all ten fingers. “Zehn.”
“Zehn?” Wallis repeated.
“Ja.” He held up ten fingers again.
“I lied.” Wallis placed the barrel next to his temple and pulled the trigger.
“Hey!” David called out. “Come over here! I’ve found something!”
Wallis ran to the back of the truck.
“Turn on your torch!” he said.
She pulled out her flashlight and clicked it on. From its light and from David’s torch she could see papers strewn across the ditch.
“I think they’ve started moving the documents.” David said. “We’ve got to hurry!”
She picked up the paper closest to her and read it. “You’re right.” Wallis handed him the letter. It was from Ribbentrop to a confidante.
“I think I love the duchess. I refuse to believe she would not hesitate to be a double agent. Our time together was exhilarating. I’ll never forget when she stuck her hat pin—“.
David stopped reading and tore it to shreds. “We don’t have time to go through all of this and what’s at the castle.” He turned off his flashlight and bent over and hurriedly gathered the documents. “Put them back in the truck and light the truck on fire.”
They worked in a fury and had the truck ablaze in about half an hour. David and Wallis tromped toward the castle.
“I’m definitely too old for this crap,” Wallis gasped.
“Stop griping and walk,” he ordered.
Soon the shadows of the castle appeared around a bend of the road. They approached the gate in stealth.
“The German said there were ten soldiers guarding the files,” Wallis whispered.
The truck guard must have been in a hurry because he left the gate unlocked. The Windsors slipped in and noticed a light in a nearby office. They peeked in the window and saw a guard with his head on the desk asleep. Wallis cracked the door open and shot him.
“One down and nine to go,” she muttered.
Further down the open courtyard they saw off to the side a decrepit donkey cart speckled with straw. David pointed to it. “Remember the cart. We might need it later.”
They came to a large door leading to the main hall. Inside they saw another light in a room and went to it. Wallis had her revolver raised ready to shoot, but David put his hand on the barrel when he saw it was an old man in civilian clothes. He asked him in perfect German who he was.
The old man’s eyes widened in fear. Wallis raised her revolver again.
David smiled and advised him in German to answer quickly because the woman next to him liked to shoot people.
“Please don’t shoot,” the man gasped. “Please don’t shoot.”
“Good,” Wallis said. “He speaks English. So where are the soldiers?”
His hand shaking, he pointed to the staircase in the hall. “They’re all asleep. In big room upstairs. Except for soldier in guardhouse—“
“Oh, I’ve already killed him.”
“Don’t kill me. I’m what you would call a librarian—I take care of all the documents. I’m not a Nazi. Believe me.”
“Oh, shut up,” Wallis snapped.
“Stay in this office and you’ll be safe,” David said.
“Ja, I mean yes, yes.”
“Where are the documents?” David asked.
“In the basement,” the man whispered.
Wallis pointed her revolver at him again. “Remember, don’t leave this office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They padded their way up the steps, cracked the first door and found the room empty. The next door was a double so David thought this must be the barracks. He held up his revolver and whispered, “Load up. We’ve got to act fast.”
Wallis nodded and reloaded.
Without a sound, they crept through the door to see two rows of cots going down the walls. The men were in their woolens, and most of them were snoring. David pointed to Wallis to take the left side. One would have five and the other four. Each shot one soldier and waited to see if the others awoke to the muffled sound of the silencer. The Germans continued to snore. From there the Windsors didn’t pause as they put bullets through the soldiers’ heads. Each time blood sprayed out of the other side of the heads. The snoring stopped and in the sudden cold silence, the last man on Wallis’s side twisted in his cot, sat up and saw his dead comrades. David could tell by the way he moved about he still was half asleep. The soldier jumped up, turned and was face-to-face with Wallis. She shot him between the eyes.
The Windsors turned and left the room, trotted down the stairs and opened the basement door where they were surprised by the number of filing cabinets, row after row of them.
“I wasn’t expecting this many,” David said. He looked at Wallis. “What time is it?”
“Two a.m.”
“That gives us until dawn.” He flashed his light around the dark room and found the light switch. “I see empty boxes in the corners. Put the files in there. Only put in as many as you think you can easily carry up the stairs and outside to the donkey cart.”
Both of them opened file drawers efficiently and looked at document titles. If they didn’t see their names they moved on without bothering to close the drawers. David found reports on their visit to Berlin, in details he thought impossible to be observed. He removed them and tossed the papers into a box.
“Oh my God, here’s an entire drawer about me and the choo choo room,” Wallis exclaimed. “That crazy little man really was besotted with me. Well, we have to take that one.”
They had to stop to catch their breath as they filled the boxes and took them outside to the cart. Wallis made a few more observations about those that mentioned her but for the most part she was silent in her work.
In the back of his mind, David worried that whoever was awaiting the arrival of the truckload they blew up might come looking to see why it hadn’t arrived. If they got to the castle before sunrise, he and Wallis would be trapped.
Fewer files were found in cabinets in the back of the room so they knew their mission was almost complete. When they filled their last boxes they went upstairs. Wallis stopped to stick her head in the old man’s office.
“Remember, when the American troops arrive, keep saying, “Please don’t shoot me. Please don’t shoot me.”
“Ja. Please don’t shoot me. Please don’t shoot me.”
“And don’t tell them about us or else I’ll make a special trip back just to kill you,” she said.
“You not here. Ja. You not here.”
When they left the castle, the sun peeked over the mountain ridge. Soon they heard the motor of the military plane. When it landed, MI6 agents jumped out. With efficiency and speed they ran into the castle, pulled the cart out to the plane and loaded all the boxes. They helped David and Wallis in the plane and situated the boxes so they could sit down.
David sat and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached. He was getting old.
“All I ask is that you get me to a four-star hotel as soon as you can,” Wallis said with a yawn. And book me a room with the biggest, most comfy bed they have. And a martini. Make that two. Oh hell, get me a bottle of gin and don’t wake me up for twenty-four hours.”

Previously: Mercenary Leon meets MI6 spies David, the Prince of Wales, and socialite Wallis Spencer. David abdicates the throne to marry Wallis. He becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Sidney turns mercenary. David hires him as his valet. Count de Merigny asks David’s help in a murder trial.
By early spring 1944 David and Wallis visited Bermuda, further north and east of the Bahamas. David had informally declined the offer to serve as governor of the less significant British province. However, in a show of courtesy, he agreed to visit the island. As a convenient circumstance, the trial of Count de Merigny on charges of murdering Sir Harry Oakes was underway in Nassau.
Bermuda was even smaller than the Bahamas and had even fewer amenities. “At least Nassau was close to Miami,” Wallis commented, “while Bermuda wasn’t close to anything.”
On the afternoon of their first day, Bermudan officials took them to the Governor’s Palace, again small and unappealing. Inside the office, they were left alone with a man who sat in a high back tufted chair. When he stood, they saw Gerry Greene, their contact with MI6.
“I thought you might want to be updated on the course of the war,” he said with a smile. “Wire reports can be unreliable.”
“Oh, thank God, then we don’t really have to move to this dreadful little island, do we?” Wallis cracked.
“Heavens no,” Greene replied. “The world doesn’t know it, but this terrible war has been won. It’s just a matter of convincing the insane little man in Berlin to concede. It might take another year.”
David took out a cigarette and lit it. “And what has happened to provoke such an optimistic opinion?”
Greene motioned to chairs around the desk. “Please have a seat. Our sources in Berlin report Hitler’s highest level of advisors have proposed creating contingency plans to move the Reich’s most sensitive documents to the mountains on the Czech border.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “You don’t plan to move your documents until you know you’re losing.”
“They want the same advantage following the First World War,” David interjected. “They commandeered all files and sent them to occupied Belgium where, after the armistice, they could release specific documents to make the victors look like villains, paving the propaganda war for the rise of the Third Reich.”
“Exactly,” Green replied. “I see you are two steps ahead of me as always.”
“So what do they want us to do about it?” Wallis asked. “Rush into Berlin like we were on a shopping spree?”
“No, we expected you to be prepared at the proper time to break into the vault, wherever it may be and extract German documents only about yourselves. The Allies and the Russians can fight over the rest.”
Wallis tapped David on the knee and pointed at his cigarette case. “I don’t understand. The whole world watched us visit Germany in ’36. What more is there?” She lit the bummed cigarette.
“Well, there’s the failed assassination attempt.” Greene turned a bit testy. “We know Hitler was taken with you, Wallis. We don’t want letters expressing his desire for you found. And we know all about Ribbentrop and the white carnations.”
“Gerry, please, show some discretion in front of the h-u-s-b-a-n-d.”
“You mean you didn’t know that I knew that each carnation represented an assignation with Ribbentrop? I’m a better spy than you think.”
She scratched the back of her slender neck with her well-manicured nails. “I’m getting bored with this game. Can’t we just retire?”
The word “retire” caught David’s attention and he leaned forward. “Yes, why can’t we just retire and let someone else rifle through Hitler’s files? We’re not exactly young anymore, you know. And I don’t know about Wallis, but I don’t want to stick around so long all we do is pass information from one agent to another.”
“I agree,” Wallis said. “It sounds terribly unromantic to become couriers.”
Greene smiled in sympathy. “I understand how you feel, but you are the only ones who can swiftly go through the files. You know what to look for. We don’t want any stray carnations left behind, do we?”
Wallis sighed in resignation. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to take daily walks down to the beach and to the marketplace, won’t we, darling? We must be fit to carry this one off.”
David smiled at her. The light from the window made her bemusement look adorable.
By the time they returned to Nassau, the Merigny trial was over and the jury acquitted him. Both David and Wallis sighed with relief that they didn’t have to testify. Over breakfast in the garden of the Governor’s Palace, they passed the newspaper back and forth reading snippets from the trial transcript.
“You can see it all in the photograph taken on the steps of the court building,” Wallis announced with an air of authority.
David scooted his chair closer so he could see. “How so?”
“Well, for one thing, Harry’s widow Eunice is nowhere to be seen.”
“She rarely is,” David replied. “The Bahamian heat doesn’t agree with her. She wasn’t even there at the party when Harry was killed.”
“That was July. She always spends her summers in Maine. This is April. Nassau is really quite nice in April.”
David raised an eyebrow. “And when did you join the tourism bureau?”
“The point I’m trying to make is that the victim’s widow generally attends the trial, especially if her son-in-law is the accused. And why wasn’t she there?”
“Because she couldn’t stand either her husband or her son-in-law?”
“That goes without saying,” Wallis replied in frustration. “Eunice is a well-bred lady. While she didn’t mourn Harry, she sensed something irregular with Alfred.”
“He couldn’t have done it. He had a solid alibi.”
Wallis pointed at the newspaper. “Look at this picture of Nancy next to Alfred, playing the dutiful wife. He has his arm around her but look at her hand. It’s flat against his chest, like she’s pushing him away, at least symbolically.” Wallis arched an eyebrow. “I smell a divorce sometime next year.”
“So think mother and daughter think Alfred paid someone to kill Harry?”
Wallis smiled in triumph. “See, you think so too.”
At that moment, Sidney approached the table with a second pot of tea. “Did your trip to Bermuda go well, sir, madam?”
“Sidney, I’m so glad you’re here,” Wallis said in a bright chirp. “We were just discussing the Oakes murder trial. Have you been keeping up with it?”
“Only slightly, madam,” he replied. “I spent the few days while you were in Bermuda at my home in Eleuthera.”
“You love your home, don’t you, Sidney?”
“Of course, madam.”
“We were thinking Count de Merigny paid someone to murder Sir Harry.” David watched Sidney’s face carefully. “Tell me, Sidney, how easy would it be to find someone to commit murder?”
Sidney kept his eyes down. “My countrymen are very poor. It would not take much to persuade them to kill.”

Previously: Mercenary Leon fails a mission because of David, the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer is also a spy. David becomes king. David abdicates, they marry and he becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Leon becomes a mercenary. Woolworth heiress invites them to dinner.
The Windsors returned to the Bahamas just in time for the sultry season of summer; and, oh, how Wallis loathed it. Social life centered on dinners with the Bay Street Boys and their poorly dressed wives who fawned over her to excess. The wife of Harry Oates, the only one with anything of interest to say, had the good sense to go north during the dog days. An idea kept buzzing in Wallis like an irritating house fly while local gossip flourished in the after dinner social hour.
Wouldn’t I be put to better use somewhere else around the world killing a Nazi or someone else equally unpleasant?
Wallis did find a satisfying usefulness in her afternoons with the Red Cross ladies. On any given day she could be found at the hospitals caring for sick babies, counseling unwed mothers, darning socks, distributing clothing and bedding among the unwashed on the north side of the island among the unwashed. She would take notes of where medics needed to visit homes and tents where dreadful diseases abounded. Her fellow volunteers were women of compassion, reason and ideas. They were also ladies of age who after an afternoon with the Red Cross went home to a quiet supper and forthwith went to bed. They needed their rest to have the strength to attack their duties the next day.
Of particular interest to the Duchess were the children of the street. They appreciated little things like new sandals, shirts and an extra bit of food. In their eyes she saw the French valet’s son Jean who was pushed aside because the adults deemed him of no consequence. Yet it was he who saved her life the Christmas at La Croe. Who knew if one of these children might do the same thing if given the opportunity?
By September Wallis couldn’t stand the tedium and convinced David they might be of more use building goodwill among the Allies with another trip to the United States. Besides, she hadn’t had a decent new dress in years—at least it seemed like years. Even MI6 agreed another trip to the states was a good idea.
As usual, crowds lined the streets of Washington, D.C., as the Windsors drove down the boulevards in their limousine. British Ambassador Lord Halifax was out of town, which Wallis and David expected. The Royal Family demanded the couple receive as little attention as possible in their activities. Wallis had to remind herself that the King, Queen and his Royal Mum knew nothing of their MI6 connection. They assumed David’s abdication was as it was presented to the world—an affaire d’amour taken to excess. It was not as though Buckingham Palace was rude to them: it just acted like they didn’t exist.
Palace connections did maneuver behind the scenes. A White House dinner for the Duke and Duchess was cancelled for no apparent reason. Still, David did have an extensive private talk with President Roosevelt. The Duke spoke to the National Press Club. And the British embassy hosted a small dinner for them. Wallis was surprised they weren’t served watercress sandwiches and day-old tea cakes.
The palace did allow them to visit David’s ranch near Alberta, Canada. He bought the four thousand acres in 1919. On the surface David ran it as a business with a paid management staff. MI6 also used it for agent training. David had not been there since a couple of visits during the thirties. Wallis had never visited the ranch. The Windsors assumed the King didn’t want them to receive a large reception in metropolitan areas like Ottawa or Montréal. The tweedy types in the King’s cabinet didn’t know MI6 had arranged the time on the ranch.
When Wallis and David walked into the ramshackle log ranch house, they saw the smiling face of Gerry Greene, who had replaced the retired General Trotter as their main MI6 contact.
“Are we having fun yet?” Greene asked, seated in a large tufted chair.
“Now that you’re here I certainly hope so,” Wallis cracked as she lounged across an old leather sofa. “I hope you have an assignment for us. Something terribly sinful.”
“It might be.” Green looked at David. “There’s another one of these comfy chairs for you. “ He paused. “Oh. I’m supposed to stand or something when you come into a room. I hope I wasn’t rude.”
David plopped in the chair. “Not any more than my own family. Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it by now.” He pulled out his cigarette case and offered cigarettes to Wallis and Greene. “I do have one concern. I do miss my brother George. The rest of them I could do without, but if you could arrange a brief encounter with George every once in a while I’d appreciate it. Of course, I know he can’t know anything about MI6 but I’d just like to talk over old times.”
“And his wife Marina,” Wallis added. “She’s such a dear.”
“Well.” Greene broke into a wicked grin. “You be a good little boy and girl and keep war from breaking out in the Bahamas and I’ll see what we can do about George.”
Wallis sat up. “Another war? Don’t we have enough to worry about with the rest of the world going to hell?”
“It’s all related, my dear,” Greene replied.
“The RAF fields, right?” David looked at him with his squinty eye.
“Those bases must be built,” Greene continued. “No one has given too much thought about the danger of a German takeover of the Caribbean. It is vital not only to British interests but to American.”
Wallis blew smoke through her nostrils. “I thought that was a done deal. The Bay Street Boys were taking care of it.”
“The Bay street Boys are taking care of themselves.” Greene slouched back. “The Empire has been trying to impress on them the national security necessity of the project but all they can think of are big profits for themselves.”
“Of course.” David’s voice was licked by his usual schwermut.
“We could take out Harry Oates and Harold Christie,” Wallis offered. “They’re the worst ones. In fact, I’d enjoy killing Harry myself.”
“Wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth, dear,” David suggested.
“But they’re not the only players,” Greene explained. “We’ve heard bad things about this fellow named Merigny.”
“I know he wants to marry Harry’s daughter,” Wallis confided. “And he gets under Harry’s skin.”
“It isn’t just the Bay Street Boys,” Greene continued. “Right now there’s a race problem. Oates and Christie refuse to pay the black workers the same as the whites.”
“Ah, the Bourbon Street Boys,” Wallis threw in.
“Burma Road Boys,” David corrected her.
“I knew that. Maybe bourbon is on my mind because I’m thirsty.” She looked around room. “Where do you keep the booze?”
“We have to walk a tight rope,” Greene continued. “We don’t need a full-blown race riot. The airfields have to be built, dammit.”
David nodded. “Shanghai. 1925.”
“Exactly,” Greene agreed.
“I remember Shanghai.” Wallis smirked at David. “I saved your life.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Reminisce later,” Greene ordered.
An envoy entered and handed Greene a telegram.
“Hey, you,” Wallis called out to the envoy. “Do you know where they keep the bourbon?”
Greene opened the wire, read and threw it aside. “More good news. A tropical storm just trashed the north side of Nassau. Ravaging the people who aren’t getting enough money as it is.”
Wallis sat up and turned serious. “Are we caught up? David and I need to get this trip over and back to the islands. Can you see that a telegram is sent to the Red Cross assuring them help is on the way?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, and we have to finish this awful tour.”
Greene agreed to cut their talks short. The Windsors returned to the United States, stopping off at Aunt Bessie’s house in Baltimore.
“My darlings, how wonderful to see you!” the old woman exclaimed. “I’ve been reading about you in the papers.”
Wallis’s face lit up. Bessie seemed more cogent than the last time they saw her in La Croe.
“Now when are you inviting me back to your lovely place in France? I enjoyed that Christmas there. But of course, you did seat me in the wrong place.”
And the air escaped Wallis lungs.
The Windsors had one last stop before returning to the Bahamas—New York City. Wallis needed a brief shopping spree to recover from the visit with Aunt Bessie. Dear Aunt Bessie who was still in decline, never to return.
Wallis picked a particularly elegant gown for their last social evening of the season—dinner at the home of Jessie Donohue at 834 Fifth Avenue, the size of a grand hotel but just for one family.
Once again Jimmy and Wooly greeted them at the front door, like they had in Florida, and escorted them to the grand staircase just as Jessie, in a haute couture gown accented with brooches, rings, bracelets and a diamond necklace around her sagging neck, descended to receive them.
Wallis put on her best official social event smile.
This is exactly the type of American poseur I loathe. So why do I find her so fascinating?

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?”

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 must defend himself against assassins.
Aline awoke early the next morning, anticipating a report from the three dock workers whom she had hired to kill Sidney Johnson in his Eleuthera home last night. All of them were dumb as rocks, but how could they have a problem killing one sixteen-year-old boy who was probably in his bedroom crying himself to sleep because both of his parents were dead? She walked down to the dock, but they were not there. A police motor boat approached the pier. Every stevedore crowded around. Aline listened in on the whispers. Rumors started before day break that three bodies had been found on Eleuthera.
Screams drew Aline closer to the government vessel. Officers lifted three body bags onto the pier and unzipped each one. Several men looked and then ran to the edge of the pier to vomit. When Aline stepped close to see, she muttered obscenities under her breath. Two of them had been beheaded. The one left with a head Aline recognized as the smartest of the group. His eyes stared into the sky, his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth and his belly was a mush of blood and ripped intestines. She identified the other two headless corpses by their body type. The short, broad-shouldered boy was the least maimed. Just his head was gone. The rest of him looked just fine, except for all the blood that had flowed from the severed neck onto the torso. The third body belonged to the dumbest one. He was overweight and his six-foot frame was clumsy. Not only was his head missing, his midsection was almost dissected by sharp punctures.
This boy must be the devil incarnate.
Family members soon pushed their way through the crowd. A short woman threw herself on top of the beheaded young man. Another woman holding a baby leaned over to touch her child’s face to the bloated lips of the tall man. A third woman scrutinized the bloodied belly of the third victim and shook her head.
“This cannot be my husband. This corpse was a man of violence. My husband was a strict follower of Obeah and never would have participated in any activity that would end in such devastation.” She looked around. “Where is the high priestess Pooka? She will know. She will know.”
No she won’t.
Aline tried not to smile as she turned to walk to the Rialto. She was having lunch with her father Harry Oakes, and she needed a good reason to explain why Leon Johnson’s son was still alive. She heard the church bells toll twelve. She had to hurry.
Think fast. Even Harry won’t fall for just any story.
When she arrived at the Rialto terrace restaurant, Harry already was there, gulping a beer and wiping the sweat from his greasy brow. He turned his head and saw Aline walking towards him. Jumping up, he ran toward her, placing his big hammy palms on her shoulders. She knocked them off.
“The kid, is he dead? Did your guys do the job?”
Aline walked past him and sat at the table. “It’s not my fault. They told me they were the three best goons on the dock.”
“So they didn’t kill him?” Harry came up and leaned in to whisper.
“I just saw the bodies.”
“The bodies? Whose bodies? Not the boy, right?”
“The goons’ bodies. Two of them were beheaded and the other disemboweled.”
“So the kid is okay?” Harry almost missed the chair as he sat.
“He’s not okay.” She took out a cigarette to light it. “The little monster killed all three of them.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Harry, you’ve got to lay off the booze. You’re not making any sense.”
The waitress came up and took their orders. Harry asked for another beer while Aline wanted a fruit salad and red wine. Harry watched the waitress walk out of earshot.
“I screwed up big time.” His voice was shaking. “I misunderstood the orders. The commander told the next in charge who called me. It was a bad connection.”
“Cut the crap, Harry. The less I know about the big shots the better. Remember, that was one of the first things you told me.”
“I thought they said to kill all the Johnsons.” His eyes were wide in fear. “You weren’t in Lisbon to kill Leon but to make sure nobody would kill him. See, the Nazis wanted to kidnap the duke and duchess but they knew as long as Leon was around they didn’t have a chance. And to keep Leon happy, his family had to be safe.”
“So how the hell did you screw that around to kill all of them?” Aline’s low opinion of Harry was sinking fast.
“Like I said, it was a bad connection. I had too much to drink. My wife was on my ass about something.”
“Have you always been this stupid?”
The waitress appeared with Harry’s beer and Aline’s wine and salad.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat, sir?” the waitress asked.
“Naw. My stomach is already tied up in knots.”
After she left, Aline pushed a pineapple chunk into her cheek. “They don’t blame me for this foul-up, do they? I was just following orders.”
“They know.” Harry slammed back his beer. “It’s my ass on the line. You’ve got to recruit the son immediately. If he’s as tough as you say, we’ll be okay. Oh, and make up a really good lie about who killed his father. Tell him it was the Commies, the Nazis, the British, hell, tell him it was the Windsors’ idea. And for God’s sake don’t even let him think it might have been us.”
“Of course not. I’m not ready to die yet.”
By late afternoon Aline arrived on Eleuthera and walked down the sandy road to Sidney’s house. She pulled her hair back and tied a scarf around her head. She wore a ragged blouse, dirty skirt and sandals. She didn’t want to be noticed. She tugged on the handle to the gate and found it unlocked.
Looking down she saw the dead plant in the pot. She was the one who sent messages for Leon through Pooka who put them in the pot. She’d have to find someone new, someone less nosey.
Aline slipped in and walked to the front door. She was surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside she called out hello, but no one answered. First she saw a trail of smeared blood leading away from a darkened pool on the living room tiled floor. A kerosene lamp lay shattered next to an overturned end table. Looking to her right, she saw another smeared path beginning at the kitchen door where there was second pool of blood. On the kitchen wall was a blotch of blood, probably where one of the heads hit.
She walked to the bottom of the stairs. Her eyebrows went up when she saw no blood. She had counted three bodies on the pier that morning. How did the boy get his third victim out of the house? Going upstairs she looked down the hall to see the third pool of blood. Aline went to the room and found a path of red leading to a window. She looked out of it and saw three trenches in the sand leading to different areas on the beach.
One thing the boy needed to learn was how to cover his tracks. Other than that, bravo.
She turned to go back down the stairs. Aline alit from the bottom step when she looked in the door to see a short, slight Bahamian boy wearing soiled clothes covered with fish guts. He carried a bag of the catch of the day. She noticed the tight, hard ball of muscle in his bicep.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“You sound like a girl.”
“You sound like a bitch. What are you doing in my house?”
“You should learn to lock all the doors when you leave, even if you are upset and tired.”
“You need to mind your own business.”
“I knew your father.”
“Are you with this organization he told me about?”
“Yes.”
“Go to hell.”
“I have money for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“The organization knows the Nazis had your father killed. We were too late to save him. We heard about your mother. Very sad. We learned late last night the Nazis hired three Bahamian thugs to kill you. Again we were too late to defend you, but you seemed to have handled the situation yourself quite well.”
“You always seem to be late.”
“I’m on time today. I can have men out to this house tonight and clean it up, paint it and no one will know what happened.”
“Are they going to wipe me out too?” Sidney’s high voice went down an octave with cynicism.
“My dear, you must realize you’re on our side.”
He walked to the kitchen with his bag of fish. “I’m not your ‘dear’.”
“The organization wants to be your ‘dear’.” Aline followed him.
“I’m not interested.” He dumped the fish in the sink, took out a knife and started cutting their heads off with resounding thuds.
“We think your father trained you well.”
“My father did only what every father should do. Teach his son how to survive in this world.” He kept his back to Aline, who could not help but notice his shoulders were broad and thick.
“We pay well. You can wear white linen suits, like your father. You will see the world, eventually.”
“I‘m not interested.” He started slitting the fish open and gutting them.
“You will have just one job at first—protecting the Duke and Duchess of Windsor while he’s the governor of the Bahamas.”
Sidney stopped in mid-slice when she mentioned those names. His memory was blurry on this point but he was sure his father told him once the Windsors were like their family, and he had to make sure their bellies were filled. He considered his decision a long moment then slit open another fish.
“Very well. I accept. Give me the money you owe me. And tell those men to arrive soon. I don’t want to lose any sleep listening to them stumble around the house. I have to go fishing tomorrow.” He turned to point his knife at her. “And tell them I don’t want any paint on the furniture.”

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. The Windsors escape oncoming Nazis. Leon shadows their every move.
Leon took a small inexpensive room down the street from the Ritz where the Windsors had checked in the night before. The mercenary had not worn his white linen suit on this mission. He would not be dining in expensive restaurants nor frequenting any glamorous casinos. The organization told him his task was to keep the Duke and Duchess of Windsor from harm. They were to have safe passage to wherever the British government wished to send them. Leon’s job was to make sure they were not harmed or detained in anyway.
The best method to meet this goal, Leon decided, was to intercept any messages being received or sent by Spanish officials to Germany. He ambled down the street, trying to figure out the best method to achieve his goal. As he searched the store fronts, he saw a familiar figure among the pedestrians. The man’s picture had been on the Madrid morning newspaper.
German ambassador to Spain Ebehart Von Stohrer made a speech praising the Spanish government for not following the lead of England and France in their indefensible oppression of freedom-loving Germany. Leon took particular notice of Stohrer’s face, trying to find a glimmer of reasoning behind his sincerely made idiotic statements.
Leon slowed to stare into the front window of a haberdashery. He always appreciated the latest styles in men’s apparel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the German go into a cablegram office which puzzled Leon. Most embassies were equipped with their own cable equipment. Why would Stohrer avoid using the embassy apparatus and instead go to an out-of-the-way privately owned establishment? His message must be highly secret and extremely delicate in nature. Only the Duke and Duchess of Windsor would warrant such treatment.
After Stohrer left the cablegram office, Leon lingered by the office until a young man appeared with a broom to push dirt out of the office on the stoop and then out on the street. Leon walked over to him and looked up and down the street to make sure no one was watching.
“Buenos dias, chico,” Leon greeted him.
The servant grunted.
Leon slid a knife out of his jacket pocket and stuck it in the lad’s side just deep enough to catch his attention.
“Vamanos,” he whispered. “Go inside, throw your broom down and tell your boss you’ve had enough of this lousy job.”
“But he’s my uncle, senor.”
“That makes it more likely he’ll forgive you walking in next week begging for your job back.”
Leon pushed harder on the knife until he felt the tip puncture the boy’s skin. Without a word the servant walked inside. Leon heard the broom hit the floor and then a lot of angry shouting. Eventually the boy stormed out and stomped down the street, his arm pressing close against his injured side. Leon walked the other direction until he reached a small café where he ordered a demitasse of strong coffee. An hour later he walked back to the cablegram office, walked in and removed his cap.
“Por favor, senor. I missed my boat this morning. I was a mere swabby—swabby, you know? With the mop and a broom. I need job. Hungry. I am very hungry.”
The office manager lifted an eyebrow and pointed at the floor. “There’s the broom. Sweep.”
When the manager left the office for lunch, Leon quickly sifted through the telegrams until he found the one sent by Stohrer. Even though Leon’s German was rudimentary but he still made out that Stohrer wanted instructions from Joachim Von Ribbentrop in Berlin on how to proceed on the Windsor project. Leon’s advance information was correct. He immediately went into the back store room where he began a grand mess of dusting and mopping so when he manager returned he would not suspect his new assistant had rifled through the private cablegrams.
The next day when the manager went to lunch Leon walked to the basket which held the messages received but not yet delivered. On top was a communication from Ribbentrop to Stohrer.
“Delay their visas as long as possible, hopefully two weeks. That would give me time to arrange a holiday to Madrid and accidentally run into the duchess. I’m sure I can convince Wallis to lure the duke into staying in Spain for the duration of the war.”
If Ribbentrop came to Madrid, Leon swore to himself Ribbentrop would be dead within twenty-four hours.
After work, Leon stood outside the Ritz in the shadows, just in case the Windsors went out for the evening. By happenstance, Leon had special skills to re-invent himself as a waiter or a busboy as the occasion arose. Also he had slightly bucked teeth which most times he successfully hid, but when the situation called for it, he could allow them to explode from his lips, changing his facial appearance drastically.
That particular night the American ambassador Alexander Weddell hosted the duke and duchess to an evening at one of the glitzier eating establishments of Madrid. With a few pesetas and the point of his very sharp knife, Leon was able to become a busboy for the night. He also commandeered the glasses with thick lenses of the frightened servant. His disguise was complete. What he overheard surprised him.
“The stories the French troops would not fight were not true,” the duke began speaking in his casual manner to the American. “They had fought magnificently, but the organization behind them was totally inadequate.”
Weddell’s mouth went agape. “Well, this comes as a surprise.”
Wallis joined in. “France had lost because it was internally diseased and a country which was not in condition to fight a war should not have declared war.”
The duke leaned into the ambassador. “This applies not merely to Europe but to the United States also.”
The rest of the dinner went quietly except for the occasional comment on the quality of the food, until the duke decided to add, “I am convinced if I had remained on the throne war would have been avoided. I am a firm supporter of a peaceful arrangement with Germany. I definitely believe continued severe bombing will make England ready for peace.”
It was at this time Ambassador Weddell announced he just remembered an important meeting back at the embassy and he must leave immediately. He told them not to worry. He had already made arrangements with the restaurant to pay the bill. The Windsors seemed unruffled and ordered rum raisin ice cream.
Leon, on the other hand, made his way back to the kitchen where he returned the jacket and glasses to the busboy and resumed his life-long habit of hiding his buck teeth. He did not understand why the Windsors would make such inflammatory statements in front of the American ambassador. He walked out the door and felt the warm Spanish breeze in his face. Perhaps they were creating an image, just as he created images for himself. Then his mind went back many years when an agent for the organization warned him about becoming emotionally involved with the subjects of his missions. It could prove dangerous. Leon had always laughed off the advice, but on this warm night in Madrid he gave it a serious second thought.

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. The Windsors escape oncoming Nazis.
David and Wallis slept late the next morning in their suite at the most luxurious hotel in Barcelona. They felt as if they had earned it. He dressed and left Wallis munching on toast and sipping coffee as he went downstairs to send a cable to the British Foreign Office to inform officials they had arrived safely. They would move on to Madrid where they planned to pretend to be interested in Spanish pleas that they stay there. He was confident the message would be passed on to MI6.
When he returned to the suite, David found Wallis snuggled under the covers. Her half-eaten toast was back on a small plate by her coffee cup on the nightstand. She stirred a bit when he shut the door and opened her eyes only long enough to growl a command.
“Don’t you dare wake me up. I plan to sleep until I have completely forgotten that dreadful drive in the rain.”
With that she rolled over, exposing her boney derriere in her silk night gown. David smiled and poured himself another cup of coffee before settling into a comfortable padded chair. Briefly he watched Wallis to consider what kind of God’s creature was she. No one would ever call her beautiful, but everyone flocked to her when she arrived at a party. She knew all the rules of etiquette and knew when she could break them. She seemed frail and vulnerable, but was capable of abominable violence. Wallis was the opposite of every woman he had ever seduced, and yet he found himself falling in love with her, which was against all the rules of civilized espionage.
After he finished his coffee, David changed back into his pajamas to slip into the bed next to Wallis. He began to feel the toll of the last twenty-four hours. David didn’t know for sure if he could sleep, but he did feel comfortable in the bed next to her. He felt her body warmth. He heard her soft breathing. He smelled her heady expensive perfume. It was though they were married in spirit as well as in law, and they were truly in love. What a comforting sensation, he thought. Soon he was deep asleep.
Two days later they settled into their suite at the Ritz in Madrid. That night they celebrated David’s forty-sixth birthday with petite broiled steaks, fresh blanched peas drizzled with olive oil and baked potatoes. They were on their second bottle of champagne. Wallis lifted her glass.
“Here’s to your entering middle-age.” She had a wicked smile.
“Thank you for reminding me.” His tone was less than enthusiastic.
“Don’t worry about it.” The wickedness disappeared from her lips. “You’re Peter Pan. You’ll never grow up.”
“And how about you?” David looked down to cut his steak. “You’re only a few years younger than I.”
“That’s why I’m having such a good time now. I’ll be an old wreck, but I’ll be happy I went on the ride.”
The Windsors had just started their rum raisin ice cream when a courier presented a cable to the duke.
“Oh damn,” Wallis muttered. “I was enjoying myself until that thing arrived.” She paused as David read it. “Well, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”
“We’ll be staying in Madrid a little longer,” he replied. “My brother Harry is due to arrive in Lisbon to commemorate Portugal’s 800th independence anniversary.”
“That means we have longer to experience this Spanish cuisine. I’ve heard of this marvelous dish called paella. It’s supposed to be peasant food, but it’s chocked full of pork, chicken, shrimp and sometimes squid.” She paused to consider the sullen darkness which had fallen over him. “What’s with the long face?”
David shrugged. “Oh, it just means more interminable meetings with Spanish officials trying to talk me into staying here for the duration of the war.”
“Is that all? You’re not really upset about not seeing your stolid brother Harry, are you? He’s so boring he puts me to sleep.” Wallis laughed until she noticed David was still glum. She leaned forward. “I’m your chum. You can tell me. I know you really adore George, but I didn’t think you care a hill of beans for the rest of them. Or do you?”
“If you’re my chum, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”
When the Windsors arrived back in their suite, they found an envelope on their bed. David opened it to find two tickets to the afternoon bull fights at the Plaza Toros Las Ventas.
“We’ve been invited to watch little men in fancy costumes kill animals, my dear,” he announced.
“By whom?”
“Who knows?”
“Obviously by someone with no sense of true entertainment,” she replied. “Back home in Maryland if we wanted to kill a cow we’d just walk out to the field and blow its head off with a shotgun.”
The next afternoon they chose their clothing carefully. Their usual Paris high fashion would stand out even in a stadium filled with 25,000 peasants. Eventually they walked out on the street and hailed a local couple about their age, height and weight to offer them stunning clothing in exchange for their common street wear. The Spaniards were apprehensive at first, of course, but David with his down-to-earth personality and inadequate use of the Spanish language charmed them into venturing in the most expensive suite at the Ritz.
Once the exchange was made, the Windsors had to rush to be at the Plaza Toros Las Ventas in time for the opening ceremonies. As they walked to their seats the municipal band Espana Cani played pasadoble tunes.
“Thank God our seats are in the shade.”
“They‘re more expensive.”
“I don’t care.” Settling in, Wallis looked at David and smiled. “You make a handsome peasant.”
He glanced her way. “So do you.” After a pause he added, “Don’t look at me that way. I’m becoming aroused.”
“Don’t do that, old boy,” a voice interjected from behind them. “Don’t look around. It’s just your kindly old general.”
They both sighed in relief. They didn’t really want to stay to see the killing of a bull.
“You will be exchanging cablegrams over the next few weeks with Churchill over what your assignment will be during the war,” Trotter began. “First you’ll be insulted that you were not brought home for a more active role. Wallis, you must demand that someone sneak into the Riviera to retrieve your green bathing suit from La Croe.”
“That ugly old thing?” She seemed shocked. “I hope nobody does it.”
“Probably not,” Trotter replied, “but it will make a good headline.” He put his hand on David’s shoulder. “You’re going to be the governor of the Bahamas.”
“Hmm, I’ll need a whole new wardrobe,” Wallis murmured. “Nothing in green.”
“And what will our mission be?” David asked.
“An Australian chap by the name of Harry Oates practically runs Nassau. He has ties to the Germans, the American Mafia and who knows who else. You become close to him, see what he knows and if he knows too much—kill him.”

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. Woolworth heiress tells her son she wants to buy a king.

David and Wallis kept busy the first half of 1939 going back and forth from La Croe and their chateau in Paris. They hosted or attended small dinner parties whose guest lists included German sympathizers, usually British industrialists and bankers who realized their fortunes rested in cozy relations with the Third Reich. They avoided large lavish affairs where intimate conversation was logistically impossible. One such automobile magnate and his German wife revealed during a dinner at the Windsor’s Parisian chateau that they had recently returned from Berlin.
“We were at a reception for Herr Hitler and Fraulein Braun,” the husband said.
“Eva was quite forlorn,” his wife interrupted. “It seems her personal maid ran away in the middle of the night right before Christmas and has not returned. Eva said the woman had been so kind and loyal. A long time employee. Her departure confused Eva because she was under the impression the woman would have done anything for her.”
The Windsors smiled.
On September first of 1939 Germany invaded Poland on the pretext Poland made a peremptory attack on a German fortification in a peremptory attack. The German proclamation claimed a legal right to protect its own citizens against unprovoked aggression. Gossip at the Windsors’ dinners was that the invaders were, in fact, Germans dressed in Polish military uniforms. David and Wallis feigned disinterest. During the spring all of David’s official pronouncements urged conciliation with Hitler’s government. He even sent a telegram to Hitler to reconsider his actions to which the Fuhrer replied any war would not be his fault.
Three days later during a pool party at La Croe David received a telephone call that Britain had declared war on Germany. In the coming weeks the Duke of Windsor took several calls from London encouraging him to play an important role war effort by acting as morale officer to the troops. He had always been good at that sort of thing during the First World War.
By September 12 David and Wallis board the British destroyer HMS Kelly at Cherbourg to cross the channel for talks about his role in the war with the Foreign Office. Lord Louis Mountbatten and Winston Churchill’s Randolph were already on board. Winston insisted Randolph be included in the trip to give him experience in statecraft. Mountbatten, in serious tones, explained to David rumors of his being appointed as a morale officer were just rumors. Randolph just sat there, smiling and nodding, as though such a behavior could make such a disappointing announcement more pleasant. Instead, Mountbatten said, David would be assigned as the British consulting officer to French General Maurice Gamelin at the Maginot fortress along the border with Germany. Wallis, Mountbatten continued, could do anything she wanted as long as she kept her mouth shut and her face out of the newspapers.
“And for God’s sake, no more damn lavish dinner parties,” Mountbatten insisted. He then told them the rest of their visit to England was to be one long photo opportunity with them smiling patriotically with the high and low alike.
Randolph continued to smile and nod.
When they returned to their cabin they found General Trotter lounging in an uncomfortable chair.
“Now I suppose you want to know what you really are going to do in France,” he announced in his informal, MI6, way.
David and Wallis sat and listened. David would, indeed, be attached to the French Maginot line but he would ask to use one of their smaller aircraft for leisure flying over the countryside. MI6 intelligence had received information that Germany planned to bypass the massive French fortification and invade Holland and Belgium to enter France undeterred. Instead of flying over France, David would fly reconnaissance over Belgium. When he detected German troop movement, he should send coded messages through an American intelligence officer disguised as French peasant. Wallis will turn La Croe into a convalescent home for officers. Any information she might gather from the soldiers she would pass as a French peasant.
“How will I know it is him?” Wallis asked.
“She has a gimpy leg.”
“Fascinating. She travels fast with a gimpy leg,” she murmured.
When the Windsors arrived in London, they had to rely on old friend Lady Alexandra Metcalf to pick them up and take them to her house where they stayed for the duration of the visit. Wallis kept busy playing with the Metcalf children. David had an uncomfortable meeting with his brother the King and sat politely during several conferences in the War Office where he acted appropriately surprised when told about his assignment to Vincennes. David and Wallis were back on the destroyer Express to Cherbourg. Once at the British command, Maj. Gen. Sir Richard Howard-Vyse ordered David, the only British officer allowed at Maginot, keep his eyes and ears open so he could send back information on the condition of the French installation.
“You mean be a spy?” David’s mouth dropped open.
“Yes, that is the general purpose, Your Royal Highness.” The general was droll.
“Oh my. I don’t think I’ve ever done that sort of thing before.” David’s voice went soft.
“Yes, we know. Well, do the best you can.”
David kissed Wallis good-bye and sent her on her way to La Croe where she began preparations to turn the estate into a convalescent center. The War Office gave David strict orders to keep Wallis from the front lines.
Once David arrived at Maginot, he met Gen. Gamelin who with great pride gave him a tour of the facility, from its sun-ray rooms and movie theater to the cannon fortifications.
“It is the last word in defense,” Gamelin boasted. “We’ll dig in, just like the first war.”
The aging general reminded David of his own father. It was not a compliment. Seven months passed with David efficiently fulfilling his duty as outlined by Gen. Howard-Vyse. He listed the number of soldiers, rifles, and cannon but had trouble coming up with an exact count of aircraft. Some of the older models used in the first war, such as the Morane fighters, were unmarked. David was concerned with Gamelin’s explanation when questioned about the aircraft capability.
“You don’t want all the planes marked,” Gamelin huffed. “Then the enemy will know exactly how many craft we have. We used the exact same policy in the first war. Don’t they teach military history in British schools?”
By the end of the general’s tirade, David had come up with an ingenious plan of his own. “You’re quite right, General Gamelin. I am most trained in statecraft, not aircraft; however, I do know how to fly a fighter in the classification of the Morane. Would it be all right if I took it up for a bit of sightseeing tomorrow?”
“Sightseeing?” Gamelin sneered. “I suppose that’s all you’re good for. At least it will keep you out of my hair for a few hours.”
Early the next morning, David prepared for his flight. A young peasant woman limped up to him holding up an apple from her basket.
“Monsieur, une pomme, s’il vous plait?”
David smiled and pulled coins from his pocket. “You speak French with an American accent.”
“I have been told that before, monsieur.”
“Come back tomorrow and I’ll buy another apple from you.”
She curtsied and limped away. David took a bite out of the apple as he climbed into the old fighter. His ascension went smoothly. He assumed the mechanics did their job well. As soon as he had cleared the airspace around Maginot, David veered left toward the lowlands of Belgium. They looked so calm. Not at all aware of the hell of warfare that was about to descend upon it. All the intelligence David had studied showed the Germans were going to avoid the Maginot line completely. On this particular clear day, he saw no evidence of troop movement.
David allowed his mind to drift a moment as he enjoyed the freedom of solo flying. It was as though he was being lifted up and over all the cares of his life. He knew it was necessary for his family to hate him for the abdication in order to maintain his cover with MI6. But all the snubs did hurt, he had to admit to himself.
Before he knew it, David looked down and recognized the landscape of Holland. He had flown too far. As he began his maneuver to return to France David noticed the sky was turning black with approach of large German aircraft, out of which came paratroopers. The invasion of Holland had begun.