The Discovery, A Novel (6 page)

October, 1942

“Ben,” she said, “what are you thinking? You’ve left the room again.”

Ben Coleman looked up at Claire, then at all his newfound “friends” sitting around the lunch counter at McCrory’s. How could he tell her what he was thinking? He was thinking he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her. He was thinking how impossible it was for them to be together. And he was thinking about why—two reasons came to mind. Both presented insurmountable obstacles. He looked into her beautiful eyes. “I’m just tired,” he said, suppressing a sigh. “What did I miss?”

So many lies.

Starting with his name. It was not Ben Coleman. In the past two months, he had become aware of how heavy words become when you carry them alone. Lies spoken to someone you love were heavier still.

“Hank was just saying we should all go to the movies tonight,” Claire said. “I get off at 6:00. What time’s it playing, Hank?”

Ben looked at Hank Nelson, who stared at Claire with lovesick eyes. He always looked at her that way, and she never seemed to notice. But Hank didn’t have a prayer; she was way out of his league. Most, if not all women, were out of Hank’s league. “Starts at 7:00,” Hank said. “I could swing by and pick you up.”

Three others sat at their end of the counter. Hank’s offer was clearly meant for Claire. “That’s okay, Hank. I don’t need a ride,” she said. “So Ben, can you come?”

Claire Richards, her real name, looked right at him as she said this. Either he was totally off, or she felt something for him too. Like just now. She was almost asking him for a date. “What’s playing?” he said.

“A war flick,” Hank said. “
Secret Mission
, with James Mason and Stewart Granger. Didn’t you hear me a minute ago?”

“Sorry, no. I didn’t.” A war movie, thought Ben. Even worse, a war movie about spies. Not the way he wanted to spend his Saturday night. But it would give him more time with Claire. He’d learned that her heart belonged to Jim Burton, her high school sweetheart, who was off fighting Rommel and the Nazis somewhere in North Africa. Burton was his first big obstacle. “Sure, I’ll come,” Ben said.

“Great. Barb and Joe, you coming?”

Barbara Scott was Claire Richards’s best friend. She and Joe were engaged and planning to tie the knot the week before Thanksgiving. Sometime between then and Christmas, Joe would be shipping off to boot camp. “I don’t know,” Joe said. “I’m not really in the mood for a war movie.”

Claire made a face at Barb.

“C’mon, Joe, it’ll be fun,” Barb said. She’d gotten the message. Claire wanted them to come, to make this a group event.

“I guess if you want to,” Joe said. Barb leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Ben took the last swallow of his root beer float. He was beginning to like these things. The jukebox stopped playing. Hank stood up. “I’ll get it.”

“Put on Frank Sinatra,” Claire said, “
Night and Day
, will you, Hank?”

Ben caught Hank making a face; clearly not what he had in mind. “Sure, Claire. You got it.”

Ben liked Sinatra. In fact, he liked all the music he was finally getting to hear again these past two months. Bing Crosby, Glenn Miller, the Andrews Sisters. It had been so long since he’d heard good American music.

As soon as the song began, Claire said, “That was the last song Jim and I danced to before he shipped out.”

“Aww,” Barb said, “that’s so sweet. I love this song.”

“You love anything Sinatra sings,” Joe said.

“True,” she said. “True.”

Ben noticed Claire’s eyes when she talked about Jim. She never cried or showed any emotion. Even now, as Sinatra swooned into the chorus, she was just smiling away.

That had to mean something.

Claire looked at the clock on the wall. “I have to leave after this song, gotta clock in at 2:00.” Claire worked at Woolworth’s, just a few stores down on Beach Street, right on the corner of Magnolia. “Did you find a job yet?” she asked Ben.

“Not yet.” Ben wasn’t looking all that hard. He had plenty of ready cash. Really, enough for a lifetime. But eventually, for appearance’s sake, he’d have to get one.

“Maybe while you’re waiting, you can volunteer with the Civil Air Patrol,” Barb said. “I started back in August. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” Joe asked.

“What?” Ben said.

“Horses, you know how to ride ’em?”

Ben shook his head. “Never been on a horse. Why?”

“The Coast Guard is looking for men who can ride. I wished I’d heard about this before I joined the Army. I could have been fighting Krauts here at home instead of shipping overseas.”

“You don’t ride horses,” Barb said.

“Not anymore, but I used to all the time as a kid. We lived out near Samsula.”

“Really? I never knew that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Joe said, reaching for her hand.

“A real man of mystery,” Hank said in a mocking tone. “So what are they doing, these guys on horses?”

“Nothing you can do anything about,” Joe said, referring to the fact that Hank was 4-F.

Hank looked down at the table, deflated.

“Joe,” Claire said.

“That wasn’t nice,” Barb added.

“What? I wasn’t putting him down.”

Ben looked at Hank’s thick glasses. They made his eyes pop out when he looked straight at you. He even had the big nose to go with the glasses, and with curly hair that piled high on his head, he looked like one of the Marx Brothers. “So what about these horses?” Ben said. “Not that I can join up, either. I’m 4-F too. Remember?”

“I forgot,” Joe said.

Ben had told them he had a heart murmur when he first met them. He needed some reason to explain why he hadn’t signed up like every other healthy, patriotic young American.

“Your problem isn’t as obvious,” Joe said. “No offense, Hank.”

“It’s all right,” Hank said.

“Well,” Joe said, “last month the Coast Guard decided to add horses to their beach patrols. You know, checking for more Nazi saboteurs coming onshore from those U-boats.”

“That was wild,” Hank said. “Four of them came in just south of Jacksonville back in June. The paper said they found guns, explosives, and a whole suitcase full of cash in the dunes.”

“Well, they won’t be sneaking any more Krauts in once this thing gets cooking,” Joe said. “Each patrol’s supposed to have horses and German shepherds, patrolling in shifts all night long. They won’t make any noise or get stuck in the sand. Krauts won’t even hear ’em coming.”

“You sure you can’t get reassigned to this?” Barb said.

“No, darlin’,” Joe said, “already tried. The Army recruiter said what’s done is done.”

She formed her lips into a pout. Joe leaned over and kissed her.

“Well, Ben, I wasn’t talking about joining the Coast Guard,” Barb said. “I remembered about your heart. I’m talking about volunteering with the Civil Air Patrol. You’ve seen these watchtowers they’ve been putting up.”

Ben nodded.

“Well, they train you as a lookout. You don’t get paid anything, but it’s a lot of fun. You sit up there scanning the skies for German planes and the ocean for U-boats, and call in anything you see.”

“Have you ever seen anything?” Hank asked.

“Well, no U-boats, but lots of planes.”

“Lemme guess,” he said. “All ours.”

“Yes,” Barb said. “So far, but you never know . . .”

“I think we do know,” Hank said. “Germans don’t even have a plane that can fly across the Atlantic. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ben said. He wanted to change the subject. This whole conversation made him nervous. They were now talking about the second greatest obstacle to wooing Claire. If his real identity were known, Ben would be arrested, tried, and executed, just like six other German saboteurs had been eight weeks ago. They had been caught in June. Tried in July. Then strapped to the electric chair in August.

The Sinatra song ended.

“Well, gotta go,” Claire said. She stood up.

Ben stood up too. “Yeah, I’ve got to head back over the bridge. I told my landlady I’d help her with a few things before dark.” Another lie, but without Claire here, there was no reason to stay.

Claire stopped at the glass door and looked at Ben. “But you’re coming back for the movie, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ben said.

As she waved good-bye and headed down the sidewalk, Ben watched her glide past the window. There it was again; she’d singled him out. Claire wanted him at that movie.

So, for her, he’d come back over the bridge tonight and sit through the stupid movie.

On so many rational levels, he knew Claire could never be his. But he didn’t care. His whole life was up in the air now. The finely crafted plan that had landed him on the beach a little north of here in mid-August had been annihilated that very first night. Getting free of that plan, getting a chance to start his life over . . . that was the new plan. The only plan Ben cared about now.

Claire, he thought.

So many lies.

The spy movie at the Daytona Theater was a wash, for the most part. No surprise there. British actors, a British plot, and loaded with propaganda. The Nazis were evil and incompetent, the Allies noble and intelligent. A predictable ending.

Ben didn’t mind it, though. With the newsreels and previews, it had given him two full hours to sit next to Claire. During some tense scenes, she’d leaned up against him. Twice she’d grabbed his forearm instead of the armrest.

He also didn’t mind how the Nazis were portrayed. He knew firsthand that they really were evil. And many he’d dealt with—some in positions of real authority—were seriously incompetent.

He wanted them to lose this war with all his heart.

It was dark out now. He stood at the center of the Broadway Bridge, looking west at the downtown area he’d just come from, such as it was. One main road called Beach Street ran north and south along a river that divided Daytona into two sections: the beachside and the mainland. That’s how he’d heard the locals describe it. There were a few more streets that branched off from it, a few more on the beachside, but it was a small town. Like many others he remembered seeing in Pennsylvania, where he was born.

The thing he liked most was the absence of the color red. If this had been any downtown area in Germany, in any city, no matter what size, that’s what you’d see. Red flags, white trim, black swastikas. Everywhere. It sickened him.

The downtown area here was lined with charming stores, diners, and the movie theater on one side, and on the other side of the street was a beautiful riverfront park, with peaceful walkways that wrapped around ponds and fountains. Flowers and shrubs abounded, along with stately palms.

You could only see such details in the daytime. The whole city was encased in darkness, except for a few dim lights glowing here and there. He turned and looked toward the beachside, which was almost entirely blacked out. Ben laughed at the absurdity of this. He wished he could tell someone. Hank was right. He might not see too well through those thick glasses, but he saw better than most of the leaders in this country on the issue. Not a single soul in America was in danger from the air. Every air raid warning, every air raid precaution that took place was a complete waste of time. The German Luftwaffe could barely keep its planes across the English Channel for an hour before they ran out of fuel. Ben doubted they would ever come up with a plane that could fly across the Atlantic.

The danger for America was from the sea.

Since the day Hitler declared war on the US in December, German U-boats had sunk several hundred Allied ships along the East Coast and in the Gulf of Mexico, many within sight of the shoreline. He’d been back in the US for nearly two months but hadn’t read a thing about this in the newspapers. Why were American officials hiding this danger from the public?

He recalled what Barb had said in the diner that afternoon. She was so happy with herself, climbing her watchtower on the beach several days a week to keep an eye out for the enemy. She would never see anything but American planes, and she’d certainly never see a U-boat during the day.

As he stood there leaning against the rail of the Broadway Bridge, he remembered standing one night along the railing of U-boat 176, next to the deck gun, two days before his mission was set to begin. He’d come up to catch some fresh air. Two German sailors scanned the waters between the boat and the shoreline, hoping to spot the silhouette of an Allied cargo vessel sailing north. Liberty ships, they called them.

The trick was to patrol coastal waters just outside the shipping lanes. U-boats cruised slowly and quietly, parallel to seaside towns. Surprisingly, many towns left their lights on at night. When Allied ships passed between them, the city lights provided a perfect backdrop, allowing German spotters to easily see the outline of a ship, even though the ship itself had turned off its lights.

That night, Ben had witnessed this very thing. Both sailors had simultaneously spotted the Allied ship and sounded the alarm. The U-boat instantly shifted to battle stations. “Sorry, sir. You must go below now,” Ben was told.

“Right, good luck,” he said as he climbed down the ladder.

Good luck?
Had he really said that? He’d wished somehow he could warn the Americans on that doomed freighter. But he was helpless.

He quickly dodged around the sailors hurrying to ready the torpedoes below as he made his way to his quarters. He and his team of three other men, all highly trained agents with the German Abwehr, were mere spectators on this vessel, confined to quarters whenever the U-boat went into battle.

Battle, he thought. This was no battle. It was a slaughter. Like firing a high-powered rifle at a lumbering cow grazing in a field. These Liberty ships never had a chance, nor any means to defend themselves. The first sign of danger American merchantmen received was the massive explosion erupting in the center of their boat, often splitting it in two.

Ben sat below in the crowded officers’ bunk with his partner, Jurgen Kiep, a true believer.

“It’s so exciting, don’t you think?” Jurgen said. “I wish we could watch it from up there.” He pointed topside.

“I got a glimpse of the ship’s silhouette,” Ben said, “before they sent me down.”

“Well, that ship is going to be sent down,” Jurgen said, pointing to the floor. “Any minute now.”

Ben smiled and nodded, instantly regretting his feigned enthusiasm. He’d been forced to live this charade for almost six years, pretending to be a faithful, even passionate Nazi. Now, he was only a few days out from finally being rid of this albatross. The calluses that had crusted over his lies were already beginning to soften.

A few moments later, the submarine shuddered, the deep groaning sounds followed by the swoosh of the forward torpedoes releasing.

“Won’t be long now,” Jurgen said.

Ben sighed, then tried to conceal it. Both men sat in silence. A few minutes went by, then a deep bass sound. A moment later, another . . .
Boom
.

“They got her!” Jurgen yelled and jumped to his feet. “You hear it? Both torpedoes. She’s going down.”

Ben stood, forced a smile.

“Let’s go,” Jurgen said. “Maybe they’ll let us up on deck. Must have been amazing to watch, don’t you think?”

“Amazing,” Ben said. He didn’t want to see it. Those booms meant dozens of American men, some his same age, had just died. Others were clinging to flaming debris or drowning in the surf.
I am an American
, he said in his mind, walking a few steps behind Jurgen toward the conning tower. He knew he was making a choice, firming his resolve—

“Excuse me, young man.”

“What?”

“May I get by? There’s a car coming across the bridge or I’d walk around you.”

Ben looked down at the face of a short man wearing an overcoat and fedora, a bit bundled up for the slight chill in the air.

“You weren’t thinking of jumping, were you?”

“What? No,” Ben said, smiling.

“Got girl troubles then?” he said, stepping by as Ben leaned up against the rail. “A man stands out on a bridge this long without a fishing pole, I figure he’s either gonna jump or he’s got girl troubles.”

“You got it, sir. Girl troubles. No plans to jump. Too much to live for.”

The man stopped. “So you shipping out soon, wondering if she’ll wait? Lot of that going on. My boy went through that a few months ago. He’s in England now.”

“Well, that’s not exactly my problem. I’m 4-F. The girl I love loves someone like your son, only he’s in North Africa.”

“Ah,” the man said. “That could stick a man out on a bridge, I guess. If you don’t mind me saying, hope she stays true to her young man in Africa, after seeing what my boy went through. But then I hope you find somebody else, just right for you.” He waved, turned, and started walking toward the mainland.

“Good night,” Ben said. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and started walking toward the beachside. Why had he told that man about Claire? He’d just blurted it out, like it was . . . the truth.

It was the truth.

And it felt good to say it. It had been so long since he’d said anything close to the truth. But it saddened him to think about what the man said, hoping that Claire would stay true to Jim Burton.

As he looked out over the water, he remembered she’d talked about Jim the day they met, that first week he’d come into town. He’d been heading into the diner at Woolworth’s.

Lying there, blocking the entrance to the front door, was this big brown dog. He seemed friendly enough. Ben was about to step over him when the dog looked up and began wagging his tail. Ben bent down to pet him. “Hey, boy, how you doing?” As soon as Ben patted his head, the dog rolled on his side. “I see, you want me to scratch your belly.”

He heard the front door open. Before he could look up, a woman shouted, “Oh no!” The next moment, a thick stream of water poured over his head and all over his clothes.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.”

Ben rubbed the water from his eyes and looked up into the face of a beautiful young woman.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m all right, really. It’s just water.” How could he be angry? She was so lovely.

“No, it’s not all right. Let me go get a towel. You stay there, I’ll be right back.”

He stood and so did the brown dog. The girl returned with a white towel and began drying him off. She had the brightest smile and the kindest eyes. “I’m really okay,” he said.

“I was just bringing a bowl of water out for Brownie,” she said. “It’s so hot out here.”

“I’m all cooled off now.” Ben smiled. “Is this your dog?”

“No, he’s sort of the downtown mascot. I don’t think anyone owns him.” She finished drying Ben off as best she could. “I’m Claire, by the way.”

Ben introduced himself, and they shook hands politely. He didn’t want to let go of her hand.

Standing there now on the bridge, Ben still remembered the moment their hands first touched. She’d said she worked part-time at Woolworth’s. He found out she got off at 4:00. Before she went back in, Claire insisted he allow her to make it up to him somehow. Ben suggested his honor might be restored if she met him for dinner when she got off work.

That’s when Ben found out about Jim Burton.

But it didn’t matter. Ben knew he had to keep seeing her, so he kept coming back to Woolworth’s every chance he got. He’d found a seat in the diner that let him view the entire store. Over the next several weeks he’d come in for lunch or a cup of coffee and watch her as she went about her various tasks. As he did, his attraction and affection for her continued to intensify. Beyond her physical beauty, which had thoroughly captivated him, Ben was struck by how incredibly kind she was. Bringing water out to a thirsty dog on a hot day was just Claire being Claire. She treated everyone at the store the same way: her boss, co-workers, even grouchy customers.

He did his best to be discreet but whenever he’d see her, he couldn’t help but stare. Once in a while, she’d notice him and smile or wave. Occasionally, they’d even talk, but she’d always keep a respectful distance. He never once felt the green light to ask her out.

A few weeks ago, she’d walked over to where he sat and invited him to join her and “the gang” down the street at McCrory’s. That’s where they hung out, she’d said. He thought it might be the beginning of something positive and instantly said yes.

Nothing came of it, however, except the opportunity to spend more time with Claire. That alone made it worthwhile. But she must have discerned his growing interest; she’d regularly insert little Jim reminders, like she had done that afternoon. But Ben kept seeing little glimmers of hope, like he did that afternoon.

Ben sighed, turned, and started walking down the bridge toward the beachside. He realized Claire would probably stay true to Jim Burton, even if she did have feelings for him. She was that kind of girl. Not just beautiful, not just a delight to be with and talk to. She was a nice girl, an honest girl. The kind of girl who would always do the right thing.

And Ben knew, he was the wrong thing for someone like Claire.

For so many reasons.