Trouble in Paradise (10 page)

“I know this must be very hard for you to take in,” Little Bill said to Dad.

He slowly shook his head. “You must admit, it all sounds pretty fanciful,” he said. “My wife and boys are spies …”

“Not really spies,” he said. “More like operatives. And, technically, only your wife is an operative at this point.”

“You mean her position as a censor?”

“I am afraid that is just her cover story,” Little Bill said.

Now my father wasn’t the only one who was confused and concerned. If Mom wasn’t a censor … what was she
really
doing?

“Your boys are quite amazing.” Little Bill said. “They are remarkable young men, and what they have accomplished is truly astonishing. You should be very proud of them.”

“I’ve
always
been proud of them.”

I felt my chest sort of puff up. I looked at my father. He really looked as though he was proud of us.

“I have tried very hard to understand how they have been able to accomplish so much, and I have a number of possible explanations—theories, if you will. I believe that they are so adept not in
spite
of their age but
because
of their age,” Little Bill said.

What exactly did that mean?

“Let me explain. Those who learn a second language in infancy are most skilled in that language. The younger you are when you acquire a it, the better you will speak it.”

“But we only speak English,” I said.

“I am not referring to your language skills,” Little Bill said. “I am applying the same idea to the way that you are able, almost instinctively, to understand concepts of espionage.”

“I get it,” my father said. “Because they’re young, it all comes more readily to them.”

“Exactly,” Little Bill said.

“I guess that makes sense,” Jack agreed. “The younger you start, the better you should be at something.”

“In theory,” Little Bill said, “but there is also another factor. Not only do you two absorb concepts, but you are able to be calm in the face of danger.” He turned to me. “Were you afraid last night, George?”

“Yeah,” I said, before I thought to lie.

“Jack, were you afraid?” he asked.

“I guess so. You’d have to be
crazy
not to be afraid if a bunch of guys with guns are chasing you.”

“Yet the fear did not cloud your judgment. You two were able to put aside fear, slow your heart rate, control your breathing and make the decisions that allowed you to escape. And for that ability you must thank your father.”

We both looked at our dad. What did he have to do with last night?

“Captain Braun, have you told your family about your accomplishments in North Africa?” Little Bill asked.

My father didn’t answer. His eyes fell to the ground.

“I thought not. You probably didn’t want to worry them.”

“There are some things that don’t need to be known,” my father said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Little Bill said. “But tonight, we are going to disclose all, on the part of all members of
the family. With your permission, I would like to tell your family of your deeds.”

My father gave a weak little shrug in answer.

“While serving in North Africa, your father received almost a dozen citations for bravery and received three medals for his actions.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jack asked.

“Or show us the medals?” I added.

“I was just being a good soldier,” our father said.

“You were far more than simply a good soldier.You were a leader, a man who was able to stay calm under adverse conditions.” Little Bill turned to my father. “Perhaps you could tell your family about what happened in Algeria.”

“Lots of things happened in Algeria,” he said.

“I was referring to the episode involving the three enemy tanks.”

I sat up straighter and my ears perked up. This I wanted to hear.

“There’s not much to tell. We destroyed some tanks and took some prisoners. We were doing what soldiers do.”

“Modesty is a virtue, but false modesty is not necessary. I am afraid that maybe I need to tell the story … with your permission.”

My father nodded.

“Your father was in charge of a unit assigned to hold a position. Despite being tremendously outnumbered and
outgunned and taking many casualties, your father was personally responsible for destroying three enemy tanks and for the subsequent capture of more than one hundred German soldiers.”

Both Jack and I gasped.

“It’s not like I was alone. I had good soldiers under my command … the
best
soldiers under my command.”

“Yet without your leadership, the entire position would have fallen, and you and your men would have been captured,” Little Bill said. “You have a special ability to remain calm under enemy fire.”

“Like us,” Jack said.

Little Bill nodded in agreement. “And, of course, the very special skills that your mother possesses are also part of what you have inherited.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked. We both looked at our mother.

“I believe it would be better to show you, rather than tell you,” Little Bill said. “And for that we need to wait until morning. I suggest that you all get some rest and we will continue tomorrow. Does that sound reasonable?” Little Bill asked.

“I’m certainly ready for bed,” our mother said.

“Me too,” Jack agreed.

“Maybe this will all make more sense after a few hours of sleep,” my father added.

“Then we will reconvene at eleven o’clock,” Little Bill said.

“Wait, I need to know something,” I said. “You said that because of what happened, there were going to be changes. What sort of changes?”

“Those changes are being arranged right now. Until I have confirmation, I do not feel it would be proper to discuss it any further.”

“When will you know?” I asked.

“Hopefully by tomorrow.” Little Bill rose to his feet, signalling that it was time for us to leave.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE
of the dining room was becoming louder and louder. Around us, hundreds of people—almost all female—were having a cup of tea and a slice of toast before they started work. The mood was happy with lots of laughter, good-natured conversation and even singing. For the
ten-thousandth
time somebody came over to our table and my mother introduced them to our father and us. Apparently my father looked “very handsome” in his uniform, and Jack and I were either “cute, fine-looking young men” or “chips off the old block.” Again and again we’d made polite conversation with some woman who knew my mother but was a stranger to us. There were also, in some cases, girls who weren’t much older than Jack, just like in Ajax at the munitions factory. I sure hoped there was one big difference—I hoped that none of these girls were spies.

Now I started scanning the room, looking for suspicious behaviour. Maybe it was like Little Bill had said—this kind of thinking came naturally to me because we’d been exposed to it when we were so young. But it would have been restful to have been able to just sit here, sip my tea, eat toast with marmalade and
not
think about there being a spy behind every potted plant. I couldn’t even remember what twelve-year-olds were supposed to think about.

We had spent the night at The Princess, Jack and I sharing a room. The biggest shock for me was that I slept so well. My head hit the pillow and I was gone until my mother gently shook me awake in the morning. Staying at the hotel had been convenient, but I couldn’t help wondering if maybe there’d been more to it than that. It kept us in sort of a “safe house.” What if the man who was shot had other agents working with him, and now we were in danger because someone had seen us that night? Was it possible that we’d been so focused on following him that we didn’t notice that we were being followed, too? Had they tailed us back to the house and watched us being whisked away? I had too many questions swirling around in my brain. The only certainty was that with the guards and machine-gun nest and security at the hotel, this was a very safe place.

Yet those same guards that kept other people out also kept us in. Maybe Little Bill had arranged for us to stay here
because he didn’t want us going anywhere … okay, now I was getting a little paranoid. I knew he’d always do the right thing for us. Of course, the right thing might mean that we would have to leave the island, maybe immediately, and that was why he hadn’t let us go home last night. Were we going to be relocated again? Leaving the island wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world—it wasn’t like we’d been here very long. It would almost seem like it was a little vacation. The real question was where we’d be sent next. And more importantly, would our father be allowed to come with us, or would he be sent back to Africa? After all, he was a real hero, and they needed those over there to do the real fighting, didn’t they? After having him back, and safe, was our unauthorized spying going to place him in harm’s way, back into battle? I couldn’t live with myself if that’s what we’d caused. If this just ended well, I promised to try not to be curious ever again and … there were too many possible options and no way I could figure things out … I just had to stay calm and wait. What other choice did I have?

The dining room slowly emptied until there were no more than a dozen people scattered throughout the room, and the noise level died down. The only activity was the waitresses clearing away the dishes and wiping down the tables.

A woman entered the room through the main doors. She was older than anybody else we’d seen here, and her
expression was stern and serious. She came straight toward us. I had a feeling we were about to meet another sombody-new who would think that I was “cute”—although judging from her expression, I doubted if she thought
anything
was cute.

“Good morning,” she said. There was a formal quality to her voice and no hint of friendliness to her manner. “G is in his office. He’ll see you in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” my mother replied.

“Of course, you know the way,” the woman said.

“Of course.”

Without another word the woman abruptly turned and quickly walked away, as though she was late for a meeting.

“Who is G?” I asked.

“Little Bill,” my mother replied.

“Why did she call him G?”

“G … as in the first letter of God.” She chuckled. “Not that you should ever call him that or refer to him that way within his earshot.” She paused. “It’s shorthand for his nickname. Not that it’s meant in a bad way … but I don’t really know if he’s aware of it.”

I gave her a hard look. “Do you
really
think he doesn’t know about it?”

“Well … probably he does, but still. Finish up your toast and let’s go. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

I popped the last little corner of toast into my mouth and Jack tipped his cup and drained it.

“You have marmalade all over your face,” my mother said to me. Before I could answer, she took a napkin, dipped the end in a glass of water and roughly wiped my face. Jack started to laugh—until she took the napkin and did the same to him, wiping both marmalade
and
the smirk from his face. I worked hard not to laugh—I didn’t want that napkin aimed at me again.

We all got up, and my mother reached over and straightened my father’s uniform tie. At least she hadn’t used a napkin on him.

“Goodness gracious, can’t I take the three of you anywhere without having to make sure you’re presentable? We’d better hurry,” she said. “I don’t want to keep Little Bill waiting.”

She took the lead and we obediently fell in behind. We went out the main doors of the dining room, but instead of heading right, toward the lobby, we turned left. We followed her down a long corridor that led to a set of stairs. At the bottom of two flights we came to a door guarded by two soldiers. They both saluted and my father returned the salute. Then one smartly opened the door.

We passed through, and we were in the basement … long corridors leading off in two directions, lit by weak, yellowish bulbs.

“I was wondering,” my father said. “Do you know his rank?”

“I’m not sure if he has a specific rank,” my mother said. “Why do you ask?”

“I just need to know if I should be saluting him.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” my mother said, “but I do know I’ve seen him order around generals as if they were bellhops, and they instantly jumped to follow his commands.”

“Maybe I’d better salute him, then, just to be sure,” my father said.

“Maybe we’d
all
better salute him,” Jack joked.

The corridor was warm and the air was very still, the overhead fans not producing much movement. We passed by an opening, and I was shocked to see dozens and dozens and dozens of women at long tables filled with hundreds, no,
thousands
of letters. In the few seconds it took to pass by, I could see that they were sorting the letters into little piles, like mail clerks.

We kept walking.

“It’s pretty hot down here,” Jack commented.

“I’m told it gets so hot in the summer that people faint,” Mom said.

“I thought it was supposed to be cooler underground,” I commented.

“But there’s no air flow, and some of the spaces are pretty crowded.”

There were other small rooms along the way—some no bigger than a little nook—and each was filled with people working away. Almost exclusively, they were women.

We turned a corner and there was the unfriendly woman, sitting at a desk. She looked up as we approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We … we have an appointment,” my mother said.

There was no look of recognition on her face—as if she hadn’t just told us to come down. The woman looked at a book on her desk and ran her finger down the page.

“Please, go in,” she said.

She reached under her desk and it looked as though she was pushing a button or something. The door popped open with a buzzing sound.

“Electrically controlled to restrict entry,” she explained.

We went through the door. The room was tiny, not much more than a big broom closet, and Little Bill was seated at a desk, surrounded by filing cabinets. There were four chairs crowded in front of the desk. He was writing intently, so absorbed that he seemed not to notice our entrance.