mostly sleeper agents, sent here with radios to await word when they were needed. Our man tried to contact one of these agents just when British counter-intelligence picked him up. We tried to set up a meeting so we could scoop up the spy, but he evaded us. All we could get from interrogating the sleeper was that there was a spy among the Norwegian forces in England, and his code name. Prodigal Son.”
“So we’re going to tell the Norwegians about the invasion scheduled for this fall, with a German agent lurking around somewhere?”
“Looks like you’re going to start earning your keep real quick, Boyle,” Harding said, returning to his newspaper.
“Don’t worry, Billy,” Kaz said. “Everybody who is anybody among the Norwegians in England will be there. All we need to do is identify the spy. Before he finds another way to contact Berlin and betray the invasion. No, take the right fork, Daphne.” He turned his attention back to the map.
“Are you sure, dear? I swear we go straight here toward Sudbury.”
Great. My first assignment is to find a needle in a haystack and these two can’t even find the road the haystack’s on. I leaned back and shut my eyes, pretending to sleep so no one would ask me how I planned to discover who the spy was.
I pretended pretty good, and woke up a while later when Harding nudged my shoulder. “Cut the snoring, Boyle, we’re almost there.”
The rain had stopped, but there were still dark clouds rolling in, from the sea, I guessed. We were on the heath, which is British for a damp, cold, treeless swamp.
“What the hell did the Vikings want around here anyway?” I asked. Nobody answered me, and soon my attention was drawn to Beardsley Hall off in the distance, silhouetted against the gray sky. It was massive. Four stories tall, it squatted on green landscaped grounds that stood in stark contrast to the gloomy heath surrounding us. Green ivy-covered granite gray stone nearly up to the top floor. At one end of the building stood a crenellated castle tower. Kaz played tour guide.
“The original foundation and tower were constructed around 900 AD. Rebuilt in the mid-1400s and expanded during the reign of King George, during your American Revolution. The great hall was built during the Victorian era, with the reconstruction of the tower completed at the turn of the century, at great cost to the Beardsley family. No matter, though, since the patriarch made his fortune investing in African diamond mines. The family line ended when all the sons died in the Great War. The government took over the hall and granted it to the Norwegian government in exile in 1940.”
“Will there be a test?”
“Oh yes, indeed!” Kaz laughed. He always seemed to know something I didn’t. We turned onto the wide gravel drive and took it to where it made a circle near the main entrance. Daphne slowed the car and the tires crunched the white crushed stone like a prizefighter cracking his knuckles. The long lawn was manicured and green, enclosed by thick hedges trimmed at a uniform height for a hundred yards on either side. I guess having an unemployed army of Norwegians hanging around made for good lawn care. A Norwegian flag, red with a blue-and-white cross, hung limply in the damp air, not even trying to flap a welcome. On either side of the main door sentries stood, armed with Sten submachine guns, grim looks, and polished boots. Only their eyes moved, like cop eyes, on high alert, checking each new person who moved into their domain. As we got out of the car, the double doors of the entrance opened and an officer almost ran out to greet us, followed by two more enlisted men. He wore the same kind of British Army uniform Kaz did, except his shoulder patch read “Norway.” He was short and thin, and his movements were quick, almost hurried, his eyes darting among our party until he spotted the brass.
“Welcome, Major Harding.” He saluted and then extended his hand. “On behalf of His
“So we’re going to tell the Norwegians about the invasion scheduled for this fall, with a German agent lurking around somewhere?”
“Looks like you’re going to start earning your keep real quick, Boyle,” Harding said, returning to his newspaper.
“Don’t worry, Billy,” Kaz said. “Everybody who is anybody among the Norwegians in England will be there. All we need to do is identify the spy. Before he finds another way to contact Berlin and betray the invasion. No, take the right fork, Daphne.” He turned his attention back to the map.
“Are you sure, dear? I swear we go straight here toward Sudbury.”
Great. My first assignment is to find a needle in a haystack and these two can’t even find the road the haystack’s on. I leaned back and shut my eyes, pretending to sleep so no one would ask me how I planned to discover who the spy was.
I pretended pretty good, and woke up a while later when Harding nudged my shoulder. “Cut the snoring, Boyle, we’re almost there.”
The rain had stopped, but there were still dark clouds rolling in, from the sea, I guessed. We were on the heath, which is British for a damp, cold, treeless swamp.
“What the hell did the Vikings want around here anyway?” I asked. Nobody answered me, and soon my attention was drawn to Beardsley Hall off in the distance, silhouetted against the gray sky. It was massive. Four stories tall, it squatted on green landscaped grounds that stood in stark contrast to the gloomy heath surrounding us. Green ivy-covered granite gray stone nearly up to the top floor. At one end of the building stood a crenellated castle tower. Kaz played tour guide.
“The original foundation and tower were constructed around 900 AD. Rebuilt in the mid-1400s and expanded during the reign of King George, during your American Revolution. The great hall was built during the Victorian era, with the reconstruction of the tower completed at the turn of the century, at great cost to the Beardsley family. No matter, though, since the patriarch made his fortune investing in African diamond mines. The family line ended when all the sons died in the Great War. The government took over the hall and granted it to the Norwegian government in exile in 1940.”
“Will there be a test?”
“Oh yes, indeed!” Kaz laughed. He always seemed to know something I didn’t. We turned onto the wide gravel drive and took it to where it made a circle near the main entrance. Daphne slowed the car and the tires crunched the white crushed stone like a prizefighter cracking his knuckles. The long lawn was manicured and green, enclosed by thick hedges trimmed at a uniform height for a hundred yards on either side. I guess having an unemployed army of Norwegians hanging around made for good lawn care. A Norwegian flag, red with a blue-and-white cross, hung limply in the damp air, not even trying to flap a welcome. On either side of the main door sentries stood, armed with Sten submachine guns, grim looks, and polished boots. Only their eyes moved, like cop eyes, on high alert, checking each new person who moved into their domain. As we got out of the car, the double doors of the entrance opened and an officer almost ran out to greet us, followed by two more enlisted men. He wore the same kind of British Army uniform Kaz did, except his shoulder patch read “Norway.” He was short and thin, and his movements were quick, almost hurried, his eyes darting among our party until he spotted the brass.
“Welcome, Major Harding.” He saluted and then extended his hand. “On behalf of His
Similar Books
