Free Billy Boyle by James R. Benn Page A

adopted us, I guess you could say. Someone named us the Three Musketeers, but we haven’t seen much of each other lately.”
    King Haakon joined our group and put a fatherly hand on Arnesen’s shoulder, much more gently than Birkeland had. For a major, this guy had friends in high places.
    “Is Major Arnesen being overly modest again? He and his men were a godsend when we departed Norway. They helped us to load a large amount of our gold reserve aboard ship, in the middle of a German bombing raid, no less! Now one of them is in charge of security here… you’ve met Captain Iversen, yes? And Lieutenant Rolf Kayser is a decorated commando. The Three Musketeers have done well!”
    “And we’ll all be together tomorrow. Rolf is participating in the exercise with my battalion,” Arnesen said. “He commands Fifth Troop with Number Ten Commando, an all-Norwegian unit.”
    “You’re with the Norwegian Brigade, Major?” Kaz asked.
    “Yes. We’ve been training for two years now, and we’re eager to get back into the fight. Do you have any news for us?”
    “ Unnskyld meg ,” came a voice from behind us, as an enlisted man in a white server’s jacket held a tray of covered plates. “Excuse me,” he said again in English. I moved, thankful for the interruption. The eager beaver would have to wait for his news.
    “Take your seats please, gentlemen,” the king said as he offered his arm to Daphne and led her to the place on his right. I noticed Birkeland and Skak make a beeline for the open seat on his left. Skak was faster. I ended up next to Birkeland and across from Cosgrove, with Kaz on my left. Harding sat across from some Norwegian officers I hadn’t met. Waiters served us fish with a yellow sauce, boiled potatoes, and cauliflower. It was quite the white meal. The knives and forks were heavy, real silverware, the kind of stuff you counted after your guests left.
    “Ah, Pouilly-Fumé, just my choice for turbot with hollandaise sauce!” Kaz raised his glass to the king. “To your health, Your Highness!” The toast was repeated by all and glasses raised. The wine was all right and the potatoes fine, but I was more interested in a different color.
    “So what’s all this about gold?” I asked. I noticed several forkfuls of fish suspended in midair, just below pairs of widening eyeballs. Only the king continued eating, royally ignoring my question and me.
    “Don’t they report the war news in Boston, young man?” Cosgrove snorted at me. “The Norwegians smuggled their entire treasury of gold bullion out of the country in 1940, practically under the noses of the Germans. Hundreds of cases of gold bars and coins. A logistical feat, under any circumstances!”
    “So it’s all here, in England?” I watched for a reaction from Skak or Birkeland, but Harding cut in.
    “No, Lieutenant, the gold was taken to the United States on several different vessels, and deposited in banks to be at the disposal of His Majesty’s government.” He spoke quickly, as if to close the conversation.
    “That’s great. I must’ve missed it in the papers.” I turned to Skak and Birkeland with a gee-golly look that came disturbingly easy. “Were you fellows involved with this gold transport?”
    Skak looked straight ahead and drummed his fingers on the table. Birkeland spoke very deliberately. “We each were given different duties by the king. I was responsible for transferring the gold from ground transport to fishing boats and British warships, when they were available. We didn’t want the gold to be all in one place, in case a ship was sunk or captured.”
    “How did you manage it—all those fishing boats, I mean?” Daphne asked. I wondered if she was really curious or just trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
    “Many of them were actually mine,” Birkeland said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I own a small fishing fleet in those waters, and it was relatively easy to coordinate the loading.