Free Paradise Gold: The Mafia and Nazis battle for the biggest prize of World War II (Ben Peters Thriller series Book 2) by Vic Robbie

slacks and a shirt open at the neck. His manner, which had been cold and almost off-hand at the London club, was more congenial like an actor who has cast off a role.
    ‘Ah, Peters, old boy,’ he said proffering a hand to be shaken. ‘Glad you made it.’ He allowed himself a faint smile and pointed for Ben to sit in the chair opposite his desk before opening a folder and glancing through it. ‘Hope they looked after you on the flight, old boy?’ Ben wondered why some Englishmen, who wouldn’t dream of using ‘old boy’ in England did so when abroad. Perhaps it reinforced their Englishness in some way.
    This was an office Smee, or anyone else, hardly used. It consisted of a metal desk, bare apart from the folder and a telephone, and two chairs with spindly legs that jarred when dragged across the rubberised floor. A large metal filing cabinet stood against the far wall with an ugly potted plant perched atop it as an afterthought. On the wall behind his desk, a calendar with some dates X-ed out in red ink hung from a rusting nail.
    ‘What the hell’s happening out there?’ He jerked a thumb behind him.
    Smee looked towards the door with something approaching proprietorial pride. ‘Impressive. Don’t you think? This is one of the front lines in our battle against Germany.’
    ‘In America?’ He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.
    Smee had a ‘there’s so much more I could tell you, but I can’t’ look about him. ‘Propaganda. That’s what it’s all about. We run a news agency from here. Send out stories on the wires with foreign datelines. How the war is impacting on the United States. We try to convince Americans that Hitler is coming after them and why they should be involved in the war. Stories are massaged to spread the message. We also run a radio station. Broadcast the stories off the wires. That gives them credibility as coming from a US source. Coverage of the story grows exponentially as other radio stations and newspapers publish them.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself, and added with a sly look ‘Bit of the black arts.’ He waited for Ben to digest the information before clearing his throat. ‘Splendid. Good of you to join us.’
    ‘I’m still not sure about this–’
    ‘Too late,’ Smee snapped back and then attempted a smile, although Ben figured he had used up his ration. ‘Can I offer you something? Coffee?’ He screwed up his face. ‘Perhaps that would be unwise? Comes out of a machine. Looks like it has been dredged up from the bottom of the black lagoon. Or tea? Americans don’t know how to make it, of course. Brought some over from Blighty and I have a secret weapon.’ Smee touched the side of his nose with a long bony forefinger and shouted ‘Emily, Emily.’
    A harassed young woman with wrinkled stockings appeared in the doorway and leant against it as though it were the only thing holding her up.
    ‘Tea. Now, thank you.’
    He felt light-headed, which he put down to a cocktail of the flight, lack of sleep and the whisky. And he welcomed a hiatus, however brief, before tea was served while Smee’s eyes ran over his face as if memorising every line for posterity.
    With an earnest look crowding his sharp features, Smee leant forward. ‘So, as an American, where do your sympathies lie in this war?’
    The tea revived him momentarily. ‘If you don’t know, you’ve picked the wrong man for the job.’
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘I saw at first hand in Paris what the Nazis were capable of. They’ve got to be stopped.’
    ‘And the cost?’
    ‘Whatever it takes because Hitler won’t stop at Britain.’
    ‘And America?’
    ‘It’s time my fellow Americans woke up to the danger,’ Ben said.
    ‘And you, personally?’
    ‘I’ll do anything I can to help win this war.’
    ‘Do you believe there is a real threat to America?’
    ‘Definitely. As you know, their U-boats already control the North Atlantic.’
    ‘What would be your message to your fellow