Oslo Spies: Phyllis Bowden Book 2 Read online

  Phyllis’ confused look became angry. She lowered her voice. “Yesterday when I arrived, policemen were herding young girls into a building. The driver called them Quisling girls.”

  “Sure,” Jay whispered back. “I’ve heard of them. It was the Norwegian version of the League of German Girls, so-called youthful Hitler lovers. So?”

  Eyes as chilly as her words met Jay’s stare.

  “Please tell me what a little Norwegian girl could have done to collaborate with Germans.” She angled her head toward the women on the truck as the bus rolled past. “And please explain to me what shaving a woman’s head is supposed to prove? What are they doing to men who collaborated? Are they shaving their heads too? Parking them out in trucks to be gawked and yelled at? This feels like stoning a woman for something she did in some barbaric third world country.”

  Jay spoke directly into Phyllis’ ear. “This isn’t your country or mine. We didn’t live through five years of German occupation like they did. It’s no telling how we would react had we been through similar circumstances.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, Jay, but there’s an unfair quality here, a dark wind blowing through this country. I’m not going to pretend to ignore certain things I see.”

  “Even if you understand why people are upset with collaborators?”

  “Even then.”

  Jay tugged her away toward the front of the bus. “Let’s go. This is our stop.”

  As they walked towards Army Headquarters, Phyllis ventured a last lingering look at the women on the truck. Something wasn’t right; something felt off and she was determined to find out what it was. It could mean sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. Sometimes, she thought, a person just had to do that.

  FOUR

  Lt. Col. Ronald Lawrence, Military Attaché.

  Phyllis stared at the name painted on the frosted glass of the door. Standing on the second floor of the American Embassy in Oslo, Phyllis experienced a twinge of déjà vu. The name took her back to London where she’d been assigned as secretary to an officer. It took her breath away remembering that Lt. Col. Lawrence, Ronnie they called him, had been arrested for espionage and suffered needlessly until Phyllis and her friend Lorraine had found the proof of his innocence. Her pulse fluttered as names and places flashed through her mind: Dick Simpson, Wise Willie, Canning Town, Seven Addison Bridge Place and the dreaded Malcolm. It was enough to make her shudder and back away from the door when it creaked opened in front of her.

  “Phyllis! It is you! I thought I heard a noise in the hallway. Come in. Come in! I’m glad you’ve finally arrived.” Lawrence’s momentary surprise softened to smiling eyes with a knowing look. He thrust out his hand.

  “Sir. How are you?”

  His energetic handshake left her in no doubt that he was glad to see her. He pushed open the door and swept a hand toward his office.

  “Please come in. Let’s get reacquainted.”

  Once she was seated in a chair by his desk, the tall man walked briskly around to address her. His smart brown jacket crinkled as he sat. His tie was expertly knotted and contrasted with his light brown shirt and pants. Straight military posture gave away his dedication to duty and service. Everything about Lt. Col. Ronald Lawrence screamed upstanding Army officer. But his intense look caused her to glance down at what she was wearing. Was her gray rayon dress too…dressy for the office? Maybe she should have worn a skirt her first day on the job or maybe…

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Miss Bowden.”

  “Colonel, we saw each other only two weeks ago in London.”

  “Yes, yes.” He leaned forward in his chair. “How’s the family in Washington? I heard your dad was doing better.”

  She nodded happily. “My sister was always sending me doomsday letters, but he’s actually feeling pretty good.”

  “Cancer, is it?”

  “Yes, but it’s in remission. Since the war ended, he seems like a new man.”

  “I hope his treatments continue to go well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I know it’s not my business to ask, but how is your young man, Joe Schneider? I believe he’s an M15 chap.”

  She smiled. “And you would know that because you met him when he spoke to you about what Lorraine and I…our activities…”

  “Yes, he told me some and Dickie told me the rest. It’s something I’ll never be able to thank you enough for doing, Phyllis. What you and your blonde friend did for me is beyond duty, beyond loyalty, beyond any thanks I can ever bestow upon you.”

  “Colonel, I…” Phyllis blushed. “That’s too much praise. I did what needed to be done and luckily it turned out well.” She met his intense stare with one of her own. “The whole scenario could have turned out very badly indeed.”

  “Indeed it could have, but it didn’t.” His eyes twinkled. “So how about I have Joe come for a visit very soon, if you want to see him.” He snapped his fingers. “Red tape no more. How about sometime in the upcoming weeks?”

  “You’d do that for us?”

  “Absolutely.” Ronnie sat back in his chair with folded hands on the desk. “I may have to stop praising you, but I can certainly throw in a perk or two for a job well done. How would that be?”

  “Wonderful, sir.”

  His smile remained, although he grew serious. “Let’s talk about the job now, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.” Phyllis pulled out a notebook and pencil. “What will I be doing as your secretary?”

  “The usual—letters, intelligence reports, supplies—but I need help setting up this office, Phyllis. It’s a mess, which you couldn’t possibly have noticed yet, and I need you to straighten up the system. For heaven’s sake, the stationary is in German.”

  “German?”

  “Sure. They were here for five years. Everything of value is in German. The telephone operators all speak German.” He sighed audibly. “It’ll take months to straighten things out just administratively.”

  “Filing?”

  “Filing is the least of it. I want you running the office of Military Attaché, working our communication lines with Washington, handling queries from Norwegians who come to the embassy for help…as well as…something else.”

  She looked up from jotting in her notebook. “And what’s that?”

  Lawrence stood, straightened his jacket and walked to the window. The view from his second floor office looked over parts of Oslo, on out to the Oslo Fjord. She could see the breathtaking scenery from where she sat. After staring out the window for a moment, he walked over to close the door. Once he had returned to lean against the desk, his eyes and voice became somber.

  “You’ve proven your abilities one hundred percent, Miss Bowden. I want to take you a little further into the organization.”

  “Sir, I’ve already had tradecraft training for my job.”

  “I know but this will be more intensive because I intend to send you out on assignment occasionally.”

  “Out of Norway?”

  “No, but I need eyes and ears in the city and perhaps out in the countryside.”

  “Um…” She put her pencil down.

  “No need to get worried, Phyllis. It wouldn’t be anything you didn’t do in London—parties at the embassy, state department, Army and Norwegian officials, some travel.”

  “Parties?”

  “And meeting certain officials occasionally. I’ll need you to glean different kinds of information than you gathered for us in London. I can tell you more as the time comes. You know,” he offered, “as the need arises.”

  “All right, if that’s what you need.”

  “You still look worried, Phyllis. What is it?”

  “Sir, I don’t want to carry a gun and I would prefer not to be involved in anything dangerous.”

  He laughed. “This from the woman who wrestled a killer for his revolver in the middle of a V2 bomb explosion.”

  “And got shot for my efforts.”

>   “All the more reason for more training.”

  She tried not to roll her eyes. “I was doing what needed to be done, sir.”

  “Phyllis.” He leaned over to touch her hand. “Not only did you save your friend’s life, you saved mine.”

  Her cheeks warmed with his praise.

  “You’ve been in military intelligence ever since you stepped off the transport plane in England, Miss Bowden. I’m just asking that you do the occasional assignment for me.”

  When she still looked unconvinced, he continued. “General Donovan will thank you personally.”

  “I’ve met him already, sir.”

  Lawrence watched her a minute before his eyes widened. “Sure, I remember. Didn’t he fish you out of the Potomac River when the boat you were in broke down? That was way back before you transferred to England, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.”

  “It’s good to have friends in high places.”

  They smiled knowingly at one another.

  “Do you have any questions about Norway that I can answer?” He walked around the desk to sit down.

  “Yes, I do. I went around Oslo yesterday, just to see the city, and wondered about some things I saw.”

  “Such as?”

  “I saw terrified women in a truck with shaved heads and swastikas painted on their foreheads. What’s that about?”

  He shook his head wearily. Glints of silver in his dark hair seemed more pronounced. “The Norwegians are a fiercely proud people. The resistance here was stronger than I’ve ever seen in an occupied country. We’re still learning of the heroic deeds done by ordinary citizens and even children to push back at the Germans.” He glanced over. “You know who Vidkun Quisling is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, his name has become synonymous with traitor. Anyone who collaborated with the Germans in any way would be labeled a quisling.”

  “The women I saw? What did they do?”

  “It could be anything from merely cleaning a German officer’s house all the way up the scale to sleeping with a German. What’s happening now, Phyllis, is a national purge.”

  “A purge?”

  “Purge, witch-hunt, they mean the same in this context. Anyone who had anything to do with the Germans is being purged from society. Right now the well-to-do Norwegians who socialized with Quisling are hiding in their homes hoping to be spared. But they won’t be.” He paused. “Maids, window-washers, barbers and even clerks who did the slightest thing to help the Germans are being jailed or loaded on trucks to take to slave labor mines.”

  Phyllis jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “I wish I were. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, so…watch your step.”

  “Why? I’m American.”

  “You’ll be dealing with all sorts of problems that the Norwegians are having. President Truman has asked that we cooperate fully with the Norwegian government to help get the country going again. We’ll need to be tactful in what we say and how we act.”

  Phyllis glanced out the window. Bright streaks of sunlight reflected on the floor and walls.

  “I haven’t gotten used to a new president yet, Colonel. I’m still grieving for President Roosevelt.”

  “I know how you feel. Donovan’s tearing out his hair because Truman is making noises about dissolving the organization.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “Really? Dissolving the Office of Strategic Services? How would that affect us?”

  “No idea. We’ll all find out together, I fear.”

  Something else occurred to her.

  “You mentioned children, sir.”

  “Yes, the schoolchildren antagonized the Germans something fierce. They’d sing the Norwegian national anthem when they weren’t supposed to, and wore national clothing like red caps or paper clips on their jackets.”

  “Paper clips?”

  Lawrence shrugged. “It has to do with sticking together. When you saw a paper clip, you knew that person was with you in resistance. Teachers and the clergy are especially sainted since so many of them refused to follow Quisling’s orders on Nazi propaganda, and ended up in labor camps or concentration camps.”

  She was quiet a moment. The swirling blades of a fan made the only noise in the room. Lawrence brushed a fleck of lint from the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Anything else you want to know?”

  “When I arrived, I saw a group of young girls going into a building being escorted by Norwegian police. My driver said they were Quisling girls and he wouldn’t care if they were shot.”

  He nodded knowingly. “The children were required to be in these Nazi organizations from age eight and older, boys in one and girls in another. It’s similar to the Hitler Youth in Germany, a step-by-step indoctrination into becoming a Nazi.”

  “These were little girls under ten years old, Colonel.”

  A look of sympathy swept his face before disappearing. “I know it, but they’ve been tainted with the Quisling brush and the purge is blind right now. Anti-German feeling is overwhelming and pervasive.” He pressed his lips tightly together. “You know we can’t get involved in that kind of internal country politics, right?”

  “They were just children.”

  “Children on the wrong side doesn’t cut any mustard with Norwegians. Stand apart from this, Phyllis. I’ve got plenty for you to do without you getting into trouble by trying to ‘do the right thing’.” His fingers dipped to put the phrase in air quotes.

  “The right thing for us…”

  “Is not necessarily the right thing for a Norwegian.”

  “…Huh. I’ll have to think about that, sir.”

  Lt. Col. Lawrence stood and Phyllis did likewise.

  “That’s all for now, Miss Bowden. Your office is right out the door. Get acquainted with your equipment and deal with whatever walks in the door.”

  “Is there a supply closet close?”

  “Yes, and Dickie said you’ve had a few problems getting stuck in supply closets. Anything you care to tell me?”

  “I…ah…I’ve had a slight fear of closed places, sir. But…I’m fine now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Okay. Thanks for the information. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Settled at her new desk viewing the electric typewriter, phone and Dictaphone, Phyllis thought about what Ronnie had said. What’s right for one person may not be right for someone else. Sure, but when it came to children? Why wouldn’t everyone be on the same page? Especially in light of how Scandinavian countries feel about their children. She’d read reports that the well being of children was of the utmost importance in their culture.

  Phyllis chewed on her pencil eraser gazing distractedly at the papers piled on her desk. She should get to work, but thoughts circled in her mind.

  Children are impressionable and want to please. Whoever got to them first would make the impression. Does that make them bad? Does that make them bad forever? She supposed it would depend on the children’s actions.

  Agitated, she shook her head to shake loose the unwanted thoughts and picked up a piece of stationary to write a letter home. Her eyes read the phrase at top of the paper.

  “Der Reichskommissar Fur Die Besetzten Norwegischen Gebiete.” She looked around for a language dictionary and skimmed through to find the words needed for a translation.

  “The Chief for the Occupied Country of Norway.”

  Oh boy. Wouldn’t her family back in Washington and her friend Lorraine in London be surprised to receive a letter on German stationary? A few letters for souvenirs and then she would throw out the rest. Maybe she’d send Joe one too.

  Time to get this office in shape.

  FIVE

  The noise in the mess hall bounced off the walls. All the American diplomats and military working in Oslo ate meals at the officers’ mess in Army Headquarters. German buses picked up employees with the War Department, American and British Emba
ssies, State Department and other military and government staff each day to deliver them to the mess hall. With several days under her belt now, Phyllis noticed the swastikas had been scraped off the plates and she smiled at the Army’s efficiency.

  “What are you smiling about?” Jay reached up to smooth her hair made frizzy from the morning rain. Phyllis watched her try to control her upswept hairdo.

  “You know, I had a roommate in London with red hair and she never had the problems you have.”

  “Did her bloody hair dryer ever conk out leaving her knackered?”

  “Crikey,” said Phyllis. “Would you please speak English?”

  “I have this big old clunker of a hair dryer that, of course, doesn’t work well here.”

  “So how do you dry your hair?”

  “I do exercises and stand in front of the fan in my living room.”

  Phyllis laughed. “Mine works a bit better…when I have electricity, which is only sometimes.”

  “True. So tell me what you’re so happy about today.”

  Phyllis stabbed a fork into her spaghetti and twirled it neatly before popping it into her mouth. As soon as her lips closed around the fork, a happy sigh escaped.

  “You’re enjoying your food too much, missy.” Jay pointed a finger at her. “You’ll be gaining weight next.”

  “No chance. I run from morning to night in this job.”

  “What’s up?” Jay cut a bite from her sliced ham before dipping it in mustard. “This mess has the best food.”

  “To answer your question,” began Phyllis. “I was smiling at Army efficiency, but then it hit me why it’s so efficient.”

  “And why is that?”

  “People like me are working their butts off, to be frank. There isn’t a lazy person in sight. Everyone has a job and by God, they’re doing it to the very best of their ability.” Phyllis twirled more noodles. “I’ve worked in the Pentagon and the embassy in London, but the Army operation here has them all beat.”

  “Who says Americans can’t get things done?” Jay said with a smirk.