wearing a British dress uniform with a gleaming leather belt and a big grin. He handed me a glass of champagne.
“Rank, royalty, and beauty all at one table, Billy. I will be certain to come down here to visit you!”
“I’m sure the other peasants will be honored, Baron.” We clinked glasses and drank. The room was filling up with all sorts of uniforms. Mostly British types with “Norway” on the red shoulder flash. A few naval officers and a couple of old Home Guard officers and their wives, from the local village, probably. Harding and I were the only Americans.
Daphne entered, and the room fell silent. In the midst of browns, dark blues, and khakis, she was dressed in a bright green gown that was like a shimmering fountain of color, sparkling off the candlelight in the room. It was tight and low cut, and she wore a matching short jacket that accentuated the whiteness of her bare skin.
“I marvel every time I see her,” Kaz whispered reverently as several senior offices elbowed each other on their way to greet her.
“Shouldn’t you go rescue the fair damsel from that mob?” She was now being besieged by Norwegians and Englishmen, including a Home Guard captain who was going to be sleeping on the couch tonight by the look on his wife’s face.
“No, certainly not! That dress was her doing, and she’ll have to put up with it. Let’s go talk to Rolf Kayser.”
We found Rolf hoisting drinks with his musketeer pals. Rolf was big, muscular, and about six feet tall, square jawed and tanned, probably as much from the wind off the Norwegian coast as the sun. His hair was dark brown and so were his eyes, deep set beneath bushy eyebrows. He stood still, as if he were conserving energy for what lay ahead, watching everyone move around him. Standing next to Jens Iversen, he looked immense, a giant oak tree rooted to the spot. Jens, barely up to Rolf ’s shoulder, looked like he was using up his energy all at once, shifting back and forth on his heels, turning this way and that, surveying the room, pointing out the top brass as they filtered in. Arnesen stood with one hand in his pocket, a drink in the other, watching both his friends with a calm smile, obviously enjoying their company. They were an unlikely trio, of different sizes and shapes, but thrown together by chance and now good pals with the king, all in top posts. Security chief, commando leader, brigade commander. Kaz introduced me to Rolf and we grabbed some fresh champagne as another white-coated enlisted man came by with a tray.
“ Fortell meg, Løytnant Boyle,” Rolf asked, “is the American Army involved with this ultimatum about the underground? I understand you met with Knut Birkeland this afternoon.” News traveled fast. I guess this guy hadn’t taken a nap today.
“Not at all. Just chatting with Mr. Birkeland. I was very curious about how he got that gold out of Norway. Quite an accomplishment, for all of you.”
“We only helped a little, really,” said Anders Arnesen. “Just some heavy lifting aboard the Glasgow . There were many Norwegians who did much more, at greater risk.”
“Well, Rolf did almost get himself killed,” chimed in Jens Iversen, and they all laughed at what seemed to be an inside joke. He waved his hands to get the others to stop laughing.
“When we were loading cases of gold coin on board from a fishing ship, the rope slipped and the cases nearly knocked his brains out. They broke open and Rolf was buried in gold coins, very hilarious!”
“Druknet i gull!” said Arnesen, and they all laughed again. I didn’t ask; it was obviously an inside joke.
“Well, it wasn’t funny to me at the time,” Rolf said with a smile, “especially with Tysk bombers coming after us, but it is a good story. I just wish I still had my souvenir.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kaz.
“One coin got stuck in the folds of my uniform somehow. When I changed later that night it rolled out.” He looked at us somewhat
“Rank, royalty, and beauty all at one table, Billy. I will be certain to come down here to visit you!”
“I’m sure the other peasants will be honored, Baron.” We clinked glasses and drank. The room was filling up with all sorts of uniforms. Mostly British types with “Norway” on the red shoulder flash. A few naval officers and a couple of old Home Guard officers and their wives, from the local village, probably. Harding and I were the only Americans.
Daphne entered, and the room fell silent. In the midst of browns, dark blues, and khakis, she was dressed in a bright green gown that was like a shimmering fountain of color, sparkling off the candlelight in the room. It was tight and low cut, and she wore a matching short jacket that accentuated the whiteness of her bare skin.
“I marvel every time I see her,” Kaz whispered reverently as several senior offices elbowed each other on their way to greet her.
“Shouldn’t you go rescue the fair damsel from that mob?” She was now being besieged by Norwegians and Englishmen, including a Home Guard captain who was going to be sleeping on the couch tonight by the look on his wife’s face.
“No, certainly not! That dress was her doing, and she’ll have to put up with it. Let’s go talk to Rolf Kayser.”
We found Rolf hoisting drinks with his musketeer pals. Rolf was big, muscular, and about six feet tall, square jawed and tanned, probably as much from the wind off the Norwegian coast as the sun. His hair was dark brown and so were his eyes, deep set beneath bushy eyebrows. He stood still, as if he were conserving energy for what lay ahead, watching everyone move around him. Standing next to Jens Iversen, he looked immense, a giant oak tree rooted to the spot. Jens, barely up to Rolf ’s shoulder, looked like he was using up his energy all at once, shifting back and forth on his heels, turning this way and that, surveying the room, pointing out the top brass as they filtered in. Arnesen stood with one hand in his pocket, a drink in the other, watching both his friends with a calm smile, obviously enjoying their company. They were an unlikely trio, of different sizes and shapes, but thrown together by chance and now good pals with the king, all in top posts. Security chief, commando leader, brigade commander. Kaz introduced me to Rolf and we grabbed some fresh champagne as another white-coated enlisted man came by with a tray.
“ Fortell meg, Løytnant Boyle,” Rolf asked, “is the American Army involved with this ultimatum about the underground? I understand you met with Knut Birkeland this afternoon.” News traveled fast. I guess this guy hadn’t taken a nap today.
“Not at all. Just chatting with Mr. Birkeland. I was very curious about how he got that gold out of Norway. Quite an accomplishment, for all of you.”
“We only helped a little, really,” said Anders Arnesen. “Just some heavy lifting aboard the Glasgow . There were many Norwegians who did much more, at greater risk.”
“Well, Rolf did almost get himself killed,” chimed in Jens Iversen, and they all laughed at what seemed to be an inside joke. He waved his hands to get the others to stop laughing.
“When we were loading cases of gold coin on board from a fishing ship, the rope slipped and the cases nearly knocked his brains out. They broke open and Rolf was buried in gold coins, very hilarious!”
“Druknet i gull!” said Arnesen, and they all laughed again. I didn’t ask; it was obviously an inside joke.
“Well, it wasn’t funny to me at the time,” Rolf said with a smile, “especially with Tysk bombers coming after us, but it is a good story. I just wish I still had my souvenir.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kaz.
“One coin got stuck in the folds of my uniform somehow. When I changed later that night it rolled out.” He looked at us somewhat
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