London Spies: Phyllis Bowden Book 1
SJ Slagle
LONDON SPIES
PHYLLIS BOWDEN BOOK ONE
SJ SLAGLE
London Spies
Kindle Edition
© Copyright 2022 (As Revised) SJ Slagle
Rough Edges Press
An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing
5130 S. Fort Apache Rd. 215-380
Las Vegas, NV 89148
roughedgespress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
eBook ISBN 978-1-68549-048-5
Paperback ISBN 978-1-68549-049-2
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
A Look at Book Two: Oslo Spies
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About the Author
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Dedicated to my cousin, Milmae Floyd Gray, for her incredible wartime experience in World War II and her public service career. She is an inspiration to my entire family.
LONDON SPIES
ONE
London, 1945
Phyllis Bowden picked her way carefully across the debris-strewn street. Walking wasn’t for the faint of heart this morning, any morning really, and she knew it. Rain had been falling steadily for the past hour and puddles formed in the oddest places. She had traveled this way every day for nearly eight months and the sight of broken store mannequins laying on the sidewalk and street made her breakfast threaten to come up.
She stepped over a plastic arm dislocated at the elbow and a half-clothed torso next to it. Her black leather boot stepped gingerly between a soggy pile of ruined clothing, and a hairless head with frozen eyes staring back at her. Shifting slightly, Phyllis moved to a small, empty space on the wet sidewalk and accidentally dropped her purse by the smooth pink back of a mannequin no longer part of a once chic display. She picked up the purse, brushed off the dirt and debris it had collected, and continued her winding route to the corner. It was a gauntlet actually as shiny plastic legs, severed heads and naked bodies lay in the shadow of the bombed clothing store.
Walking another street to the American Embassy was not much better than this one. She’d tried a few different routes when she first arrived, but it didn’t seem to matter; London was still experiencing the odd buzz bomb and more stores and restaurants had been hit in the West End than not. Oxford and Regent Streets had been hit hard during the Blitz with its after effects still evident. Selfridges and Bourne & Hollingsworth remained standing, but the John Lewis store had been gutted one night after a catastrophic fire caused by several incendiary and high explosive German bombs had dropped with pinpoint accuracy. Burning debris caused the famous area to be closed off in an attempt to bring the fires under control.
Fires were not as common these days, but the devastating effects of German bombing Phyllis saw on a daily basis was a constant reminder that, although the war was winding down, the historic city lay in ruins. She was filled with pride for the Londoners who somehow were able to pick themselves up and continue on in spite of all that had happened to them during this war. A war that clung like smoke on her clothes. No matter how many times she washed her blouses, skirts and dresses, the smell of war remained. It was in her mind when she woke up in the morning and in her sight as she picked her unsteady way across the cluttered sidewalk by the ruined store.
Relieved, Phyllis made it to the corner and turned to glance back at the destroyed mannequins in her wake. Her whole body shuddered with the thought they could have been human bodies. She straightened, tucked escaping tendrils of dark curly hair, slightly damp now, under her hat and proceeded to the American Embassy. There was much work waiting for her and she needed to get on with it. That’s what everyone was trying to do these days—just get on with it. Get busy living or get busy dying and heaven knows there had been enough dying.
Phyllis walked up to the Embassy door, smoothed her rain-splattered trench coat and opened the steel fortified door to walk in proudly. Her welcome was unexpected, to say the least.
TWO
What in the world? People scurried up and down the immense hallway as if they weren’t sure where they were going. Rats caught in a maze never had the worried expressions Phyllis saw now. Inside guards with stiff uniforms tried to direct frightened men and women to various offices to move them out of the fray. Even from her stunned position at the door, she could see the flinches when guards came into contact with nervous shoulders, quivering backs. No one wanted contact.
She glanced up to the second floor to see much of the same—slamming doors, a blur of humanity trying to find some place to hide. From what?
And then she saw it…something she never, ever dreamed she would see since she had started working for the War Department as a civilian several years ago. Coming down the long staircase was a two-man Military Police escort on either side of the American Embassy’s Military Attaché, Lt. Col. Ronald Lawrence—Ronnie they called him—being escorted in handcuffs! Out the side door, probably to a waiting car.
To go where? And why?
It was a still life picture before her at this moment in time. Everyone had stopped to stare at the tall man with the reddening face as he tried to maintain a confident posture under duress. He didn’t fight the shiny handcuffs that kept his arms locked behind him. He merely smiled to one and all, perhaps hoping they wouldn’t be as terrified as he had to be.
Ronnie? Being arrested? It was unthinkable that the man she knew, her boss’ boss, could have committed such a serious offense to be arrested in the American Embassy before all the men and women he worked with on a daily basis. Ronnie had been at the Embassy only two years and she had found him to be a pleasant, congenial boss, stern when needed, but never a taskmaster. He commanded with more of a velvet glove and had the respect of everyone she knew.
The Military Police officers, in their crisp blue wool uniforms, took a subdued Lt. Col. Lawrence out a side door closing it firmly behind them. The second the door clicked shut, bedlam broke out again with Embassy s
taff scurrying around like scared mice. Small groups cluttered in corners, no doubt gossiping about what they had just witnessed. Looking past the staircase, Lorraine Watkins caught her eye pointing toward a small office down the next hallway. Phyllis hurried after her and caught her trench coat in the door when she tried to shut it too quickly. Jerking on the material, she nearly tore part of the slick lining.
“What’s going on, Lorraine? I just walked in the door and…”
“Where have you been, Phyl? You’re late this morning.”
“Well, you know how hard it is to walk past The Emporium. Those mannequins are still all over the…”
“Phyllis.” Lorraine grabbed her arm to tow her to the nearest chair. She shoved her into it. “Sit and listen to me.”
“All right, all right.” Phyllis began to unbutton her coat. “Could I at least take my coat off?”
Lorraine shrugged. Phyllis watched her friend glance in a small mirror by the desk to pat her long pageboy hairdo with an upswept front curl. When she freshened her red lipstick, Phyllis laughed.
“So you rushed me in here to make sure you look good?”
“Hardly.” Lorraine’s worried eyes met hers. “You won’t want to hear this.”
“Then don’t tell me.”
She took a deep breath. “Lt. Col. Lawrence, our Ronnie, was arrested for espionage.”
Phyllis blinked, utterly astonished at the news. “That can’t be.”
Lorraine nodded. “It is and now your boss, Dickie, is in.”
That took a minute to sink in. Major Richard Simpson—Dickie they called him—was the new Military Attaché? Phyllis had worked for the man for the eight months she had been assigned to the American Embassy, but had never warmed to him. He seemed like a good sort of man but she was never sure of her footing. He was mad one minute, then obsequious the next. Hot and cold, black and white, nervous and confident…she could never get a bead on what made him tick. She’d finally given up and was ready to ask for a transfer since whatever she did was never quite good enough. And now this.
“Dickie is the new Military Attaché? I can’t believe the President would want him in the job. He’s too inexperienced, for one thing. Why not just appoint someone else like they did when Ronnie took the job from Col. Bradley?”
“I haven’t the foggiest, but the word is you’re going to be in the hot seat now.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Dickie work closely with Lawrence?”
“Not that closely. Dickie doesn’t confide in me, but every time they had a meeting, neither one looked happy coming out of it.”
That stopped Lorraine for a moment. She bit her lip. “Maybe they didn’t get much in the way of happy news.”
Phyllis chuckled. “Astute comment, Lorraine. This is wartime. Besides,” she slid her arms out of the trench coat, “Amy would have mentioned if there had been some kind of fight. She’s been good that way.”
Lorraine sat down on the chair behind her desk, picked up a file, glanced at it and threw in a pile by her typewriter. “Didn’t know you and Amy were such good buddies.”
“Don’t pout,” Phyllis kidded. She stood, headed for the door. “You’re still my best friend, okay?”
“Well, okay.” A slow smile spread across Lorraine’s pretty face. “We still on for tonight?”
“After all that’s happened today, probably every staffer in the Embassy will be at the corner pub.”
“Then let’s head to Blue Anchor. Hardy anyone goes there anymore after…”
“…It was bombed and never reopened?” she finished.
“No, silly. It’s open, you just have to know the password to get in.”
Phyllis laughed, opened the door. “Let’s just meet at Angel’s. It’s small, quiet and hasn’t been bombed—yet.”
“After work?”
“Make it seven. I’ll probably put in a long one today.”
THREE
Down another long hallway, Phyllis walked into a large room with plain beige walls and a high ceiling. Brightly lit globes hung down to illuminate the area below. Phyllis tucked the trench coat over her arm as she put on a smile and walked past more than a dozen worn wooden desks with equally tired-looking women behind them. The glances and outright stares she received were met with the fake smile now plastered on her warming face.
Was everyone scared to death? Were they blaming her for something?
Many of these women she considered her friends, but there were no friendly expressions staring back at her as her heels clicked on the polished tile floor. It was the only sound she heard besides the roaring of her madly pounding heart. After what seemed like a century, she arrived at her desk outside the Assistant Military Attaché’s office. The door was closed with muted voices within, so she hung her coat on the side coatrack and sat down at her desk trying to look more confident than she felt. It took every ounce of nerve to keep from glaring back at the obvious stares, but she concentrated instead on tasks at hand.
Working hard for the better part of an hour on a letter Dickie had dictated to her yesterday, Phyllis happened to glance at a woman the next row over. To her surprise, she saw the worried face of Amy Broadbent looking back at her. What was Amy doing in the steno pool? With Amy’s drawn countenance and frightened expression, Phyllis could only guess at the depth of the woman’s despair. She had been Ronald Lawrence’s secretary and her desk was by the Military Attaché’s office on the next floor. Obviously, someone higher up had stuck her here for the time being. Maybe they didn’t know what to do with her.
Phyllis offered a small smile that was eagerly accepted. Amy smiled back, then quickly looked around her before burying her nose in the paperwork stacked on her desk.
Several minutes sped by as Phyllis checked and rechecked her newly typed letter for typos and spelling mistakes. She was proud of her reputation as the best speller and grammarian on the floor and strove to keep up her own high standards. As soon as she approved the letter, she reached for a mailing envelope when her buzzer buzzed.
“Phyllis? Could you come in here for a moment, please?”
She pushed a button to respond.
“Certainly, Major Simpson. Should I bring my steno pad?”
“Not this time.”
Straightening a wrinkle in her long, pleated skirt, Phyllis went into Dickie’s office.
“Shut the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
Phyllis watched in confusion as Major Simpson paced behind his desk. Back and forth he strode with short, measured steps as if he were marching to a silent tune. She observed him clinically for a few minutes, since he took no notice of her at all.
Dickie was in a state.
The jacket of his olive-colored wool uniform was thrown carelessly on a chair nearby. Deep wrinkles on his slacks indicated much sitting, probably fretting and his beige shirt looked like he’d slept in it. His thin tie had been hurriedly knotted. A slight scruff showed on his unshaven face and his pale hair hadn’t been combed. Finally, his pacing slowed and he looked over at her.
“Sit down, Phyllis.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Please.”
When she sat on a chair in front of his desk, he raked shaky fingers through his hair, making it look more disheveled, if that were possible. He finally sat down and stared at her grimly.
“I supposed you’ve heard what’s happened.”
“I’d like to hear it from you, Major.”
Dickie took a deep breath and words gushed out, colliding frantically with one another. “Lt. Col. Lawrence has been arrested for espionage, which is a crock of crap…” He glanced at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“That’s fine.”
“…But he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it! He’s a man of honor and purpose and this job meant the world to him, so I just don’t see how and why this happened.” When he paused for breath, Phyllis spoke.
“What does it mean for you, sir?”
The perplexed look he gav
e her turned hard making her squirm under his scrutiny.
“It means, Miss Bowden, that you and I are moving up a floor.”
Her jaw dropped. “You mean…”
“Yes. The President has asked me to take over for Lawrence.” Shaking his head wearily must have let all the air out of his argument. He plopped on his chair with a slacked jaw, clouded eyes and many new wrinkles on his young face—resignation dripping from every pore. He had changed from wildly upset to utter exhaustion in the span of a few minutes and Phyllis watched it all. Was he confiding in her? That’d be a first.
“You’ll be called in for questioning by the FBI as will I be. In fact, everyone in the Embassy will be questioned. The higher ups suspected a leak and apparently they thought it was Lt. Col. Lawrence.”
“But…”
“No buts, Miss Bowden. We’re going to continue doing our duty to our country and hope things are sorted out in time.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you have any questions?”
“Honestly? About a million but they can wait for right now. Are we moving today?”
