D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

The interior of the Trafalgar Square branch of Barclay’s Bank, like so many old banks in England, was a study in stuffy elegance. Marble floors stretched across a wide entranceway that led into the main lobby carpeted in a deep blue pile. Teller’s cages in carved mahogany and brass bars stood arrayed against the back wall and the floor was dotted with islands where customers could fill out their transaction paperwork. The room gave off the illusion of stability and strength. Here, one’s money was safe from the vicissitudes of daily life.

Michael and Erika crossed the room and headed directly to a section off to the side of the regular teller’s cages. A sign hung above it that read: Deposit Boxes, and behind the window, Michael saw the open door of the vault. His pulse quickened.

In a moment, he would know the truth.

The Safe Deposit Teller looked up and spotted them approaching, his bulbous nose wrinkling in distaste. It was clear the man was counting the minutes to closing and now he would have to work.

Reaching the window, Michael pulled out the key and shoved it through the window.

“Good afternoon, I’ve come about my box.”

The Teller got up from behind his desk. “Your name?”

“Oh, sorry. Thorley. Michael Thorley, Jr.”

The teller picked up the key and frowned. “That’s an old one. Hold on a minute.”

With growing anxiety, Michael watched the teller waddle over to a file cabinet, pull open a drawer, and slowly flip through the hundreds of signature cards. It was agony.

“Is this going to take long?” Michael asked, not really wanting to hear the worst.

The teller shook his head, jowls wobbling. “Can’t say. These old files have never been properly indexed. Could take a while. You sure you don’t want to come in the morning?” The hint was painfully obvious, but Michael wasn’t giving any quarter.

“No, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

The teller grunted and returned to his task. Frustrated at this last-minute delay, Michael turned to Erika. She stood beside him; her eyes riveted on the door. He followed her gaze, a feeling of dread stealing over him. Two men stood at one of the islands. From their studied nonchalance and furtive glances at him and Erika, it was obvious they were not there to make a deposit, or anything else related to bank business.

“Do you know them?” he asked from the side of his mouth.

Erika shook her head. “No. But I know their type. Ever since my father died, men like them have been shadowing me.”

Michael saw she was trembling and turned to the teller. “You know, maybe we’ll come back—”

“Got it!” the teller cried, holding up a yellowing card and hurrying back to the window. “Since there is no signature provision, it says here that the bearer of the key must give the password.”

“You must be joking.” He turned to Erika, suddenly angry. “That’s not what that old man said.” He turned back to the teller. “Doesn’t it say the box is owned by a Michael Thorley, Jr.”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Not until the password’s given.”

Michael saw a gleam in the man’s eye. Probably thought this was all some silly game. Probably made his bloody day. But what was the password?

He felt Erika’s breath on his ear as she whispered to him. Shrugging, he leaned toward the teller. “The Eagle Flies.”

The teller’s eyebrows shot up. “Quite right. Mr. Thorley, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Walk this way, sir.”

The teller unlatched a door leading into the vault area and both he and Erika went through. A quick look over his shoulder revealed that the two men still stood at the island pretending to fill out forms. He was wondering what they would do when they came out, when the teller handed him back his key and led the way into the vault carrying his ring of master keys.

The box proved to be lighter and smaller than he’d imagined. Grasping it in his arms, he carried it to one of the viewing rooms and waited until Erika closed the door behind them before opening the box. He hesitated a moment, or rather his hands did. They hovered over the latch, finger flexing, reaching, yet refusing to do their owner’s bidding.

“What?” Erika asked.

“Just had a silly thought,” Michael said, his throat tight with anxiety. “That after all we’ve been through, there’ll be nothing in there. That I’ll lose my Dad all over again. Stupid, huh?”

Erika hugged him, the scent of her silky hair filling his nostrils. “It’s all right to be afraid, Michael,” she said, whispering into his ear. “As long as you never let it paralyze you. The men behind all this have every reason to be afraid, because whatever is in that box...will set us free....”

He pulled away from her, a look of newfound purpose in his eyes, as if some invisible line had been crossed. Letting out a breath, Michael lifted the latch and threw open the lid. Inside, were two envelopes. One was a large manila type with a tie-string. The other was business sized. And there was something unusual about them. It took a moment for his brain to interpret what it was seeing, but it came together like the snap of a rubber band. Both envelopes were engraved with the national symbol of Nazi Germany: an eagle clutching a wreathed swastika in its talons, its wings spread wide. Underneath was the legend: Oberkommando des Heeres. The Army High Command.

Intrigued, Michael picked up the smaller of the two envelopes and carefully unsealed it, mindful of its age. He pulled out a sheaf of papers, made of the same heavy cream