She didn’t know they were watching.
From the ocean liner’s bridge, Captain Jamison watched the woman on the dock bench raise the edge of her knee-length skirt. She tucked a folded white paper into the metal clips of her garter belt.
The middle-aged woman glanced around warily to see if anyone had noticed. The gathering crowd was further down, looking toward the ship, so she didn’t think anyone had seen her hide the letter.
Standing to her full five-foot, ten-inch height, she smoothed her sky-blue tailored suit and headed toward the ship’s gangway. The salty ocean breeze whipped its tentacles all around, and she lifted her face to meet the morning sun. Today was a beautiful day for a voyage, and a perfect day to begin a new life.
She was past mourning the death of her husband, and though she would miss William, it was time for her to move on. A heart attack had ended their thirty-four-year marriage and her tenure in the West Indies. Their lives had been exciting, interesting, and lucrative. William’s job as a top executive in the sugar industry allowed her to thrive in an artist’s dream life on an oceanside estate, fully staffed with white-gloved servants, gardeners, and a driver. If she wasn’t in her home studio painting canvases of the lush flowers from her gardens, she was managing the household staff and hosting parties for international and local dignitaries. William had invested wisely and left her with a fortune.
Now, New Orleans was calling her home.
Captain Jamison knew the names of all of the passengers on the ship’s manifest and was beginning to put faces with names. It was 1944, and a war was going on, so he had to be cautious. From the moment Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, Captain Jamison had taken on new responsibilities. He and his crew were suspicious of everyone and everything.
He knew this woman’s face, her name, and her illustrious vita — Rose Andrews, 54 years old, recent widow of a prominent sugar industry executive, daughter of a powerful Louisiana attorney, mother-in-law of a distinguished army colonel. She had connections to influential people.
Chief Officer Connor appeared in the captain’s doorway.
“You called, Sir?”
“Is she under surveillance, Connor?”
“Yes, Sir. Blakely and Chapman are in place.”
“Did you see where she put the letter?”
“Yes, as did other members of the crew.”
“We need to get to her before she goes to her cabin — as soon as she boards.”
“The officers will escort her here as soon as possible.”
“Do not frighten her. We need her here alive and without disturbance. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain.”
The passengers began boarding, and Rose’s heartbeat surged. The thrill of boarding a vessel never got old, though she had sailed many times between Puerto Rico, Cuba, Dominican Republic, and the states. However, this was her first time to sail alone.
As Mrs. Andrews crossed the gangway onto the atrium deck, the gazes of the crewmen sent a cold chill through her body. She chided herself for taking this trip alone.
Craving a cigarette, she found a vacant spot near the deck railing. As she drank in the last look at her beloved San Juan, Rose balanced a long cigarette holder between two fingers. Inhaling a lungful of delicious nicotine, her anxiety subsided, and she focused on the sweet memories of Puerto Rico.
A voice pierced her reverie.
“Good morning, Mrs. Andrews. Welcome aboard. I am Officer Blakely, and this is Officer Chapman.”
“Hello.” The fact that Blakely knew her name without an introduction was unnerving.
“Mrs. Andrews, Captain Jamison sent us to find you. He wishes to welcome you personally on the bridge. Will you please allow us to escort you to him?”
Knowing that she wasn’t being given a choice, Rose took her time putting out her cigarette, conveying her distaste for the summons. As she followed Blakely, with Chapman walking behind them, her mind raced. There were so many possible reasons for this meeting.
The captain was waiting for her when they made it to the bridge. He introduced himself, Chief Officer Connor, and FBI Agent Timmons. Not a man to mince words or waste time, Captain Jamison got straight to the point.
“Mrs. Andrews, do you have any private documents on your person.”
She gasped. “Captain Jamison, certainly not. What is the meaning of this?”
This was not going to go well.
“Are there any papers on your person that you are holding illegally?”
Rose was shocked and speechless. What did he want? What did he know?
“Captain Jamison, I am deeply offended.” She couldn’t let him hear her voice crack. “Do you know that I am a recent widow?”
“Actually, yes. I am aware of Mr. Andrews’ death. Please accept my sincere condolences.”
“Then, why am I being treated like a criminal?”
“You were seen securing a letter under your skirt. Do you have it on your person now?”
She didn’t answer, horrified that she had been seen.
“Mrs. Andrews, I’m going to have to ask you to hand me the letter under your skirt.”
“Captain Jamison,” she was close to tears now. “I have nothing that is anyone’s business but my own. I will not lift my skirt in front of you or these other men. This is entirely inappropriate. I am a widow traveling alone. How dare you treat me this way.”
“Mrs. Andrews, as captain of this ship, I have a responsibility to uphold the laws of The United States. We have reason to believe that you are engaged in illegal activity. I do not want to take the letter from you by force. Please give it to me.”
Indignant, ashamed, and confused, she lifted her skirt to reveal the garter belt clips and stocking on her thigh…and the letter. The five men did not look away. She retrieved the paper and handed it to the captain, with tears in her eyes.
He read the note, then handed it to Agent Timmons. After getting a nod of approval, the men looked at her.
Agent Timmons said, “Mrs. Rose Andrews, I am placing you under arrest for suspicion of espionage against the United States of America.”
