Deadly Jewels Read Online Free PDF

home. Keeping them alive.
    They’d fought fiercely and well, they’d endured a nightmare crossing northern France, only to find themselves caught between the sea and Jerry, with nowhere to go, past exhaustion, wounds going septic, and no hope of escape.
    British warships were unable to make it to the beach because of Dunkirk’s shallow harbor. There was only one thing to do. “Get me everything,” Winston told his aide. “Every Thames River sightseeing boat, every fishing boat, every yacht, everything that can cross the Channel, I want them over there, evacuating.”
    â€œSir?”
    He was impatient. “They can ferry men out to the warships. Let the call go out!”
    It did, and the miracle of Dunkirk was that they responded, every last one of them. It still gave him chills, the bravery, the sacrifice, the instant and unequivocal support. Yachts, pleasure boats, yawls. Sailboats from a sailing school. Ferries, trawlers, sloops. Fishermen all up and down the coast battening their nets in preparation for hauling a different catch altogether onto their decks.
    Anything that had a means of propulsion was called for—and everyone answered the call. All of them sailing straight into horror: Calais aflame, the Luftwaffe strafing the beaches and the harbor, boats exploding, and still there they were, going over again and again until all the boys were safe. That was who the British were, thought Winston. That was who was worth saving.
    He didn’t have time to waste. As soon as the “little boats” had performed their miracle, there was more to be done. Most of the men had been saved, but their fighting equipment was still littering the beach in France, being picked up and over by the Germans. Britain’s munitions factories were already running day and night, but it would take months to replace what had been lost.
    Britain didn’t have months.
    Two things had to be done: weapons, airplanes, and warships had to be purchased from the United States. And Britain’s wealth—some of it in gold, but most of it in the form of securities—had to be kept out of German hands.
    Winston had a plan that would take care of both.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    Well, at least I could see why my boss was suddenly so interested in history. PR was one thing; finding buried treasure was, as the ad says, priceless.
    And I could see something else, too: if he stayed involved, this could quickly get so far out of hand that we’d never recover. The feds would get involved. Great Britain would get involved. Well, those things were going to happen anyway; but it would be one thing for Richard and me to deal with it, and something else altogether to leave it to Jean-Luc. He would assume he could handle them the way he handled local politics, and that meant that it would all blow up, and blow up very quickly.
    Talk about a PR nightmare. Treasure ships, indeed!
    I took a deep breath and looked at the guys sitting silently across the table. “I know you know who I am,” I said, choosing one of the two at random to address, “but it would be helpful if you could return the favor.”
    If he was upset by my sarcasm, it didn’t show. “Yves-Robert Blouin,” he said blandly. “Assistant commissioner and commanding officer, C Division, RMCP.”
    Oh, hell. Of course: the feds were already in on it. Who else but the Royal Canadian Mounted Police would be involved, if Patricia was right? That made all the sense in the world, and complicated the matter no end. I looked at the other man. “And you, monsieur?”
    â€œRegional director, CBSA.” He was apparently to remain nameless; and who cared, really? What mattered was that the feds were in on this in force, and in civvies as well: both the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Canada Border Services Agency have impressive uniforms for those in the organizations’ higher echelons, but these two guys