The White Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page B

like a flying house. It came equipped with bunk beds, a galley, and indoor plumbing. Even with all the creature comforts, Kaz was not feeling his best as the plane wallowed in the swells waiting for takeoff. When the four powerful engines finally started up, the hull slamming against waves as we built up speed, he crawled into the sack and groaned for the next hour when he wasn’t swearing in Polish. I don’t speak Polish, but I know a curse when I hear it.
    The flight itself wouldn’t have been too bad if the pilot had climbed above the clouds. But we’d hitched a ride on a reconnaissance mission, which meant the Sunderland had to fly low enough to scan the ocean waters for Japanese ships or a submarine cruising on the surface. Winds buffeted the fuselage, rattling and shaking the aircraft, vibrating the metal hull until I thought the rivets might pop out. I followed Kaz’s lead and crawled into a bunk, keeping my curses to myself. Some were aimed at the weather, but mostly I cursed the fates that had brought the Kennedys back into my life.
    I’d had enough of Jack back in Boston, and would’ve been happy if our paths had never crossed again. But now he needed me, so here I was, flying around most of the world to smooth things out for the skinny little bastard. Again. I’d begun the story of how the Boyles and the Kennedys first came into contact, and as soon as Kaz was back on solid ground, I’d finish it. But I wasn’t sure about my story. Jack’s story, I should say, since he always preferred to be center stage. Unless there was trouble, that is.
    Truth was, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to admit to playing the sap for a spoiled rich kid.
    I awoke to a smooth ride and blue skies, the ocean dazzlingly bright beneath us. We landed in a lagoon at Keeling Island, a flyspeck in the Indian Ocean halfway between Ceylon and Australia. A barge motored out and refueled the Sunderland. As we took off, RAF crewmen watched us from the white sandy beach, palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze. What was it like to spend a war in a tropical paradise? Did they count themselves lucky, or dream of distant battles and pester their commanding officer for transfers?
    â€œIt must be teatime somewhere,” Kaz said through a yawn, startling me as I gazed out the window. He looked disheveled and even paler than usual. “I don’t think I even know what day it is.”
    â€œTuesday,” I said, with more certainty than I felt. We made our way to the galley and got the tea going. There are worse ways to travel.
    â€œFinish your story,” Kaz said as he stirred milk into his tea. I dumped sugar into mine. “About your father and Joseph Kennedy. Entertain me. We still have hours to go until we land. Or whatever they call it when one of these things comes down in the water.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, leaning back in my seat and thinking about the stories Dad and Uncle Dan had told around the dinner table. I’d been in school back then, getting my knuckles rapped by the nuns and struggling with geometry. “Dad tags along with the prohis and the Canadian excise men, getting the lay of the land. They have some decent inside dope about gangs active in hijacking trucks with both legal and illegal cargoes. So Dad figures he’ll show them where the gangs operate and maybe pick up a few leads to use after they’re gone.”
    â€œI take it he was more interested in the hijacking of trucks belonging to legitimate businessmen?” Kaz said.
    â€œYes and no,” I said. As usual, explaining how things worked wasn’t as straightforward as you might expect, especially with Prohibition thrown into the mix. “A lot of the guys involved in rum-running were ordinary businessmen. Tavern owners, distributors, greengrocers. Their business had been hurt by Prohibition and they were only looking to keep their heads above water.”
    â€œWhat about the