The Eagle at Grosvenor Square

By E.E Hunt

Home after a long but interesting day, Steve Hallcroft, political officer at the American embassy in Paris, France, announced happy news to his fiance, a foreign correspondent for the New York Mirror. He was to be assigned in what he thought was a safe place to work. Little did he know about the things to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984514080

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Copyright © 2018 by E. E. Hunt.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2018903021

ISBN:                  Hardcover                      978-1-9845-1406-6

                            Softcover                        978-1-9845-1407-3

                            eBook                             978-1-9845-1408-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/09/2018

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

At Home in Paris, France

Chapter Two

Bronwyn’s World

Chapter Three

Fatima in London

Chapter Four

The Hunt

Chapter Five

Abbas and Friends

Chapter Six

The Lansdowne Three

Chapter Seven

Babar’s Help

Chapter Eight

A Visit from a Ghost

Chapter Nine

Coming Together for Terror

Chapter Ten

Fighting Booze, Stupidity, and Terror

I dedicate this book to my two grandsons born in London, Jose Maria Blanc and Thomas Edward Blanc, and to my granddaughters, Caroline Elizabeth Hunt and Louisa Carter Hunt, born in Manhattan, New York. Also, to my mother, Maselia Carter, and my grandparents, William Thomas Carter and Mary Edmunds Carter, who were all born in the Rhondda Valley, South Wales, and who influenced me deeply by their strength of purpose and integrity.

Bob Dylan said, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.

Chapter One

At Home in Paris, France

Home after a long but interesting day, Steve Hallcroft—political officer at the American embassy in Paris, France—announced happy news to his fiancée, a foreign correspondent for the New York Mirror. She was typing on her laptop at a small table in a corner of their Parisian living room, and she looked up when he shouted, I’ve been transferred! Guess where, Penny?

Staring at him and wisecracking as usual, she responded, Afghanistan? Iraq? Ulan Bator?

No, I just learned today at the embassy that I am going to London, England!

How about me? Penny asked, slyly smiling to herself and hiding her true feelings.

What do you think? I wouldn’t leave you here in Paris alone. You would be too damned tempted.

Ha ha, she responded. Throwing the conversation off to chide him, she asked, Why didn’t you call me before coming home?

I just heard about it before I left. Come on, give me a break. This is the most exciting thing to happen to us for a long time. Look, I brought a bottle of this great champagne. It is from Verzenay, a real Montagne de Reims, so let’s celebrate!

That elixir of France must have cost many a euro!

You bet it did, but isn’t it worth it? I know you love Paris, but what is wrong with London?

Nothing, absolutely nothing—except they speak English, and I have finally gotten my French up to speed. Besides, where will you work? That new embassy is still unfinished, and I don’t know if I want you working with a giant symbol of an American eagle hovering above your head on that present site in Grosvenor Square. It’s a perfect target for terrorists.

The building has been there for ages, and it hasn’t drawn anything more than street protests over American policy. But it will be replaced elsewhere with something far less ostentatious and far better secured.

You mean no one will know where it is?

Acting like the smarty-pants newspaperwoman she is with her proper geographical knowledge, she compared it to the capital of Brazil. You mean, sort of like the underground entrance to the central headquarters of Brazil once was for Brasilia? Many still think the capital of Brazil is Rio de Janeiro, and many will think of that Grosvenor Square building as the embassy—that is, until they take down the eagle. Will it be placed above the new building?

Haven’t a clue, but the file I have in hand will tell.

"Well, I hope not. I think it is chauvinistic and gross. Something that Teddy Roosevelt would have loved. I bet they are trying to sell the building now, but you will probably still have an office there for a while. You know how off-putting those finishing days are for new buildings. Contractors always have a problem, and there are delays after delays. So you will be ‘officed’ there for some time. More importantly, where will we live, and when do we finally leave Paris?"

I don’t know yet where we will be housed, but there is always the Lansdowne Club in Mayfair, where we can stay for a while. Let’s see. The due date for me, as my letter of transfer states in my coat pocket, is to be in London three weeks from now.

That gives us enough time to pack our personal things, but what about some of the furniture I bought here? We both know that we don’t have to worry about all the furniture in this whole apartment because it was furnished, but our own stuff, especially the antiques I purchased, and I want those. The embassy has no claim on them!

Penny, looking as bright, pretty, and almost as sharp-eyed as always, often dimmed by an early start on drinks, added after some thought, "Well, I can still write for the Mirror, but I hope they allow me to change countries, although I will not be far from Paris. I’ll have to call my boss in New York City, but I don’t think there is another correspondent specifically for London. As you know, I have been covering all big cities in Europe and, of course, England, but we will see. In any case, I will find out. And besides, to be honest, in spite of my fine-tuning of French, I like the adventure of being in a new country. Brexit has really changed things across the channel, and now I will have to do more research to see how the new prime minister, Teresa May, handles the change."

I knew your curiosity would be piqued! Now you have to place your cute little nose to the grindstone again, and that will definitely keep you from getting into trouble while I go about the business of alerting our country in London to any terror. As you well know, I am a foreign service officer, and I do not work for the local ambassador except in the sense that I constantly advise him or her. This is a big promotion for me—or at least, I see it that way.

Why? Penny, doubting, asked.

Because, my sweet, after being in England with our ‘special relationship,’ perhaps I can advance in the State Department and eventually return to Washington at a high level. And after doing what I hope is a good job in Paris and London, I might even become an ambassador. It’s a long shot, but my family has money and some political connections.

Oh, quit thinking of your ambition and uncork the champagne and let’s have a few glasses before going out to dinner. Admittedly, London has great restaurants, but not like Paris. Let’s enjoy another one while we can.

She added, looking more pensive, Well, France is becoming less and less secure, not because the police are less aware but because the joie de vivre attitude of the culture does not lend itself to worrying about guns in your face. It’s about joy of living, of eating, and of screwing your mistress from five PM to seven PM, more or less. And people do not have a great trust in the present president. By the way, what time is it? Oh, it’s only six PM, so you haven’t been with another loose woman.

Standing tall, well over six feet, with a head of full brown hair and a big smile, he replied, Come on, you know I am a straight arrow. After all, I stole you away from Charles Winthrop, and then we have been together consistently ever since, n’est-ce pas, Madame Penelope Wilson?

"C’est vrai, Monsieur Steven Hallcroft, and I appreciate it." Penny got up awkwardly from her laptop table and hurried over to her fiancé, throwing her arms around her lover in a way that did not surprise Steve because he was used to her sudden moves with mood changes.

"You have some pull with making late reservations in restaurants of the city. On second thought, save those for the future few weeks we have. Let’s call the Bateaux Mouches and see if we can get a table with a view for dinner on the Seine. It’s not too late, and it’s so romantic at night watching lighted, majestic Notre Dame Cathedral slide by or the rest of the Ile de Cities. Okay?

Steve did as he was told. After popping open the bottle of champagne and lifting a glass to Penny, who did the same to him, he took out his iPhone and dialed the number he had saved. After talking to the maître d’ on the Bateaux and making the reservation, Steve said, "We have got it. The flagship, Jean Sebastian, and the prestige dinner. But the boat leaves at seven PM, so we better hustle and hail a cab at the stand nearest us at La Madeleine."

Penny agreed, and the two were ready after, of course, finishing the champagne. Then they dressed for dinner. They left the empty bottle on the kitchen bar and trundled down the rickety tiny old elevator to find a taxi at its fixed stand, waiting patiently for a new customer. They hopped in and rode to Pont de l’Alma, the bridge at the end of Avenue George V, where they could walk down the river ramp to find their boat. The access was near the statue of the faithful North African Zouave soldier. It rose above the water, except when there was a flood—then the derriere of the statue got wet.

When they found their bateaux, the two were ushered into the elongated cabin by the maître d’ and were seated where Steve, now primed for more to drink, ordered a vodka on the rocks. Penny did the same. The dining area was filled with older and younger couples, chatting or even kissing on occasion.

The ramp to the shore was pulled up, and the boat began its journey with a flurry of softened engine noise, eventually leaving shore and gliding between the walls on either side of the Seine. Many bridges were overhead and historic buildings in view as it slowly churned along, with only the lights from the quay and of the bateaux itself forecasting the way ahead.

Penny began their conversation by asking, How big is that eagle on top of the embassy in London? As I remember, it seemed huge.

Well, I am no expert, but while you were putting on that sexy short red dress and drinking most of the champagne, I looked at some notes I made from the file given me before leaving the office this afternoon. The building has been in its present location since 1960, and it’s the largest embassy in all of Western Europe.

Penny, having downed the vodka, only mumbled, Wow.

Sipping his drink, Steve quoted, Let’s see. It says here that the famed Finnish architect Eero Saarinen designed nine floors, three of which are underground, and the bronze eagle itself is huge—about thirty-five feet in length. There are two statues outside the building, one of Ronald Reagan and the other of Dwight D. Eisenhower.

He paused for a moment and withdrew papers from his blazer inside pocket. "Hmm, the notes I have reveal that the building will be designated a landmark by the British government and will remain as is in Grosvenor Square. It will not need a ‘closed to public access’ by car or armed roadblock security outside after its move to Battersea. Is that enough info to satisfy you for now?"

Sort of, but Battersea? Why there? It’s kind of desolate, as I remember. But I expect you will be at Grosvenor Square for some time since it is just the beginning of the year, and that building will not be ready soon. I would like another drink, kind sir.

"Let’s wait for wine, darling, or you will become too snookered to walk out of here, or to eat. Say, will you write us up in your next piece for the Mirror?"

Sure, but it will just be a quip. You know, ‘our correspondent in Paris is moving to London, and her fiancé is the new political officer at the embassy.’

Feeling her vodka, she asserted, To tell you the truth, I don’t like being a substantial other, a fiancée, a girlfriend, mister, and I believe it’s time we got married. I talked much earlier to our friend Fatima Yousseff, who was in New York, where she and Charles Winthrop finally tied the knot and are now married, as are Ted and Sherry. Sherry, being a hardy policewoman, recovered from that shoot-out, and they are all happy. You remember, we saw the Edmunds [Ted and Sherry] here briefly on their honeymoon for a couple of days, but then they returned home to New York City. But I want to be like our friends—that is, respectable.

Respectable? I hardly thought you cared about that at all. But you are right. We have been engaged long enough, and you have been the lady for me. I will call the American Cathedral to ask the dean to see us sometime, and we can talk about this later.

To himself, Steve thought, I’m not as sure as Penny is about getting married soon. I recall vividly how she and Charles, Fatima’s husband now, broke up. They fought so much, or at least, Penny’s anger got the best of her, and her attention wandered. It wasn’t because he had lost an arm escaping from Aboud’s henchmen in the Sahara. She was above that, for which I will give her credit. It is, as I often wondered myself, if she would be capable of a steady and true marriage since her attention flirts from subject to subject, like the articles she writes about. Oh well.