Expect Deception: Operation Delphi, #2

By JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

When the U.S. government recruits U.S. WAVE  Olivia "Livvy" Delacourt and a team of Operation Delphi psychics to hunt down Nazi spies, she must sharpen her skills quickly—or risk dying and taking the team down with her. Just when Livvy thinks she and her team of psychic Nazi hunters are ready for whatever the Reich can throw at them, Hitler adds to the mix a spy who also happens to be a wizard. Now dark magic is being used to attack U.S. facilities and Livvy must match wits with the evil wizard. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: JoAnn Smith Ainsworth
• Release date: Sep 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201578787

Book preview

Chapter One

Philadelphia, PA, 1943 , late Friday morning

CROCUSES IN MANICURED beds declared the harsh winter marking America’s entrance into World War II to be finally giving up the ghost. Balmy May breezes crept through the opened French doors of Hamilton House mansion’s library—now a conference room. The room overlooked a flagstone patio, extensive grounds, and a securely locked gate.

Oddly, the spring breezes coming through the opened door acted negatively on her. What U.S. WAVES Lieutenant Olivia Livvy Delacourt didn’t realize was that the gentle puffs of warmed air brushing her cheek included curses from her Axis enemies.

The mission of this military/civilian team—code-named Operation Delphi by the White House The Watch Committee—was to combat Hitler’s occult warfare. They would keep an eye out for any psychic shenanigans from across the Atlantic, as well as from German spies here in the United States. Livvy guessed their skeptical commander was as surprised as The Watch Committee when their newly formed psychic team recently tracked down and caught some spies.

The Watch—a top-secret White House committee of a few select legislators, businessmen and military personnel—had created Operation Delphi after British spies had radioed rumors that Hitler’s occult practitioners were increasing their psychic potency to disrupt Allied wartime activities. Although President Roosevelt and the members of The Watch Committee claimed a disbelief in things occult, Livvy was told that they decided it was too dangerous to allow any kind of war-time threat to go unchallenged.

Today, the five psychics of the Delphi team were playing a trick on their boss, U.S. Navy Commander Barrington Drew, III (Trey to most everybody). They were enticing him—for good and sufficient reason, of course—to act against his better judgment. As lead psychic, the burden fell to Livvy to pull off this experiment.

The Operation Delphi team was feeling its way into new territory. Because of his engineering background, Trey was charged to measure progress, to record the experiments, and to develop manuals to train potential new team members.

Livvy glanced at today’s Delphi-team telepathic training goal written in white chalk lettering on the blackboard, Get Trey to eat hardtack.

Easier said than done.

Livvy shrugged off her uncertainty. They’d do their best and see what happened. It wasn’t as if psychic roadmaps existed.

In a light trance, she searched the ethers for traces of Trey’s energy. Her clairvoyant mind probed outward from where she sat at the black walnut table in the library. Discovering a wispy trail, she dispatched repeated telepathic messages which sped along a  supernatural highway, bombarding Trey, and tempting him into the conference room.

Crystal ball reader Isadora Turgenev spoke up. Jeez, if stage mesmerizers can do it, we should be able to.

The 18-year-old’s wrist-length sleeves of her flowered, silk dress flowed with expansive arm movements as she waved her slender hands across a crystal ball.

We’re not stage hypnotists. Widower John Clifford, their oldest team member, spoke in his usual, no-nonsense manner. His thin frame seemed to disappear into the wallpaper like the ghosts he sought.

Holy moley, he only needs to take one bite, Isadora said. Just one little bite and we win.

Which he’ll refuse to do, Garrett said. You heard our beloved commander at breakfast. ‘Hard as bricks. Won’t touch the miserable stuff.’ Garrett Alterman’s mouth hardened as he remembered. This after I was up at 5 a.m. to bake a fresh batch.

Despite wartime food shortages, their mild-mannered, middle-aged, and bespectacled medium had the team bowled over by his fabulous culinary feats.

In the first few months of Operation Delphi’s existence, team members worked independently. Each was unique:  a clairvoyant, a medium, a crystal ball reader, a seer of ghosts, and a nurse with healing hands. With this experiment they expected to prove themselves even more powerful when activating their skills at the same time and from the same room.

Stay positive, people, Livvy said. We don’t want to defeat ourselves before we start.

The burden of her responsibilities was occasionally overwhelming. It caused soreness across her shoulders—like now.

Livvy raised a hand to push back a strand of brunette hair still curled from the dampness of her morning shower before surreptitiously massaging the base of her neck beneath the white-cotton, starched collar of her uniform blouse. She sat upright on the wooden chair, her feet shod in comfortable shoes, and positioned flat on the floor. Plump hands with square-cut nails rested palms up on her blue uniform skirt.

Isadora looked up from her crystal ball. Golly gee, maybe we’re making it too hard on ourselves. So what if the boss grabs the apple tart!

We lose, John said grumpily.

Livvy herself thought they might be making the experiment too hard, but wouldn’t express her doubt.

If the rumors picked up by British spies were true, they were neophytes compared to Hitler’s entourage. She was assigned by her government to make her team stronger and more focused so that they could deal with occult threats. Nazi psychics claimed the ability to influence a whole nation. Their team was attempting to influence one person. And he was just down the hall!

Let’s not waste time. John stretched as if loosening the kinks out of his back.

That’s right, my dears, Muriel Evans said. The white-haired nurse was rubbing Trey's monogrammed handkerchief between her fingertips in an attempt to connect with his energy. If we dilly dally, our beloved commander may leave the estate grounds and we’ll be up a creek without a paddle.

Livvy clicked her unpolished fingernails against the conference room table to catch everybody’s attention. Back to the fray, crew.

She adjusted horn-rimmed glasses against the bridge of her nose, ran splayed fingers through bobbed hair, and shook out her tight shoulders. We have to give Trey a choice if we’re to know for sure that our powers influenced him. He has to ignore his favorite snack and eat the hardtack.

Livvy focused on a meditation point half-way up the floor-to-ceiling, stuffed bookcase directly in front of her. Several, well-worn titles caught her interest. Deliberately, she unfocused her physical eyesight and allowed herself to be controlled by her Third Eye as she dropped into a light trance.

She waited, and waited some more. When there was no mystical response, Livvy decided to redeploy her spiritual energies closer to Trey.

Releasing herself by an act of will power from the mystical bonds that anchored her essence to her physical body allowed her spirit to drift upward as if riding a cloud. From ceiling height, she dispatched a mist of spiritual well-being to her physical body, dutifully sitting on a chair, eyes closed, and palms upright.

Giving a mental tug on the silver cord anchoring body to spirit allowed her spirit to drift through the wall and along the hallway. Without anxiety, she glided closer to Trey’s office. Her spirit slipped through his office wall.

Experiencing the joy of effortless travel, it drifted leisurely across the ceiling and floated downward behind the commander’s chair. From this vantage point, Livvy reached out tendrils of willpower focused on enticing Trey into the conference room to eat the hardtack.

DAMMIT TO HELL, WHAT the heck was happening? Even after having eaten a large breakfast, Trey was starving.

He ruthlessly ignored his stomach and probed behind his neck to discover what was tugging on the collar of his khaki, cotton shirt. His fingers found nothing. He noted a shortness of breath as if from pressure being exerted on his upper back. Trey’s gaze moved over the Operation Delphi security men sitting in stuffed chairs across the office from him. Neither one seemed to notice his discomfort.

His chief security officer, Chester A. Franklin, always managed to look starched and crisp, even when dressed in civvies. To the contrary, his security second-in-command, Chief Michael Posner, seemed to flaunt the unkempt look. That casual look was exactly what their White House bosses wanted.

Admiral Barber—The Watch’s Philadelphia-based overseer—insisted on their looking innocuous. Deceive neighbors and passers-by. Let them think Hamilton House is one of any number of bureaucratic, and mostly civilian, facilities created during wartime. In this upper-crust Germantown neighborhood, anyone watching Hamilton House through binoculars would mistakenly count more civilians than military, even though they were evenly split.

Trey needed to pin down whether the security men were up-to-date on where matters stood since last week’s arrest of German spies. He tapped his gold Mont Blanc fountain pen on the redwood writing desk. Where do we stand since the arrests?

Chester spoke in his pedantic voice. We’re not to get involved in their high-profile trial. The Watch doesn’t want anyone to know we were instrumental to their capture.

Michael slammed his hand against the padded arm of his wing chair. "Bullshit! Someone else gets our credit."

It's to be expected, Chester said. The higher ups don’t want our war mission leaked.

Trey rubbed the back of his neck to ease his discomfort. They want us ‘out of sight and out of mind.’

Michael interlaced lean fingers behind his head of short-cropped, blond hair. Elbows out, he leaned back in repose. What do I care? With this free time, I can work on my sailboat.

Michael’s 18-foot boat was slowly coming into existence in one of the Hamilton House garages. Its doors wide open for the public to watch, building a sailboat fit perfectly with Operation Delphi’s orders to appear non-threatening.

Trey ran fingers through his thick hair in the hope of distracting himself from his stomach discomfort. Sorry, Michael. No rest for the weary and no time for the sailboat. I’m expecting orders. They want us back as soon as possible to inspecting naval facilities for vulnerabilities.

Michael groaned. Let’s see if we can time the next inspection for another bomb blast.

The Delphi team had already experienced two blasts.

Our psychics should have warned us. Chester’s mouth turned down.

Trey had been an incorrigible skeptic when he took command of Operation Delphi. He had scoffed at precognition. Now, he was open to strange possibilities—even if with a grain of salt.

Michael looked up at him. Are you saying that we just cut last week from our memory as if it didn’t happen?

Trey nodded. Exactly. Don’t speak about capturing those spies, even among yourselves. The brass wants no slip-ups.

His stomach growled. He considered excusing himself to go and find a snack.

Gotcha, boss, Michael said.

Orders are orders, Chester said. That’s what I’ll do.

Trey replaced the cap on his fountain pen, lay it on a yellow legal pad, and pushed back his chair. That’s all. You’re dismissed.

And not a moment too soon. Trey needed them to scatter so he could stuff his face.

LIVVY FOUND HERSELF abruptly back in her head. Her trance sight focused instead on Isadora, who was hovering over a glowing crystal ball, her face was a mosaic study in consternation. I see him, but the meeting’s breaking up. Oh, no, where is he going?

Ohhh, bad luck, Muriel said.

Hells’ bells, our experiment is doomed, Isadora cried out.

Not so fast, young lady. It’s much too soon to give up. My spirit guide is still relaying our message. Garrett spoke in a voice not quite his own, but also not the bass voice of his spirit guide. Spirit-to-spirit transmission will be difficult for our beloved commander to ignore.

Livvy occultly watched Garrett’s teal blue energy stream travel through the wall and into the hallway. She sent a slender, multicolored band of her own energy to flow alongside his so that she could track what he was doing.

Muriel urged Isadora to action. Shine up that magnificent crystal ball of yours, honey. We need a big win to satisfy the Governmental Powers That Be.

Isadora stretched her hands across the crystal ball. She pointed to her top-secret ID badge. Look. I’m doing top-secret work for Uncle Sammie. I’m a long way away from great grandmother’s gypsy tent. I wish she  could see me now."

Maybe she can. John spoke matter-of-factly. I’ll keep an eye out for great grandmothers.

Muriel smiled. Who would have thought the U.S. government would pay us for doing what comes naturally.

The room quieted as team members re-settled into the individual states of being that defined their particular powers.

John rose and seemed to glide a hair’s breadth above the hardwood floor as he searched for departed spirits willing to convey a message to Trey. Livvy briefly wondered how a man as tall, strong, and active as John could move so stealthily.

The meditative trance sat lightly on Livvy. She breathed in, silently pleading—Coax Trey to us...make him eat hardtack—then she breathed out. This trance hadn’t deepened into a ferocious ringing in her ears. No dense fog clouded and numbed her mind as was often the case. Time and again, she intoned in her mind—Make him eat hardtack.

Shoot. It didn’t seem to be working.

No images floated before her mind’s eye. No streak of chilled air gave her pause. Nothing was happening the way it normally did. Nothing—unless one counted being drawn with urgency again and again toward the closed, but not locked black-walnut door.

Make Trey eat hardtack, she importuned mentally.

Livvy sensed her brightly colored energy probe, which merged with her earlier, slender probe accompanying Garrett’s energy, slip through the conference room door to search the rear hallway. Presences were close by.

Livvy heard the brass doorknob rattle. She peeked through downcast eyelashes and her jaw dropped. They’d done it! Trey was entering the conference room and was walking toward the table. He leaned over the plates of apple tart and hardtack. His hand reached toward the tart, but diverted. He picked up a piece of hardtack and bit into it.

Any success? Trey took another bite.

Isabella screamed, jolting everyone out of trances. Yippee, we made you eat that!

Trey made a face at the hardtack remaining in his hand, said yuck, and dropped it into an ashtray. He spit the partially chewed leftovers into the waste basket. He looked up, his face bright red. What’s going on? The words came out slowly, fury eating at the edges. If he were a tea kettle, Livvy decided, he’d be at full boil.

She drew her energies back around herself and erected a protective, psychic barrier against Trey’s anger. She noted that Garrett had done the same.

Isabella crooned a singsong chant. I...know why...you did...it. Her upright forearms swung back and forth to the chant’s rhythm.

Trey’s face puckered. Why?

We made you part of our experiment. Muriel’s voice was soothing.

He scrunched up his nose. Couldn’t you have left me out of it? Couldn’t you have fed me something I liked?

My dear, you were essential, Muriel said. We needed to make you act against your better instincts.

Bless her.

Muriel’s explanation filled in what could have been an awkward moment for Livvy.

Trey rubbed the back of his neck and Livvy released a cloud of healing energy toward him. The healing mist penetrated and calmed his agitated aura.

John vigorously shook his graying head and his near bald pate shone. No could do, commander. It had to be something you’d hate.

Muriel retained her earth mother calmness. You see, dearie, we needed to be sure we were the ones who caused you to act. It couldn’t be something you took a mind to do yourself in the ordinary course of things.

While her team was handling the explanations, Livvy focused on stabilizing the energies in the room. After a little more discussion, Trey grasped the importance of the experiment and he visibly calmed.

Sounds like you pulled off a winner.

Muriel spoke. You can assure The Watch this wasn’t a fluke.

Livvy returned to full awareness without physical or emotional damage. She turned to Trey. "We quite effectively combined our powers to cause you to act against your better judgment. We should be able to use these joint effort techniques against the