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The Hunting Trip
The Hunting Trip Read online
BOOKS BY W.E.B. GRIFFIN
HONOR BOUND
HONOR BOUND
BLOOD AND HONOR
SECRET HONOR
DEATH AND HONOR
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
THE HONOR OF SPIES
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
VICTORY AND HONOR
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
EMPIRE AND HONOR
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BROTHERHOOD OF WAR
BOOK I: THE LIEUTENANTS
BOOK II: THE CAPTAINS
BOOK III: THE MAJORS
BOOK IV: THE COLONELS
BOOK V: THE BERETS
BOOK VI: THE GENERALS
BOOK VII: THE NEW BREED
BOOK VIII: THE AVIATORS
BOOK IX: SPECIAL OPS
THE CORPS
BOOK I: SEMPER FI
BOOK II: CALL TO ARMS
BOOK III: COUNTERATTACK
BOOK IV: BATTLEGROUND
BOOK V: LINE OF FIRE
BOOK VI: CLOSE COMBAT
BOOK VII: BEHIND THE LINES
BOOK VIII: IN DANGER’S PATH
BOOK IX: UNDER FIRE
BOOK X: RETREAT, HELL!
BADGE OF HONOR
BOOK I: MEN IN BLUE
BOOK II: SPECIAL OPERATIONS
BOOK III: THE VICTIM
BOOK IV: THE WITNESS
BOOK V: THE ASSASSIN
BOOK VI: THE MURDERERS
BOOK VII: THE INVESTIGATORS
BOOK VIII: FINAL JUSTICE
BOOK IX: THE TRAFFICKERS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK X: THE VIGILANTES
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK XI: THE LAST WITNESS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK XII: DEADLY ASSETS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
MEN AT WAR
BOOK I: THE LAST HEROES
BOOK II: THE SECRET WARRIORS
BOOK III: THE SOLDIER SPIES
BOOK IV: THE FIGHTING AGENTS
BOOK V: THE SABOTEURS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK VI: THE DOUBLE AGENTS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK VII: THE SPYMASTERS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
PRESIDENTIAL AGENT
BOOK I: BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
BOOK II: THE HOSTAGE
BOOK III: THE HUNTERS
BOOK IV: THE SHOOTERS
BOOK V: BLACK OPS
BOOK VI: THE OUTLAWS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK VII: COVERT WARRIORS
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BOOK VIII: HAZARDOUS DUTY
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
CLANDESTINE OPERATIONS
BOOK I: TOP SECRET
BOOK II: THE ASSASSINATION OPTION
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
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New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2015 by William E. Butterworth III
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Butterworth, W. E. (William Edmund), date.
The hunting trip : a novel of love and war / William E. Butterworth, III.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-698-40775-6
1. Intelligence officers—United States—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.R489137H86 2015 2015007437
813'.54—dc23
Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.
Version_1
CONTENTS
Books by W.E.B. Griffin
Title Page
Copyright
Author’s Note
I | THE PLOT TO FOOL AROUND IN SCOTLAND
II | ACTIVITY BEFORE THE TRIP
III | OL’ PHIL’S FIRST GRAND EUROPEAN TOUR
IV | PHIL MEETS THE WRATH OF GOD
V | PREPARING FOR THE HUNTING TRIP (PART 2)
VI | PHIL LEARNS FROM THE WRATH OF GOD
VII | PREPARING FOR THE HUNTING TRIP (PART 3)
VIII | PHIL VERSUS THE RED MENACE
IX | PHIL’S LIFE TAKES A NEW PATH (PART 1)
X | PHIL’S REALLY NEW PATH OF LIFE
XI | PHIL RETURNS TO AMERICA
XII | PHIL BECOMES SECRETLY FAMOUS
XIII | FAMILY WILLIAMS MOVES QUICKLY UPWARD SOCIALLY
XIV | TIME MARCHES ON
XV | EVERYBODY GOES HUNTING
XVI | EN ROUTE TO OLD BLIGHTY
XVII | BONNY SCOTLAND, FINALLY
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
There will be those who are aware that in various lives, I am not only W.E.B. Griffin, author of books for those interested in the military, the police, and spies and counterspies, but I am also Blakely St. James, authoress of first-person tales for those interested in lesbian romances, and coauthor with Richard Hooker of twelve-thirteenths of the M*A*S*H saga, and, using my given name and thirteen other noms de plume, have written somewhere around two hundred “published works.” And from that they may conclude that this work is autobiographical in nature.
It is not. It is a romance novel. Or at least mostly.
This author’s note is written because my mentor, late distinguished novelist and journalist William Bradford Huie, author of The Americanization of Emily and a great deal else, told me that he truly regretted not having appended such a This is fiction! disclaimer to Emily.
The male protagonist in Emily was a naval officer who, as Bill had been, was one of the very first Americans to land on Utah Beach on D-Day, June 6, 1944. Because of this, many people thought that Emily was an autobiographical account of his conquests, military and romantic, during World War II.
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Mr. Huie declared emphatically. “Emily was an entirely fictional romance novel, period.”
Mr. Huie told me this at my home in Point Clear, Alabama, where he and a good friend of his had come for a visit. His good friend was a stunning blond British lady he had met during his naval service in England during World War II.
My wife and I agreed that Mr. Huie’s friend, whose name was Emily, was even more spectacularly beautiful than Julie Andrews, who some may recall was nominated for an Oscar for her portrayal of Emily in the film adaptation of Mr. Huie’s novel The Americanization of Emily.
Which was, as this book is, at the risk of repeating myself, a purely fictional story of love and war, and in no sense autobiographical.
Mostly, anyway.
—William E. Butterworth III
I
THE PLOT TO FOOL AROUND IN SCOTLAND
[ ONE ]
Main Dining Room
The Muddiebay Country Club
M
uddiebay, Mississippi
1:20 p.m. Tuesday, September 2, 1975
Mrs. Homer C. (Carol-Anne) Crandall, a very good-looking, trim, silver-haired forty-two-year-old who was the wife of the president of the First National Bank of Muddiebay and president of The Tuesday Luncheon Club, took a second and last teaspoon of her Chocolate Volcano—all she allowed herself; a girl had to have the moral strength to resist the forbidden—consumed it, and then rose to her feet.
After thirty or so seconds, the other women—fifteen of them—stopped talking and looked to the head of the table. With a few exceptions, the women—who usually referred to themselves as “the girls,” although just about all of them were as old as Carol-Anne and some older—were dressed much like their president, that is to say in simple black dresses, with a string of pearls, “a bodice piece” of jewelry, and both wedding bands and diamond engagement rings on the third fingers of their left hands.
“I declare this meeting of The Tuesday Luncheon Club open for business,” Carol-Anne declared. “Martha-Sue will now lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance.”
The girls dutifully rose to their feet, put their right hands on their left bosoms—these ranged in size from monumental to practically nonexistent—and then mumbled along with Mrs. Frederick H. (Martha-Sue) Castleberry as she recited the Pledge of Allegiance.
Mrs. Castleberry, whose husband was a partner in Muddiebay’s most prestigious law firm, Tancey, Castleberry, Porter & Lipshutz, then sat down. The girls then, taking their cue from Martha-Sue, resumed their seats.
“Elizabeth-Ann,” Carol-Anne asked, “will you please read the minutes of our last meeting?”
Mrs. Cadwallader (Elizabeth-Anne) Howard III—whose husband was president of the Muddiebay Mercantile Company—rose to her feet and did so. It didn’t take her long. Very little had happened at the last meeting.
“Hearing no objection, the minutes are accepted as read,” President Carol-Anne announced. “Rachel, honey, will you give us the Treasurer’s Report?”
Mrs. Moses (Rachel) Lipshutz, whose husband was also a partner in the Tancey, Castleberry, Porter & Lipshutz law firm, rose to her feet and did so.
As her husband was the only member of Tancey, Castleberry, Porter & Lipshutz of the Hebrew persuasion, Rachel was the only member of The Tuesday Luncheon Club to be so religiously classified.
There were those, generally those who were nursing resentment that they had not been asked to join either Tancey, Castleberry, Porter & Lipshutz or The Tuesday Luncheon Club, who unkindly referred to Moses and Rachel as the “token Jews” of those organizations.
Nothing could be further from the truth, the ladies and the lawyers replied, the latter asking if the name-callers were unfamiliar with Judah Philip Benjamin, who happened to be Jewish, and had been both Secretary of State and Secretary of War of the Confederate States of America and, after narrowly escaping capture with Confederate President Jefferson Davis, Benjamin had made his way to England, where he became legal counsel to the Queen, and the ladies suggesting the name-callers remember that Rachel (then Rachel Cohen) had not only been president of Alfa Phi Omega sorority but also homecoming queen at the beloved alma mater of most Mississippians, “Ole Miss.”
Moses Lipshutz found praise among members of a secret organization called the Flat Earth Society, who whispered that Tancey, Castleberry, Porter & Lipshutz were damned lucky to have Lipshutz as a partner, because he was not only smarter than any of the partners but also arguably the smartest lawyer on the Gulf Coast.
The Flat Earth Society, which believes newspapers always tell the truth, that all politicians are honest, and of course that the earth is flat, had a similar opinion about treasurer Rachel Lipshutz of The Tuesday Luncheon Club: She was a natural for the position of money-watcher, as not one of the other girls had ever successfully managed to do a monthly balance of her personal checkbook without professional help.
When Rachel had finished giving the Treasurer’s Report, she sat down.
“Hearing no objection, the Treasurer’s Report is accepted as read,” President Carol-Anne announced. “We turn now to Old Business. Anyone got anything?”
No one had anything.
“And now, New Business,” Carol-Anne said. “Anyone have New Business?”
When she asked that question, the ladies started gathering up their things. Usually asking for New Business signaled the end of the meeting. One of the complaints about The Tuesday Luncheon Club was that the girls never learned about New Business until it was reported as Old Business.
Today was to be different.
“I do, Madam President,” one of the ladies said, raising her hand as if seeking permission to use the restroom.
“Yes, Bobbie-Sue?” President Crandall said. “What is it?”
Mrs. Ferdinand J. (Bobbie-Sue) Smith, who was married to the manager of the local branch of Schott & Swabbed, Stockbrokers, was at twenty-seven one of the younger members of The Tuesday Luncheon Club and not considered to be one of the brighter lights in its chandelier.
Bobbie-Sue consulted the notes in her hand, then said, “Carol-Anne—I mean Madam President—I move that The Tuesday Luncheon Club go shopping.”
That caught the attention of the girls. Many of them immediately sat down.
Carol-Anne made a movement of her hands that suggested she thought Bobbie-Sue hadn’t said all she had meant to say.
Bobbie-Sue looked at Carol-Anne for a moment, and then said, “Oh! I mean England. I move that The Tuesday Luncheon Club go shopping in London. London, England . . . not the one in Kansas.”
The girls who had remained standing now sat down.
“Discussion?” President Crandall said.
Mrs. “King” (Nancy-Jane) Kingman—wife of the proprietor of the King Cadillac, Buick, Chevrolet, and Harley-Davidson Auto Mall—rose to her feet and proclaimed, “My husband is not going to let me go shopping in London. I have to catch ol’ King doing something really wicked before I get to take my credit card as far as New Orleans.”
Carol-Anne made another signal with her hands and again Bobbie-Sue consulted the notes in her hand, shuffling through them until she found what she wanted.
“I have considered that possible obstacle to The Tuesday Luncheon Club going shopping in London, England,” she read, “and have come up with the solution to get around that obstacle.”
“What?” Nancy-Jane challenged.
Bobbie-Sue again—for a good thirty seconds, which seemed longer—searched her notes for the answer.
“Most of our husbands are wildfowl hunters,” Bobbie-Sue read, when she finally found them. “The finest wildfowl, specifically pheasant and grouse, hunting in the world is in Scotland. I suggest that we go to our wildfowl-hunting husbands and tell them that, because of their untiring labors on our behalf, we feel they are entitled to a twelve-day, plus travel time, vacation shooting pheasants and grouse in Scotland, and that we would love for them to do so, providing we are allowed to go with them at least as far as London.”
“I didn’t think she was that smart,” Mrs. Jackson (“Bitsy”) Skyler whispered to Nancy-Jane. Bitsy was forty-three, five feet ten, weighed 178 pounds, and was married to Muddiebay’s most prestigious ophthalmologist, who stood five-three and barely got the scale needle to touch 130.
“You mean the idea,” Nancy-Jane whispered back, “or her using words of more than one syllable?”
“Both.”
“Bitsy, even the dimmest bulb provides some light.”
“Well, she’s right about this,” Bitsy replied. “If there’s anything in the world that’d get my Jack out of his office—and me to London—it’s him getting to shoot pheasants in Scotland. He’s almost as bad as Randy Bruce. If it’s got feathers on it, he wants to shoot it.”
“Yeah.”
The phrase almost as bad as Randy Bruce, making reference to Randolph C. Bruce,
chairman of the board of RCB Holdings, Inc., was often used around Muddiebay’s upper social circles, and it was not only used to describe his fondness for hunting.
“What the hell, let’s give it a shot,” Bitsy said, and raised her hand.
“Yes, Bitsy?” President Crandall called.
“Carol-Anne, I think Bobbie-Sue has a wonderful idea, and I move that a committee be appointed herewith, with you, Madam President, as chairperson, to get The Tuesday Luncheon Club to London.”
“Second the motion, call for the vote,” Nancy-Jane called.
The motion carried.
So did the motion to adjourn.
[ TWO ]
Some of the ladies went home.
Bitsy and Nancy-Jane went to the bar, where both ordered gin martinis, no vegetables.
President Crandall walked out of the building onto the veranda and then off the veranda onto the golf course driving range. There was no one on the driving range, but she walked to the end of it anyway, and once there found a telephone.
It was answered on the second ring: “What?”
“I thought you would want to know, my precious, that I have just been appointed chairperson of The Tuesday Luncheon Club Committee to Arrange the Hunt in Scotland.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s EXPLETIVE DELETED!! uncle,” Randy Bruce, with whom Carol-Anne was having her very first affair ever, replied. “You and the dimwit carried it off, eh? You get both ears and the EXPLETIVE DELETED!! tail, baby!”
Carol-Anne just tingled when Randy talked dirty, as he often did. And when he talked her into talking dirty—which she was now doing with far less self-consciousness than when she started—she tingled even more.
“I was thinking, Precious, that maybe we could get together and celebrate.”
“You mean today?” Randy asked incredulously. “This afternoon?”
“No, next June,” Carol-Anne said, a bit petulantly.
“No EXPLETIVE DELETED!! way, baby. I’m going over to Foggy Point to bust some birds with Phil.”
Mr. Bruce spent at least one afternoon a week—and sometimes two or three—shooting skeet, trap, Crazy Quail, or all three, with his good friend Philip W. Williams III, who resided on the grounds of the Foggy Point Country Club, which was some forty miles distant across Muddiebay Bay.