by James R Benn
I pulled Harding down so he wouldn't have to look out on that scene once the dust settled, but it didn't matter. His eyes were closed and tears traced rivulets through the dust on his face.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-five
IT WASN'T UNTIL THE day after the air raid that Harding got around to telling me. I don't blame him for the delay, as he had just watched the woman he loved, and who had broken his heart twice, get blown to bits. But that didn't mean I liked the message much either.
It was hands-off time with the Frenchies. No interference with local affairs allowed. There was still a lot of delicate diplomacy going on, and Ike wanted things running smoothly. Even if those things were run by the same former Vichy officials who had done the Germans' bidding and would probably sell out to the Germans again if they made a return appearance. It was determined that Major Gloria Morgan was behind the murders and theft of the drugs, and that Luc Villard's other activities, such as smuggling, ransom, and murder, were all local concerns, best left to the local authorities to handle. Or not, since Luc Villard was one of those local authorities.
I was pretty steamed over that, but there wasn't anything I could do, at least nothing I could think of right then. Harding had Doctor Perrini check out Kaz and me, and the doc ordered us to stay at the hospital for observation. Harding liked the idea of keeping me out of circulation for a while, in case I tried anything stupid. So he kept us at the 21st, while I tried to think of something that wasn't stupid, that might have a chance of working. Harry Dickinson was well enough to be discharged, so Harding grabbed him from the Royal Navy for limited detached duty while he recuperated fully. Harding wanted a bodyguard for us while Kaz worked on the code. I rested my head and thought about things, while Harry stood watch and Kaz deciphered the notebook. The search of Gloria's quarters had produced Gray's Anatomy, with a pencil and paper next to it. Gloria had almost finished deciphering the contents of the notebook when she was called to Walton's office. They found the morphine and nalorphine under a false compartment in her footlocker. She also had her passport hidden there. The Army didn't require one for travel, so I wondered what had been on her mind when the war started. Had she planned to make a big score all along? Then desert, and cross over to a neutral country? Or was she simply prepared for any opportunity that might come her way?
I had sent a note to Diana at the hotel, telling her I might be stuck here a few days. I didn't hear back. I knew she was waiting for me to do something about freeing the prisoners, the kids who had been involved with the coup attempt. But that was one of the local matters we weren't supposed to interfere with.
I watched Kaz work all day to finish transcribing the contents of the notebook, making letter substitutions. With Gray's Anatomy in hand, it was easy. We got the names of two banks, one in Berne and one in Zurich, Switzerland, each followed by a series of numbers. It was my guess that Villard was in this with her, and given each of their natures, only one would've been skiing in Switzerland this winter. That was the key to my plan.
Harding came to collect Kaz's transcriptions and decodings the next day. We met in Walton's office. Walton was told to go elsewhere. Thankful to still have his job, he willingly made himself scarce. Kaz went over everything and handed his report to Harding. Before he could take the notebook, I grabbed it and flipped through it, idly looking at the pages.
"Major, I would guess that whoever we have in Switzerland is going to receive these numbers pretty fast, and these accounts are going to be cleaned out. For the benefit of the war effort."
Harding was silent for a minute, deciding that what I said was so obvious it wasn't worth denying. He just nodded.
"So, I'd guess that by tomorrow, this notebook will be worthless?"
"Yes, we'll have gotten all the value out of it that we can." He took it from my hand. "What are you after?"
"You know, Major," Kaz said, "Miss Seaton is very worried about the rebels that were her fellow prisoners. They are still being held by Villard."
Another silence. Harding stared out the window, watching a work detail filling in bomb craters. He sighed. Finally he tossed the notebook on the table.
"Tomorrow, after twelve noon, this notebook will be so much worthless paper."
I guessed that meant Harding didn't think my idea was stupid. We got Doc Perrini to discharge us, and Kaz, Harry, and I went in search of Captain Henri Bessette. About a local matter.
Kaz enlisted Vincent, our pal the Polish spy, and by nightfall we found ourselves seated at a swank sidewalk cafe, with a view of the nice part of the waterfront, on the same road Kaz and I had taken to the harbor. There were bushy green plants along the sidewalk and Cinzano umbrellas for shade. Harry sat at another table, sipping a brandy, smoking a cigarette, and trying to look like a Royal Navy lieutenant on leave. He had arrived a half-hour before us, wearing his Webley revolver and carrying a Sten gun, with the shoulder butt folded back, inside a haversack. Honor among thieves only applies when you're a thief, too. I noticed a couple of beefy guys in dark suits who were probably carrying under their jackets. Good. We understood each other.
"There," Kaz said, nodding. Vincent was standing across the street with Bessette and one other uniformed soldier, probably his official bodyguard. I guessed the dark suits were SOL. Vincent pointed to us and waved. Two Gardes Mobiles officers walked past the cafe, eyeing us, a visual, and not too subtle, warning to not try anything funny.
Bessette and his guy stood across the street for a minute after Vincent left. Then they crossed, waiting another minute on the sidewalk. The cops came back, greeted Bessette, and then he walked over to our table. He sat and took out a package of Galuoises. Before he could light up one of those foul-smelling French cigarettes, I reached for a pack of Luckies. The two dark suits jumped up, pistols at the ready. I smiled and slowly pulled out the Lucky Strikes.
"Américan cigarette?"
Bessette took the whole pack, and motioned for his men to sit down.
"Merci," he said, lighting a Lucky and savoring it. "Very good."
"You speak some English, Captain Bessette?" I asked.
"Some, not very good. Parlez franfais?"
"Je parle francais," answered Kaz.
"Très bien," said Bessette. "If we need French, him," he said, pointing roughly at Kaz with his cigarette. "Now, you, American, say what you want."
"To do business, what else?" Bessette glanced at Kaz for confirmation. He rattled off some French, ending with a shrug of the shoulders. What else, indeed?
"Business! But we are allies, not businessmen!" Bessette grinned, showing off nicotine-stained teeth. His fingers were yellow where he held the cigarette. "Or are you from Chicago? Gangsters! Al Capone!" He thought this was hilarious and roared with laughter. A bottle of red wine and glasses appeared at the table. No one spoke as the waiter poured. He scurried away and Bessette took a long swallow.
"Business," he said, staring me in the eye. "What business?"
"I have something you want, and you have two things I want."
"That," he said, shaking his head, "is bad business. Two for one? No."
"The one thing I have is worth nothing to me and a great deal to you."
"And the two things I have?"
"One is worth much less, and the other, nothing."
He refilled his wine glass and took another drink.
"Say what it is you want, and what you have to give."
"The first thing I want is Villard's prisoners from Le Carrefour, delivered to the Hotel St. George, at noon tomorrow." I nodded to Kaz to translate, to make sure Bessette understood.
"That is a police matter," he said, once Kaz was done. He waved his hand. "That has nothing to do with me."
"Yes, but the notebook, that does have something to do with you."
Kaz started to translate but Bessette cut him off.
"You have the notebook? Here?" His eyes flew to the dark suits.
Now it was my turn to laugh. "That would not be good bu
siness," I said, and took a drink myself, smiling at Bessette like he was an old pal. He glowered at me, then nodded.
"Very bad business it would be, yes. Notebook for rebels. Good business."
"Half of the pages for the rebels." Kaz translated.
"What will the other pages cost?" Bessette demanded. His English got better as the negotiations went on.
"All I want for the other half," I said, leaning in close to whisper, "is a rug.".
* * *
Chapter Thirty-six
I LOOKED IN THE MIRROR and adjusted my service cap. My bandages had come off yesterday, but I still didn't relish the brim sitting on that bump, so I had to adjust it to just the right angle. Clean khaki shirt, freshly shaved, lieutenant's bars gleaming, I looked like a real staff flunky. I hooked my web belt on and checked my holster, knife, and spare ammo. Everything in place. Kaz and I were back at the St. George, but stuck in a tent with Harry outside on the grounds. Still, we had access to real bathrooms and the restaurant, the latter due to Kaz's constant praising of the chef and his dishes, and his free way with francs.
I walked to the lobby and found Diana and Yvette. Diana was wearing a long summer dress, and a light coat with long sleeves. She looked fashionable, and if you didn't know her clothes were chosen to hide her bruises, you'd think she looked fine. She said she was healing, but she didn't want to talk about it. She had her arm in Yvette's, who was helping her down the lobby steps. But her hand dug into Yvette's forearm, and I knew every step she took was filled with pain and required courage.
"What's the big surprise you've summoned us for, Billy?" Diana asked. She smiled, but it was a distant smile. All lips and no eyes. A re-creation of an emotion from memory.
"Come outside, find a nice spot in the shade, and wait," I said. I wanted to take her by the hand, but I was nervous. It was like that between me and Diana now. We hadn't had much time together the past few days, and when we did, Yvette was always there, fussing with Diana's hair or chatting with her in French. Diana seemed calm when Yvette was by her side. But if we were alone, or if I tried to hold her hand, she became jittery. And I did, too. She wasn't the same, not the same Diana I'd known back in England, not even the same Diana I had glimpsed in that dusty prison courtyard the first day in Algiers. And me? Yeah, I wasn't the same guy either. Things had happened. Nothing as bad as what had happened to Diana, but I had to live with that, too. I felt lousy, like a low-life bum who cared more about his two-bit problems than the people who depended on him. People he loved. Every time I thought about Villard and what he had done, his hands on her, beating her, caressing her, drugging her, raping her, owning her in that room, on that filthy mattress, I'd feel red rage rising up inside me until I wanted to scream. I knew if I had any chance to make things right with Diana, that image had to disappear. Whatever it took.
I found Diana and Yvette a bench in a part of the gardens that hadn't been taken over by tents and traders yet. When Diana sat down she let out a sigh, as if the short walk downstairs and outside had exhausted her.
"You okay?" I asked, bending down to talk to her. My hand rested on the back of the bench, close to her shoulder. She nodded, offering me a bit of a smile. Not much, but real, her eyes locking on mine. This we could manage. Not an actual conversation, just a quick exchange now and then that caught us both by surprise, our old selves taking over, reminding us of how things had once been.
"Diana," I said, "I have to leave right now with Kaz and Harry. I'll be back later. I just wanted you to see this, and, and to know, that… uh, well, you'll see."
"What are you trying to tell me? See what? What's happening, Billy?"
"I've got something to do. It needs doing, and should have been done… I don't know, I can't explain it. I just wanted you to know-"
"Know what, Billy?"
"That I kept my promise."
With that I got up and headed for the drive. The main drive leading into the hotel ended in a circular loop that was already lined with parked vehicles but was still wide enough for a large truck to pass. Kaz and Harry were at the entrance to the hotel to escort the truck in. It was noon, and I could hear church bells ringing the hour in the French district. The sun was shining, reflected in the calm sea. In a minute, they drove in, Harry at the wheel of the jeep, leading an old open truck whose canvas sides flapped in the breeze. The decrepit vehicle looked out of place among the freshly painted olive drab army vehicles parked along the drive, but it was a beautiful sight.
The truck was crammed with young kids, rail-thin and dirty, like scarecrows, their clothes in rags, hanging off them. They were cheering like crazy, hugging each other and crying. When the truck braked to a stop, the driver yelled "Sortez," but no one needed to tell them to get out. They jumped down, whooped and hollered, and I saw Diana run to them, a huge smile on her face, more joy than I had seen in her since I got her away from Villard. She jumped up and down like a schoolgirl, going to each and embracing every one of them in turn, all memory of bruises and pain gone.
My eyes met those of the driver. His frown stayed right where it was. He held out his hand. I pulled a wad of notebook paper out of my pocket and placed it in his palm. He took it and grunted. I got in the jeep and we drove out, following him to our next appointment. I looked at my watch. It was 12:15.
XIX Corps Headquarters had moved out of the hotel, which had been taken over entirely by Allied Forces HQ Corps staff had moved to a big palace on the heights above Algiers, near other French Army staff headquarters. We drove up the winding roads, past churches and large houses that rose up from the slopes to look out over the Mediterranean. Harry had to keep downshifting the jeep to make it around the sharp bends in the road as it wound its way up. The truck chugged along slowly. We didn't rush, knowing that Bessette would want to check out the first half of his payment before letting us in. We arrived at a low, white stone wall with an ornate iron gate barring the drive leading into the palace grounds. We parked off the road, outside the gate. The truck drove up, and we got out, waiting for Bessette. He came down the front steps and yelled orders to the guards at the gate. They opened for the truck and let it through, one of them holding up his hand, signaling us to stop. The truck entered the courtyard, stopping by Bessette. The driver handed him something, the notebook pages I'd given him. Bessette signaled him to park. After several minutes he waved to the guards. They opened the gate and let us walk in.
"Just you," Bessette said, pointing to me. "The others, no."
"Nous attendrons ici," Kaz said, and I thought, damn right you'll wait here. I don't want to be left here with these bastards all by myself.
"When my colleagues see me come out, they'll go to get the rest of the notebook, bring it back and hand it over. Then we'll leave together."
"Okay," said Bessette, enjoying his bit of American slang. "Okay, yes? You, come get your rug!" He threw back his head and laughed as he clapped my shoulder. Good buddies. Good business.
I started to perspire as I walked beside Bessette. Yet it wasn't hot up here. Cool breezes flowed up the hill, making the sun's heat bearable. Even so, I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my back. We entered the building and I saw French soldiers, doing all the stuff HQ staff does everywhere. Carry papers, look busy, look important, stay out of the way of the brass. We hoofed it up two flights of a grand staircase, the kind you might see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance down in the movies. At the top we took a left, and a soldier snapped to attention as Bessette passed. This was his territory; these were his guys. I was either going to buy a rug or buy the farm.
"Enter," said Bessette, opening a door and motioning inside.
"After you," I said politely.
"Ah! Good business. Yes, after me." He went in and I followed.
Villard sat in a leather armchair, smoking a cigarette. He didn't look surprised to see me.
"Ah. Lieutenant Boyle, we meet again. I understand you have something for us."
No expression crossed Bessette's face. Th
is was nothing more than a business meeting. I looked away from Villard to Bessette's desk on my left. A pair of candlesticks stood on it, just like back at the hotel. One of them had been nicely cleaned up.
"Sorry if I ruined your ransom racket."
"That was nothing," Villard sneered. "A sideline, yes. But with our source out of the picture, the value of the rebel prisoners lessened. Too bad, really."
"She was a handsome woman, the American captain of nurses," Bessette said, more fully in command of English than before.
"Yes, but not as pretty as some," Villard stared at me, spitting out a piece of stray tobacco. "Nor as young. But variety in love is wonderful, no?"
"In love, yes," said Bessette. "In business, no. You fail to discern the difference, Luc."
Villard threw his cigarette in the ashtray. "Henri…"
Bessette left, slamming the door behind him. I stood between Villard and the door, as his expression changed from surprise to comprehension. Anger, and maybe a hint of fear flashed across his face before he reached for his revolver. But I was ready. I had no fair fight scruples, no illusions about bringing him in alive and letting the law take its course. The war was the law now, and that war had decreed that Luc Villard was free to go about his business. But the war had taught me a few things, too, things that hadn't been agreed to by generals. I had my knife out already as I closed the distance between us in a step. I had planned on telling him why I was going to kill him. I had planned every word, so he would know exactly why I was doing it, what was going to happen, that he was living his last minutes on this earth, drawing his last breath of air. With one blow, I was going to justify myself, to make everything better, to erase those handprints in black and blue all over Diana, and he was going to know it. It didn't work out that way.