Operation Blue Sapphire

by David B. Gilmore

  “How did he take it?” asked Emma.

  “He said he didn’t see anything wrong if a man wanted more than one wife, or something to that effect.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to help you with that,” Emma said, grinning.

  As they sat by the fire, they were all relaxed and enjoyed being in the village. At first it was awkward conversing through their guide, but as the evening went on, so did the speed of their conversation. An hour passed and then another. They explained to the villagers where they were from and why they were in their country. They talked about the war, which to the villagers was inconceivably far away.

  Finally, O’Connor looked at his watch and saw that it was getting late. He told the old man they should be heading back. The man told them they were all welcome to stay, but O’Connor explained to him that his friends were leaving early in the morning and had to return to their camp. He apologized, and the man replied that he understood.

  Throughout their stay in the village, Emma had noticed an old woman staring at her across the fire. Her hair had long ago turned white and, from years of exposure to the elements, her skin had turned almost to leather. At first Emma thought the woman’s attention was because of her white skin or that she had a blouse on and wasn’t topless as the other women were. However, as the evening progressed, Emma sensed the woman’s stare becoming more and more intense.

  As they rose from the fire to go, the woman approached the leader of the village. After a short conversation, he seemed to be in agreement with her and told Emma, through their guide, “She wants you to come to her home. She wants to talk with you.”

  “Me?” asked Emma. “Why me?”

  “She says she sees something, and it is only for you to know. She will let me translate for her, but it is not for the others to know,” said the guide.

  “Okay, then. Let’s go,” said Emma, thinking to herself that, other than the snake on the trail, this had been a cake-walk. This must be why I needed to be here.

  Emma followed the old woman into her hut. It was completely dark inside, and Emma could feel the hard packed dirt floor beneath her feet. Upon entering, the woman instinctively reached for a box of matches and lit a kerosene lantern that was hanging on a cord from the ceiling.

  “What do you want with me?” asked Emma.

  Before she could complete her sentence, the woman faced her and grasped Emma’s shoulders tightly in her hands. She then looked deeply into her eyes. It was the most intense look Emma had ever received. In all of her military training, even in Canada, she had never experienced anything like it. She could feel the old woman looking into her soul. Emma felt her knees begin to quiver and buckle as the woman continued to stare. The more she attempted to fight off the feeling, the more overpowering it became. Emma contemplated taking evasive action against the woman but quickly decided, for some unknown reason deep inside, to trust her.

  Finally, the old woman spoke and the guide translated.

  “You are soon going to be in a place far away from here. When you go there, danger waits for you. There will be a fire, a very fast-burning fire, but you will not be harmed.”

  “But I have to go,” said Emma.

  The boy translated. “She says she knows you do, as you are responsible for the others, and others you do not yet know.”

  I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, There’s no way she can know this, thought Emma.

  The old woman continued to stare and, through the boy, said, “I see much danger for you for a long time to come and in many places, but you are strong and smart and will survive.” The woman let go of Emma’s shoulders and broke eye contact with her. When she did, Emma felt as if she had been punched in the stomach and all the life was draining out of her. The woman then turned and reached into a basket sitting on a table and came back to Emma. In her hand was a stone amulet on a leather cord which she placed around Emma’s neck.

  “She says for you to wear this or keep it with you at all times. It will protect you.”

  “How does she know this?” asked Emma.

  The woman laughed and spoke again.

  “Because she can see things.”

  The woman looked sternly at Emma and spoke once again.

  “She says you must keep your eyes and mind open, and there are others who will help you. Do not shut them out.”

  “What does she mean, others?” asked Emma.

  “Just others. She cannot be more specific,” said the guide.

  “Tell her I understand, and I thank her.” Before the young man could translate fully, Emma embraced to old woman with a hug that seemed to last for eternity. When she released the woman, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. “What do I tell the others? They’ll want to know,” demanded Emma.

  The old woman looked her up and down before speaking.

  “She says to tell them she told you that you will have a lot of children.”

  Tugging on the sleeve of Emma’s blouse, the old woman laughed.

  “You can if you want, she says.”

  Before Emma left the woman’s house, the woman seemed to speak harshly with the guide. When she was finished, he seemed upset.

  “What did she say?” asked Emma.

  “What she told you is a secret. I had to convince her I would not tell anyone. Trust me, I will not say a word,” said the visibly shaken guide.

  Emma turned to the woman and clutched the amulet in her hand. “Thank you.” she said.

  The old woman nodded in agreement, reached above her, and turned down the lamp. As Emma left the woman’s home and walked back toward the others, she could feel her strength return and her tears dissipate. When she reentered the group, she reached into her trouser pocket, took out her cigarette case and lighter, and lit a cigarette. The warm smoke from the Lucky Strike quickly calmed her. Emma looked back for a glimpse of the old woman, but she was nowhere to be found. Emma again felt the amulet just to make sure what had happened was real and not a hallucination.

  “What did she say?” asked an eager O’Connor.

  “Just the usual thing. If I play my cards right, I can have lots of kids. Just what I want right now,” said Emma, laughing.

  “Well, we’re ready to start back. A couple of the young men from the village will go with us most of the way to make sure we don’t get lost or get in trouble,” said O’Connor.

  “Let’s go,” said Emma.

  Before they left, Emma let the leader run his fingers through her hair one more time. Afterwards, they bid their village friends goodbye and began the walk back to Roberts Field.

  The next morning after breakfast, Emma sat with Bunnel and LaCroix in the terminal building. Bunnel decided to get them all a cup of coffee and left Emma and LaCroix alone for a few minutes.

  “What’s troubling you?” asked Emma.

  “A couple of things. I’ve seen this kind of thing back home in Louisiana. What did that woman tell you?” asked LaCroix, an urgent sound in his voice.

  “Absolutely nothing,” replied Emma.

  “Are you sure about that? I take this kind of thing very seriously. If we’re going to be in trouble, I want to know!”

  “Trust me, Henri, we’re all going to be fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” replied Emma, trying to sound as reassuring as she could.

  LaCroix felt there was more to Emma’s experience with the old woman but didn’t press her further on the subject. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. What else is on your mind?” asked Emma.

  “This may sound silly, but the village had a profound effect on me.”

  “It did? How so?”

  “Well,” LaCroix said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “It gave me an appreciation for all the things we have and don’t have. Think about it. Those people don’t worry about having to buy a new car, pay the mortgage on their house, or how they’re going to pay for fuel or put food on the table if they don’t catch enough shrimp. They’re not concerned with going to th
e picture show or the latest hairstyles. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I like walking on hardwood floors and having indoor plumbing just as much as the next guy. It’s just, having to worry about everything all the time, I think we’re missing something. They have a community, a real community, and that’s enough. Besides, they don’t even know who Hitler and Mussolini are, let alone want to go to war with them. It just seemed like a lot simpler life, that’s all.”

  “If you feel that way,” said Emma, “why don’t you come back after the war? You can always visit again.”

  “No, it won’t be the same. What we experienced won’t be there after the war. Just look outside. This airfield is better than a lot back home, and look at all the activity. You know we’re paying them for this, and with all the money coming in, they’re going to spend it on something. Before the war’s over, there’ll be a road to the village and then will come electricity.”

  “Sort of a jungle version of the New Deal?” asked Emma.

  “I’m afraid so, and when it happens, it’ll destroy their way of life forever. They were honest-to-God good people living in that village, and like it or not, because of us things are going to change. I guess the bottom line I’m trying to figure is, what are we doing and what’s its significance? I mean, I’m still in this one hundred percent, I’m just not sure if, after last night, I understand it anymore.”

  “It will make a difference because there are still good and beauty left in the world. If good people have the courage to stand up against evil, they can defeat it,” said Emma.

  LaCroix let her words resonate inside him for a moment. After casually looking around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, he quietly said, “True enough.” Then he shook his head. “All right then, let’s get this thing taken care of.”

  Colonel Wyman was at his desk talking on the telephone when his secretary quietly entered and slipped him a note that General Donovan was in the waiting area and wanted to see him. Wyman abruptly ended the call as the secretary showed the general in. Rising to his feet, he greeted his old friend, “What can I do for you today, General?”

  “Sorry to take you away from the matters at hand, but we need to talk about India for a moment.”

  General Donovan took a seat at Wyman’s desk and motioned for him to do the same. “What’s the status of our problem there with Captain Preston?”

  “I have a team on the way there now, sir,” Wyman said as he glanced at his watch. “Right now they should have left Liberia and be about half way to Khartoum in the Sudan.”

  “Brief me on your people.”

  “It’s the same team I used in Cuba. They were all to be sent to Europe, but this came up.”

  “They all did good work down there. Who did you put in charge?”

  “Captain Thompson again. Is that a problem, sir?” Before Donovan could answer, Wyman added, “She’s a fine officer and did very well in Canada at Camp X. She’s resourceful and I know she’ll get the job done.”

  “I’m not questioning her abilities. If you have faith in her, that’s all that matters. Something’s come up and we need to get this matter resolved as soon as possible. There’s going to be a conference with the British soon. The President wants the OSS to be able to have a free hand in India. That means we have to go into the conference with clean hands. We can’t be hanging out on anything. Last thing we need is for something to come up and the British to find out we’ve violated our agreement. When’s your team scheduled to arrive?”

  “They should be in Cairo tomorrow. After a one day layover, they’ll start the trip to India,” replied Wyman.

  “I know it’ll be difficult, for you and for them, but see if you can’t get them on another plane as soon as they land in Egypt. Give them an hour to get something to eat and freshen up, but get them on their way. Make it a top priority and do whatever is necessary. I’m sorry you have to be the one to clean up the mess, but I’m not going to let the President be embarrassed over this.”

  “Understood. Trust me, everything will be taken care of and the conference will go on without a hitch.”

  Dum Dum Airfield outside of Calcutta was a beehive of planes landing and taking off. As Emma, Bunnel, and LaCroix climbed down the stairs from their plane, exhaustion was visible on all of their faces. The slump of their shoulders showed that it was the type of exhaustion brought on by travel, lack of sleep, too much coffee, and too many cigarettes. A hangover without alcohol. They were all more than happy to have this part of their assignment finally over. It felt good leaving the plane and walking on the tarmac to the terminal building, knowing they would not have to soon be flying again.

  Shortly after walking inside, they were approached by a man in civilian clothes. He extended his hand as he walked up to LaCroix. “You must be Frank Simmons.” When LaCroix nodded a confirmation, he introduced himself, “Vern Yelton, I’m from the War Department.”

  LaCroix shook his hand. “This is Jim Ferguson, also from the War Department. And I’d like to introduce you to Katherine Williams. She’s from the L.A. Times. We met on the flight over.” LaCroix’s voice was loud enough so that if anyone was listening they couldn’t miss their cover identities. “Would it be possible to drop her at her hotel? I hate to have her fool with a taxi, especially in a strange city and after the long day we’ve all had.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure. Let me help you with your bag, Miss Williams,” said Miller as he took Emma’s luggage. “I have my car parked just outside.”

  At the car Miller quickly stowed their bags in the trunk then opened the front passenger door for Emma. “Since we’ll be dropping you off first, why don’t you have a seat up front?”

  After the car pulled away, LaCroix asked Miller, “How did you know I was Frank Simmons?”

  “Colonel Wyman sent me a cable with your flight’s arrival time and a brief description of each of you. So when I saw two men with a woman, I figured you had to be who I was looking for. To be honest, I had a fifty-fifty chance. I picked you,” said Miller with a chuckle.

  “Well, you chose right. You don’t play the horses do you? If you do, I’m going with you,” said LaCroix.

  “No. I mean I have played them, but it isn’t something I do often. Do you?”

  “I practically grew up at the track. My uncle would take me to the Fair Grounds in New Orleans all the time. He taught me everything there was to know about picking horses. We would pick them together and he would place the bets for me. It was great being a youngster and coming home with a pocketful of money. On the way home we would always stop and have dinner in the Quarter. Later, we’d go by the French Market. The meats were always the best. Just something to take home to make my mother. But there’s more to it than trying to pick a winner. You have to look deeper to connect with it. Horseracing has been around in one form or another since before Biblical Times. It’s the sport of kings. There’s a certain mystic and romance about it.”

  “Henri, I didn’t know you were so philosophical,” said Emma.

  “In the highly technical world we live in, with cars, airplanes, telephones, and radio, it’s just refreshing to see the bond between man and animal still exists.”

  “The philosophical side is all well and good, but what’s the secret to winning?” asked Miller.

  LaCroix laughed, “It’s easy, you just have to know when to quit.”

  “There’s a track here in Calcutta,” Miller told him.

  “I’d love to see it, but something tells me there won’t be time.”

  It was late in the afternoon as Miller drove through the city, and the streets were crowded with cars, motorbikes, carts, and people. Horns blared as they all tried to gain a better position in the congestion. The air was thick with the smell of automobile exhaust and cooking fires. At the intersections, both vendors and children descended on the car, trying to sell their wares and look for a free rupee. After days of travel from the cold of Canada and Washington, D.C., visiting the village and crossing deser
ts, the initial sights of Calcutta were surrealistic to Emma.

  “The children are filthy,” she remarked, rolling up the window.

  “Just wave them off, Captain,” Miller told her. “You don’t have enough money to give them all something. I know it’s a shock at first and seems cruel, but believe me, you’ll get used to it. Just takes a while.”

  Forty-five minutes later Miller pulled into the driveway of a two-story house. It was surrounded by high walls, topped with razor wire and shards of broken glass embedded in the walls’ caps. Before getting out of the car to open a large steel gate, Miller told them, “Captain Blaine, uh, Captain Preston, and I searched all over Calcutta before we decided on this place. The neighbors are far enough away that they’re not going to know what’s going on. He liked it because it’s secure enough and has plenty of privacy.”

  After showing them the house and their rooms, Miller mixed them a drink and excused himself to the kitchen to make dinner.

  “I’ll help you,” offered Emma.

  “After the last couple of days you’ve had, Captain, just relax, you deserve it.”

  “I’d like to help. I know we’re all on the boarder of delirium, but I need to be doing something.” Emma took a quick inventory of the pantry and found it to be well stocked with an assortment of spices.

  Seeing a surprised expression on her face, Miller commented, “Captain Blaine did the cooking and took it quite seriously.”

  It wasn’t long before Miller joined Bunnel and LaCroix at the kitchen table, and Emma had completely taken over the cooking. Once she had familiarized herself with where everything was, Miller was amazed at the speed with which she prepared the meal. Occasionally, she offered him samples of what she was making. Each time he was impressed and whole-heartedly approved. A combination of aromas engulfed the kitchen. Emma was fixing a meal of basted chicken, glazed carrots in a brown sugar sauce, and potatoes sautéed in butter, garlic, and parsley. Bunnel finally told Miller she had studied cooking at some of the best schools in Paris.