A Mortal Terror

by James R Benn

  “Then what happened to Inzerillo?”

  “Flint’s game was not over. He told Landry that Inzerillo had beaten Ileana, so they both went to confront him.” “That was the story about going to pay for damages,” I said.

  “Yes. Landry demanded to see Ileana, but Inzerillo had already sent her off. Ileana later found out what had happened from one of the girls who had visited her. There was a fight, and that is when Flint beat Inzerillo and threatened to kill him. Apparently Landry managed to stop Flint, who had flown into a bloody rage. Inzerillo escaped, and Ileana’s friend heard Landry tell Flint that he would get him help, because he was a good friend and a good soldier. But that he needed help to control himself.”

  “That was his death sentence,” I said. “Landry got Galante to talk with Flint, to treat him off the books, as a favor. Landry knew something big was about to happen, and I’m sure he didn’t want to lose a good squad leader.”

  “Good?” Cosgrove said. “Hardly seems like a good solider.”

  “An armed man with no remorse. No hesitation, no second thoughts. No soul. He’ll never suffer shell shock, combat fatigue, whatever you call it. And a master manipulator to boot. Makes for an effective killer. Landry just didn’t understand who he was dealing with. He probably thought Galante could treat him with some pills and sack time.”

  “But why would Flint care what Galante said? He hadn’t murdered anyone yet, and the MPs wouldn’t get too worked up over a pimp with a bloody nose,” Big Mike said.

  “Because Galante understood what Flint really was, and wanted to treat him for it,” I guessed. “With all good intentions, he was going to take away the one thing that Flint valued above all else. War. He’s like an alkie, or a kleptomaniac, except that instead of booze or theft, he’s addicted to killing.”

  “So he kills this chap Galante, then the lieutenant, if I understand the sequence,” Cosgrove said. “But he uses the ruse of the playing cards to reverse the order, to throw off the investigation?”

  “Yes, and according to Doc Cassidy, this scheme then took on a life of its own in his mind. Since he failed to kill Harding, switching to a German opened things up for him. Best bet is that he’s going to try for an international royal flush.”

  “Everybody up to speed?” Harding asked as he joined the group.

  “I think so, except for how we’re going to pick up Flint.”

  “You know where his unit is?” Big Mike asked. “Let’s go put the cuffs on him.”

  “Hold on,” Harding said. “Boyle, you were with them this afternoon, and they’re not going anywhere tonight. I don’t want to risk approaching him in the dark. Some trigger-happy GI is likely to think we’re enemy infiltrators. Let him be, and we’ll go in at dawn, with a couple of supply trucks. It will look completely normal.”

  “Perhaps we could put this uniform to good use,” Cosgrove said. “Why not proceed with the plan? You said you already alerted division headquarters. What could be more normal than carrying on with the inspection? I imagine you’d like some actual proof, wouldn’t you?”

  “Listen, my kid brother is in Flint’s platoon. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I think Major Cosgrove is right,” Kaz said. “You may put Danny in greater danger by going after Flint directly. If he thinks he is about to be taken, he could try to harm Danny. But if we tempt him with our general, he might be vulnerable.”

  “That makes sense, Boyle,” Harding said. “If he has time to react when he sees you, he could take Danny and others down with him. But if he thinks he’s stalking a general, he might go at it alone.”

  “Why don’t I walk over and plug him?” Big Mike said. “He don’t know me from Adam. I’m just saying.”

  “All the same, my good man, I think we should proceed with some attempt at legal proceedings,” Cosgrove said. “Which will be more productive if we catch him in the act. All we can charge him with now, with any hope of conviction, is assault on this Ileana girl. There’s no evidence against him otherwise.”

  “Okay,” Harding said. “General Paget will inspect the battalion in the reserve area at 0700 hours. I’ll pass the word along so Flint will hear about it tonight. Boyle, you need to sit this one out. You’ll only spook him.”

  “I guess so. Sir.”

  “I still say I should plug him, Sam,” Big Mike said.

  “Thanks, Big Mike, but I’d rather see you keep those stripes,” Harding said. “I had the personnel section pull the files on Landry’s platoon, so you and Major Cosgrove can check Flint’s photograph, along with others.” Harding shoved a pile of folders toward Big Mike, leaving a stack behind. The dead.

  “Hey,” Big Mike said, opening Flint’s file and looking at the army photograph. “This is Flint?”

  “Yes,” Harding said. “Memorize the face.”

  “I don’t have to. I saw this guy down at the docks, when I was waiting for Kaz. He stood out because he ducked behind a truck, like he’d spotted someone he didn’t want to see.”

  “Was this guy with him?” I pulled Danny’s photograph from his file.

  “Didn’t see him.”

  “They were both sent down to the docks to pick up replacements. Danny should have been with him.”

  “Billy, there were hundreds of guys milling around. I could have missed him easy,” Big Mike said. He was right. It probably meant nothing. My gut told me otherwise.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I WATCHED THE small column leave at 0600, Big Mike at the wheel of a staff car and Cosgrove in back, the red stripe on his service cap proclaiming his general’s rank at a glance. A jeep full of MPs provided escort, nothing out of the ordinary for a VIP. Soon after that, Harding, Kearns, and Kaz drove out, an MP sergeant at the wheel. The plan was for them to hang back and observe, waiting for Flint to make his move.

  It was a good plan, and it made sense to leave me out of it. Still, I wished I could be there to keep Danny out of trouble. But if all went as planned, I’d have another shot at getting him transferred out, and I had to settle for that.

  Military police had set up shop in a municipal building near headquarters. They had coffee brewing and a good cellar in case of an air raid, so I waited there for news from Harding. The MPs had a radio in their vehicle, and would call in as soon as something happened.

  The Germans were shelling around the clock, not always a massive barrage, but enough to keep everyone awake and jumpy. Last night had been no exception, and between air-raid sirens, antiaircraft fire, and the Kraut artillery, I hadn’t slept much. I was pouring my second cup of joe when a clerk from HQ came in looking for me. I had mail. From Boston. It was over six weeks old, but I was amazed it had even caught up with me.

  It was from my mother, of course. Dad might scribble a line or two at the end, but it was always Mom who wrote. She caught me up on family news, cousins getting married, a new baby born to the neighbors, the onset of winter. Then she got to Danny. She had just heard about the ASTP program being cancelled, and was worried about him being sent overseas. Could I ask Uncle Ike about him? See that he got a job in London, perhaps? Stay safe, and watch out for your brother, she said. Both were tall orders in Anzio. Dad wrote about lots of overtime waiting for me at Boston PD, and I thought about all the cash I’d have if the army paid time and a half.

  I folded the letter and put it in my shirt pocket. As soon as I had Danny squared away, I’d write. I’d tell her he was safe and sound, doing some boring job at headquarters, sleeping inside under blankets. I hoped it would be true.

  I relaxed, listening to the familiar chatter of law enforcement. Gripes, complaints, calls coming in, cops going out. It was early, and with the Carabinieri policing the local populace, there wasn’t a lot going on. Until a major burst in to report his jeep stolen. He’d had a .30-caliber machine gun mounted on it, and he wanted it back, now. Never mind that it was pinched yesterday and he’d been too busy to report it, he wanted action now. A pudgy, red-faced guy, he was with the Quarterm
aster unit that off-loaded supplies in the harbor, and he cursed and hollered until he got an officer to listen to him. I watched the MPs as they turned away, rolling their eyes at the posturing of a supply officer who needed a machine gun on his jeep. I knew the type, and would bet dollars to doughnuts that he’d have a photograph of himself at the wheel, looking as if he were ready for a raid behind enemy lines. It struck me as strange that even while he was doing important work, in constant danger from German shells and bombs, a guy like him had to throw his weight around and try too hard to impress people.

  A couple of MPs donned their white helmets and followed the major out while another radioed units with a description and serial number of the jeep. Good luck with that one, boys, I thought. With a day’s head start, it could be anywhere, and I doubted any MP worth his salt would search front-line units for a stolen jeep, especially for this loudmouthed major.

  An hour passed, and then another. I asked the radioman for the tenth time if there were any messages, and he suggested I get some fresh air. He was a corporal, so he said it nicely, but I got the hint. I walked down to the water and watched landing craft ferry in supplies from Liberty Ships anchored in the bay. Antiaircraft guns pointed their barrels at the sky, swiveling back and forth as they searched for targets. A quiet morning at war, almost peaceful, if you didn’t think about all the weapons and rubble about. The water lapping at the rocks along the shore reminded me of Boston, down by the inner harbor. It could be peaceful there, too, until you spotted a dead body bobbing in the swell.

  I waited as long as I could, then decided that one of the benefits of being an officer was bothering radiomen whenever you wanted. As I walked up from the seafront, Big Mike pulled up in the staff car, followed by Harding and Kaz.

  “He wasn’t there, Billy,” Big Mike said. He sounded worried, more worried than he should’ve been. “He’s been gone since yesterday.”

  “Danny as well,” Kaz said, as he got out of the jeep. “Neither of them returned to the unit yesterday afternoon, after they drove to the harbor to get replacements.”

  I felt them all looking at me, waiting for a reaction. I didn’t know what to say, or, worse yet, what to do. Flint, loose somewhere in the Anzio beachhead, the sea at his back, the Germans all around, and Danny at his side. I tried not to think about the memory of that floater in Boston harbor as I tried to calculate what Flint’s game was.

  “Billy,” Kaz said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “What should we do?”

  “I wish I knew,” I said. We trooped inside, and the MPs stood to attention when Cosgrove entered in his general’s getup. He quickly waved them off. Harding spread out a map of the beachhead on a table, and marked the front lines with a red pencil.

  “The British are on our left flank,” he said, drawing an arc from the coast up to Compleone, a northward bulge showing where the British had been attacking toward Rome. In the center, the front was a wavy line from Corano to Sessano, south of Cisterna where the Rangers had been cut to pieces. “This is all Third Division, with supporting elements from the 504th Parachute Regiment.”

  “Who’s holding the right flank?” I asked, pointing to where the Mussolini Canal flowed south to the sea.

  “The First Special Service Force,” Harding said. “It’s a joint U.S.-Canadian volunteer outfit. A commando brigade.”

  “That’s a long stretch of canal for three regiments to cover,” Big Mike said.

  “German activity is sparse on that flank,” Kearns said. “They’re covering the approaches to Rome on the north. Besides, these Force men are damn aggressive. The Krauts pulled back a mile or more on the other side to avoid their patrols.”

  “Is there a general in command?” Kaz asked.

  “Yes, Brigadier General Robert Frederick, recently promoted. I doubt anyone could get the drop on him,” Kearns said. “Even without hundreds of his men around him, he’d be tough to take. A real fighting general.”

  “Boyle, what do you suggest?” Harding said.

  “Let’s have the MPs check the hospitals, in case they got caught in the bombing last night. And send out a bulletin with their names and description to every checkpoint. And to the Carabinieri as well.”

  “Billy, Flint may have got himself aboard one of the ships. He could be halfway to Naples by now,” Big Mike said.

  “Danny would never desert,” I said. “And if he hasn’t turned up, he’s still with Flint.”

  “Sure,” Big Mike said, turning his attention to the map, not saying what we all thought. Danny could be dead anywhere, his body hidden under rubble or weighed down and tossed in the harbor.

  “Okay, Boyle, I’ll get the MPs looking for two men, traveling by truck. I’ll contact Naples, and have MPs waiting there. If Flint gets off one of those ships, they’ll grab him,” Harding said. “Then we’ll organize another tour for our general.”

  “I’m sure it would be possible to board a ship in all the confusion at the docks,” Cosgrove said. “But staying hidden, and getting off safely in Naples? I doubt it.”

  “I agree,” Kaz said. “We need to think like this madman. What would he do?”

  “And why?” I said. “What does he want?”

  “To win the game,” Kaz said. “To get his general, fill the royal flush, and beat you, Billy.”

  “He has Danny,” I said. “I’m counting on him keeping him alive until he finds a general to take. Which means he has to have a story, something that would convince Danny to go along with him.”

  “So boarding a ship to Naples is out. But how many places are there to go within the beachhead?” Kaz said.

  “I don’t think he’d head for the British sector. A couple of Yanks would stand out. Back to the Third Division front? They’d be nabbed and sent back to their unit,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense, there’s nowhere to go. What does he hope to accomplish?”

  “Okay, we gotta slow down and think like detectives,” Big Mike said. That wasn’t hard for Big Mike; blue flowed in his veins. He still carried his shield from the Detroit Police Department wherever he went. “When’s the last time you saw Danny and Flint?”

  “Yesterday, mid-afternoon. I brought some supplies out to them; I was supposed to be leaving since we’d found the killer. We took some artillery fire, watched the Carabinieri haul off some Italians, had some chow, and then the company CO told Flint to go down to the docks to grab replacements. The ones for his platoon had been killed in the shelling. It was probably five o’clock by the time they got there.”

  “How was Flint acting? Like something tipped him off, maybe?” Big Mike said.

  “No, he played it cool. He’s not a guy who rattles easily.”

  “So something happened between there and the docks. Something that caused him to skip town with Danny.”

  “That was about the time I came ashore,” Kaz said. “Could he have seen me?”

  “What if he did? It wouldn’t mean anything to him,” Big Mike said.

  “Oh no,” I said, the sequence of events becoming clear in my mind. “I think I know what it was. Stump. The guy we supposedly had in custody as the killer. Doc Cassidy was going to transfer him to Naples with the wounded. Damn! I’ll check with Cassidy, but I bet Stump got on a ship yesterday afternoon.”

  “And Flint saw him, and knew the jig was up,” Big Mike said. “Then he comes up with a story that Danny will buy, and takes off to parts unknown.”

  “But there are no parts unknown here,” Kaz said, pointing at the map. “The beachhead is nothing more than an open-air prison, with the Germans guarding all sides.”

  “Maybe he’s planning a jailbreak,” Big Mike said. I stared at the map, trying to put myself in Flint’s shoes. “From what Cassidy said, he’s pretty committed to going through with this plan. But he also said psychopaths can be impulsive, so it makes sense that he changed course so quickly.”

  “If he’s like most hoodlums, he’ll have a new set of wheels in no time,” Big Mike said.

  “There
was a major from the Quartermaster Corps in here earlier. His jeep was stolen yesterday, down by the docks,” I said. It fit perfectly. “Big Mike, check with the officer in charge, and find out the time it was taken. If it was around 1600 hours, it was probably Flint. Tell them to approach with caution, that we want the driver and passenger taken alive. There’s a mounted .30-caliber machine gun on that jeep, and I don’t want any itchy trigger fingers with Danny on board.”

  “Sure thing, Billy.”

  “What should we do next?” Kaz asked. I gazed at the map. The right flank, lightly guarded, lightly defended. A wide gap between the Germans and the First Special Service Force. That had to be it.

  “We have to tempt him,” I said, looking at Cosgrove. “We have to let him think he has a chance to pull it all off. And we have to take him before he does any of it.” Once, I might not have cared if Cosgrove got himself killed, but familiarity had bred admiration, so I wanted to be reasonably certain he didn’t end up being a victim. Most of all, I wanted Danny out of Flint’s clutches. Trouble was, Flint knew that, and would use it against me.

  “Billy, the time checks out,” Big Mike said, returning to the table. “The jeep was last seen at 1530 hours. That major left it there for his corporal to pick up, but when the corporal got there, he thought the major had kept it. That’s why it wasn’t reported right away.”

  “Okay. They sending it out?”

  “Yep, radioing it now to all units, and sending a message to the Carabinieri like you asked. And here’s the good news. The major gave them the serial number, VI-37Q-DP-4. The Q identifies it as a Quartermaster vehicle, and the DP means from the Depot Company. It ought to be pretty easy to spot a Quartermaster’s jeep with a .30 mounted on it.”

  “Good work. Now let’s catch up with Harding and get this thing rolling.” The army believed in doing things big, so each vehicle had its serial number stenciled in white paint on the front bumper. If the MPs kept their eyes open, and Flint stayed on the roads, it was only a matter of time. Big if.