To Run With the Swift

by Gerald N. Lund

  I nearly bowled him over as I threw myself into his arms. Mom came in right behind me, with Cody on her heels.

  Poor Rick. He never knew what hit him.

  CHAPTER 26

  Clay finally came in to break us up, probably because he was afraid that Rick might suffocate under the combined weight of our family. “Look, guys,” he said, “wish I could stay and enjoy the reunion, but my team has a meeting with Interpol in less than an hour, so I’m taking off. We’re setting up our operations here in Paris to begin with. You have my mobile number. I’ll keep in touch.”

  He moved up to Rick, arms extended. They hugged, and Clay patted his back. “I think you can tell from the reaction you’re getting that you did the right thing.”

  “I know,” Rick said.

  “With you gone, we really don’t see any threat to your family, but we’re going to put them under surveillance for a while, just to make sure.”

  “Thanks, Clay.” They separated and shook hands. Clay then shook our hands. “I’ll call you tonight. Mack’s given me the number of your hotel in Caen.” And then he was gone.

  Mom had us all sit down, with Rick in the center and me beside him—of course. “All right,” she said. “As you can tell, you’ve pretty much knocked all of us off our feet. So tell us how you have come to be here.”

  Rick was still grinning; he was obviously still getting used to the idea too. “Well, Clay called me early yesterday morning to tell me about Doc and Jean-Claude getting out of prison. He said he didn’t think there was any direct threat to me or my family, but he just wanted me to know. But even as he was talking, suddenly I had the strongest feeling that I had to go to France and I had to go now.”

  “Just like that?” I said, still holding his hand.

  “Yeah, and what was really weird, when I hung up, before I could tell Dad what Clay had said, he gave me this funny look and said, ‘Rick, you need to be with the McAllisters.’”

  “Really?” Mom said.

  “Cool,” Cody exclaimed.

  “Yeah. I mean, he was adamant. He said I had to go right away. So I called Clay back, grabbed a suitcase, and was in Salt Lake City by that afternoon. He and Joel had gone ahead and finished getting me the passport, so when I arrived in Washington, Clay was there at the airport with his team. I ran to the bathroom, washed my face, and then I was on a jet to Paris.” He reached up and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m still a little dazed by it all.”

  “We are so glad, Rick,” Mom said. “So happy you’re here.”

  “I think ecstatic might be a better word,” Grandpère said. “Eh, Danni?”

  “You have no idea,” I whispered, suddenly feeling that stupid old lump in my throat again.

  “How long do you get to stay?” Cody asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “And you’d better not say just a day or two.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I go back home when you guys go back home.”

  Snuggling in against him, I said, “Good answer, Ramirez. In fact, that’s the perfect answer.”

  Normally, according to Juliette, getting out of Paris with morning traffic could take as much as an hour and a half longer than normal. But by the time we got back down to the dining room, introduced Rick to Juliette, got the box lunches—including an additional one for Rick—checked out, loaded the van, and finally got under way, it was nearly ten. Traffic had thinned out.

  Juliette seemed genuinely pleased to meet Rick. And why not? She had surely heard nothing but glowing reports about him from us. In the van, Dad drove with Mom beside him, Grandpère and Juliette were in the middle seat, and Rick, Cody, and I were in the third seat. Our luggage filled the back of the van clear up to the ceiling.

  For the first half hour or so, Juliette half turned in her seat and peppered Rick with questions, giving me hardly any chance to talk with him. Then Cody, with his usual machine-gun style of conversation, picked up from there, talking about all that we had done in France and asking a hundred questions about things back home.

  So I had virtually no chance to talk to Rick. But that was all right. He was beside me and he never let go of my hand—his choice—and he had his other arm around me, so everything was good. I knew we likely wouldn’t be alone anytime this day, but that gave me plenty of time to plan out what I was going to say when we finally did get some time together. And that was a lot.

  Outside, I watched mile after mile of green fields and hedgerows and tiny villages and small towns roll by. The sky was overcast—typical for this time of year—but the weather didn’t seem to be threatening yet. I saw out of the corner of my eye that Rick was looking out the window too, so I nudged him. “What do you think?”

  He shook his head. “I have to keep telling myself. ‘This is France. You’re driving through France.’ Sorry, but that’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “It’s wonderful. You’re going to love Le Petit Château. It’s got the cutest little village nearby, and woods and meadows.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Oh, Rick,” I whispered, “I am so glad you’re here.”

  He squeezed my hand. “So am I, Danni.”

  “You must be exhausted. Did you sleep on the plane at all?”

  He flashed me a big grin. “Are you kidding? No way.”

  He started to say something, but just then Grandpère turned around and looked at me. “You have the pouch with you. Right?”

  A little surprised, I nodded. “It’s in my suitcase.”

  “Good.”

  Juliette gave him a strange look. “Why this strange obsession with that old purse?”

  That was worthy of another Gallic shrug, with no accompanying comment.

  We all fell silent, but then Grandpère turned and looked at Juliette. “I have a question.”

  “Oui?”

  “How much farther would it be if we were to visit Dunkirk after we’ve done Normandy?”

  For a moment she was confused. “Dunkirk? But Jean-Henri, Dunkirk is in Belgium, far to the east of Normandy.”

  He smiled. “I am aware of that. I’m just wondering how much of a side trip it would be if we went there on the way home.”

  “What’s at Dunkirk?” Cody asked.

  Dad answered. “It’s one of the most famous sites of World War II. It’s where nearly all the British Army—about 300,000 troops—were trapped when the Germans overran Holland, Belgium, and France early in the war.”

  “Actually,” Grandpère said, “it was closer to 340,000 men, including many French troops.”

  Dad glanced back at Juliette. “Dunkirk isn’t that far into Belgium, is it?”

  “No. It is only about twenty or thirty kilometers north of Calais. But it is in the opposite direction from how we would go home. It would add five hours or more.”

  “Is Dunkirk that important to you, Dad?” Mom asked.

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to see it.”

  Mom, who obviously knew the story well, looked back at us kids. “It was a pivotal point not only in World War II but in world history as well. In one of the most controversial orders of the war, Hitler ordered his armies to stop for nine days rather than pursue their military advantage. They had the Allies on their knees. But that delay gave England the chance to rally a massive rescue effort. Boats of every kind—from navy ships to small fishing boats—raced across the English Channel and ferried the troops back to England over a period of several days. Many people called it a miracle.”

  “It was a miracle,” Grandpère said. “The Germans could have virtually destroyed England’s ability to resist and ended the war right then. It was a colossal blunder by the Third Reich. Had they pressed their advantage, the British Isles might be speaking German today.”

  To my surprise, a look of irritation flashed across Juliette’s face. “It wasn’t a blunder. It was a marvelous concession on Hitler’s
part. He always had a great respect for the British people, partly because he considered them to be another branch of the Aryan peoples, the master race. He was greatly disappointed when England declared war on Germany. So when he had England on the ropes, he ordered his army to halt. He knew he couldn’t persuade England to join Germany in the war, but he hoped that they would at least stop resisting Germany’s efforts to conquer Europe and purify the Aryan race.”

  Grandpère politely cleared his throat. “Sorry to correct you, Juliette. What you say is a common misconception, later fostered by the German propaganda ministry, but it is simply not true. In point of fact, the decision was not made by Hitler, but by his two senior commanders, Generals von Rundstedt and von Kluge. They wanted to stop long enough to consolidate their victories and prevent a possible Allied breakout from their encircling armies. Hitler later sanctioned the order, but it did not originate with him. And it had very little to do with sparing the English Aryans in order to soften Churchill’s heart.”

  Mom made as if to speak, but Juliette was quicker. And when she spoke, her voice had taken on a slight edge. “Not so. Remember, Jean-Henri, I am from England. I think I know our history.”

  Dad chuckled. “Sorry, but with World War II history, I think I’ll side with Jean-Henri.”

  Suddenly she was bristling. “There is an old adage that says, ‘The victors write the history.’ I know it has become popular to demonize Adolf Hitler because of what he did to the Jews, but he was a political and military genius. I did my doctoral dissertation on the economy of Germany between World War I and II.”

  I caught Mother’s eye. Juliette had a doctoral degree? She had never given any hint of that. But we were both puzzled by this sudden confrontation going on between her and Grandpère. I guessed that Juliette was not used to being contradicted, especially not in front of others. But, surprisingly, any sign of Grandpère’s usual graciousness was also gone.

  “In the early twenties,” she continued, “hyperinflation was rampant in Germany. The government was printing money so fast that its value dropped like a rock. By 1923, to eat breakfast in a restaurant could cost you as much as three trillion marks. That’s trillion! A man could sell his farm for a good price on Monday and by Saturday not be able to buy more than a suit of clothes with the proceeds. A common saying of that time was, ‘We used to go to the market with our pockets full of money and return with our wheelbarrows full of food. Now we go with wheelbarrows full of money, and return with pockets full of food.’”

  Wow! I had never heard the word hyperinflation before, and what she was describing seemed like an exaggeration. But Grandpère was nodding in agreement.

  She went on. “There was vast unemployment. The German people were in deep despair. And that is how Hitler came to power. He not only halted the inflation and put people back to work, but he restored Germany’s national pride. As I say, he was a political and a military genius. He would never have made such a ‘colossal blunder,’ as you call it, Jean-Henri. He was brilliant. This is why the German people elected him as their leader and followed him in his efforts to restore Germany to her former glory.”

  She sat back, her chest rising and falling as she glared at Grandpère, daring him to further contradict her. The rest of us just sat there, pretty well stunned by this passionate outburst. Not Grandpère, however. He was watching her steadily, his face expressionless.

  Seeing she was finished, he countered, “All of what you say is true, Juliette. Hitler was highly popular with the people, but that was because in those early stages, they didn’t yet know about the death squads. They didn’t know about people being torn from their homes in the dead of night and being shot without a trial of any kind. They didn’t know about the labor camps, the political assassinations, the rewriting of German constitutional law, the euthanasia of the mentally ill or mentally handicapped or any other ‘undesirables.’ Nor of the disenfranchisement of whole segments of the German citizenry, such as the gypsies and the Jews.”

  He was breathing pretty hard when he finished too. They sat glaring at each other. The atmosphere in the van had become very tense.

  “Whoa,” Mom broke in. “Time out. Maybe it’s best if we change the subject.” She shot a warning look at Grandpère. “I believe the question at hand was, how much longer would it take us to go back to Le Petit Château via Dunkirk? Let’s get back to that, shall we?”

  Juliette sniffed haughtily. “It is a mistake to go to Dunkirk. There is nothing to see there. Only a large, empty beach. It is not worth the time.”

  Grandpère said nothing. He just continued watching her, his expression thoughtful now.

  Mom, trying to be the arbitrator here, intervened. “Dad? We’re doing this whole trip for you. What do you say?”

  He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving Juliette’s. “I agree,” he finally said.

  “You do?” I exclaimed in surprise.

  “You do?” Juliette said.

  “I do,” he said dryly. “I agree that Dunkirk is to the east, and that Normandy is to the west.” Her head snapped up, but he went on smoothly. “And I also agree that perhaps now is not the best time to make such a wide detour, especially if there is a snowstorm coming. So, as important as Dunkirk is to English-speaking peoples everywhere, I say we do it another time.”

  “And I agree with his agreement,” Juliette said, trying to lighten the mood, but clearly enjoying her triumph. Then she looked around at the rest of us and smiled. “I apologize for letting my emotions get the better of me. It was a very long day yesterday, and I am still quite tired.” She touched her abdomen. “And I have a bit of an upset stomach. Something I ate at breakfast, I suppose.” Finally, she looked at Grandpère. “I apologize, Jean-Henri. I didn’t mean to sound so testy.”

  “Nor did I,” he answered graciously.

  Sensing a chance to change the subject, Dad glanced back. “We’re just about thirty miles from Caen. I have a suggestion. Rather than eating our lunches on the road, why don’t we stop at the hotel? I’m sure it’s too early to get into our rooms, but I think we could leave our luggage there, which would give us more room in the van. And perhaps they would let us use a room where we could eat our lunch.”

  “That would be much easier than eating our lunches on our laps,” Mom said, obviously relieved to be onto a less explosive subject.

  Dad turned out to be wrong. This was the off season and not a weekend. The hotel said we could check into our rooms immediately, and they offered a small private dining room for us to eat in. That was good. Nobody had mentioned taking a potty break, but I think all of us were thinking of it.

  As we started for our rooms, Dad said, “Let’s try to be down in the dining room in ten minutes. The staff will bring our bags up while we’re eating. We need to be on our way pretty quickly because it gets dark so early now.”

  I don’t know if the desk clerk thought Grandpère and Juliette were an item, but he put them in adjacent rooms and us down at the other end of the hall.

  As we reached our rooms and started trying our keys, I lowered my voice and asked, “Wow! What just happened in the car?”

  Mom shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Was she actually defending Hitler?” Rick asked.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Dad responded. “I think she was only trying to make the point that Hitler was too smart to give a stupid order like that.”

  “I don’t know,” Cody said. “Sounded to me like she thought Hitler was really something.” He paused, then said, “Do you think she’s really got an upset stomach?”

  Mom nodded. “Oh, yes. The question is, was it breakfast or Grandpère who brought it on?”

  Chuckling, we opened our doors and started into our rooms. I looked at Rick just before he entered. “Don’t lie down, Buddy, or you’re a goner.”

  He yawned a mighty yawn. “That’s for sure. I
’m honked out of my zed.”

  I laughed. “I think ‘zonked out of your head’ makes a little more sense.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Right. You can sleep in the car. Just don’t do it now.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, Colleville-sur-Mer

  “Omigosh!” My hand shot out and grabbed Rick’s upper arm, my fingers digging into the flesh.

  He jumped about a foot, his head snapping up and looking around wildly. “What? What is it?”

  Everyone else in the van turned around to look at us. I was instantly contrite. “Sorry, Rick,” I said in a low voice. “I didn’t know you were asleep. I’m sorry.”

  Gradually he came back to reality. “Where are we?” He was obviously still a little spaced.

  “We’re just coming up on the cemetery and memorial,” I said, waving to the others that everything was all right. “We’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “Oh.” He straightened and gave his head a quick little shake. “Thanks for waking me up.”

  “You’re welcome,” I sang out. Then I leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Actually, that wasn’t it. I just remembered something bad.”

  “Oh?” He was fast coming fully awake. “What?”

  “Shhh!” I lowered my voice even more. “I just realized that I left Le Gardien in my suitcase in my room. We were hurrying and I totally forgot about it.”

  “Oh, boy,” he whispered back. “Your grandfather’s not going to like that.”

  “Are you kidding?” I hissed. “He’s gonna kill me.”

  “No, he’s not going to kill you.”

  “All right, Mr. Literal. But when he’s done, I’m gonna wish I was dead.”

  He nodded. “Now, that’s very possible.”

  “You can’t tell him, Rick. Hopefully, he’ll think it’s under my parka. When we get back tonight, I promise I’ll sleep with it tied around my neck.”