Ashes Of America

by Fergus McNeill

  Dulles snorted.

  ‘The British people might not like it, but Churchill is secretly delighted.’ He paused and looked up. ‘It was his idea, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ Frank said, surprised.

  ‘Oh yes, Roosevelt wouldn’t back the plan because he always wanted to keep Stalin sweet, but Truman is a very different man, and a very different president. After Yalta, when it became clear what the Russians were intending… well, Churchill’s a clever man, and he chose his moment perfectly.’

  Dulles appeared to have warmed up now. He spoke at length on a subject he was clearly comfortable with, and Frank listened eagerly.

  It was easier to discuss a war that was far away, than to talk about what had happened right here in Bern.

  ‘Anyway, there you have it,’ Dulles concluded. He lifted his pipe to his mouth, then seemed to remember where he was and grudgingly lowered it again. ‘As you can imagine, it's going to mean some big changes – a major restructuring, in fact – so I thought I should pay you a last visit before things get any busier.’

  Frank looked at him sharply.

  ‘Last visit?’

  Dulles gave him a wry smile.

  ‘You’re very attentive,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ll be leaving Bern for a new post in the next few days.’

  It was clear that he didn’t intend to discuss the matter in any detail, but Frank’s mind flickered back to his conversations with Rafe.

  ‘Berlin, right?’ he said.

  Dulles peered at him thoughtfully.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

  Frank shook his head.

  ‘Just some talk around the office,’ he said, keeping his answer deliberately vague.

  Dulles frowned.

  ‘I see. Not much of a secret now then, I suppose.’

  Frank smiled to himself.

  ‘The office will be quiet…’ He trailed off.

  Quiet without Dulles, without Jean… and without Molly.

  Perched on his chair, Dulles zipped his tobacco pouch shut and took a moment to push it firmly down into his pocket.

  ‘There isn’t going to be a Bern office,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what I came to tell you.’

  Frank stared at him.

  ‘You’re taking me to Berlin?’ he asked, sitting up. The idea excited him – a fresh start, away from everything he’d ever known, a chance to lose himself in something that really mattered.

  But Dulles was shaking his head.

  ‘Things are changing,’ he said. ‘What with the German surrender, and the Russian situation…’

  Frank hesitated, then frowned.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he said.

  Dulles sighed.

  ‘I think we’ve asked enough of you for now,’ he said, eyeing Frank’s injured leg. ‘Quite enough.’

  ‘But…’ Frank looked at him helplessly. ‘What will I do?’

  ‘You’re done,’ Dulles told him gently. ‘I’ve made some calls and it’s all taken care of; as soon as you’re well enough, the embassy will arrange for your passage back to the States.’

  Frank slumped back heavily onto his elbows.

  ‘You're washing me out?’

  Dulles shook his head firmly.

  ‘No, I’m just being pragmatic.’ He took a deep breath, then continued. ‘The war will soon be over, but you’ll need time to heal. You can’t go back to your old infantry unit, and there’s nothing for you here. Go back to Missouri, son. Go home.’

  Frank stared at him, then nodded thoughtfully.

  Home. There was nothing for him there either.

  ‘Is that an order?’ he asked, then added, ‘Sir?’

  Dulles got slowly to his feet and stood by the bedside, gazing down at Frank.

  ‘Call it sound medical advice.’

  He extended his hand and waited. After a moment, Frank reached out and shook it.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you, Mr Rye,’ Dulles said.

  Frank looked up at him, then gave a reluctant nod.

  ‘Good luck, sir.’

  Dulles smiled, then turned and walked briskly away.

  Fall, 1953

  Jackson County, Missouri

  44

  The road climbed steadily, a smooth ribbon of blacktop sweeping up the hill in a series of long, lazy curves. Trees pressed in on either side of them now, unending walls of red-golden leaves that offered brief glimpses of the grey Chrysler up ahead before the next bend hid it from view.

  Frank drove with one hand on the wheel, keeping as much distance between them as he could. They hadn’t passed any other vehicles since they turned off the main road, and he couldn’t afford for Ellis to notice them.

  Better to lose him than be seen, especially as the girl seemed to know where they were going.

  He glanced over at Faye, her head resting against the window glass, blank eyes staring out at nothing. She hadn’t said a word in almost ten minutes.

  ‘So...’ he began. ‘You gonna tell me about this place?’

  For a while, she didn’t speak. Then, she shifted in her seat, raising her chin slightly.

  ‘It’s a big lake surrounded by trees, way out in the middle of nowhere,’ she said, her voice distant. ‘One of the Kansas City bosses had a house, right down on the shore. I went there, just one time… and we passed that gas station, the one with the yellow ribbon tied round the pole? I remember looking up at it and wondering who they’d put it there for. Someone from the war, probably. Whoever it was, I guess they never came home…’

  She trailed off. Frank’s eyes flickered briefly to her then back to the road.

  ‘Who lives at the house?’ he prompted her.

  ‘I don’t think anyone lives there,’ she replied. ‘Not full-time, anyway. It’s just a place they have, for fishing and… you know… entertaining important people.’

  Frank allowed himself a wry smile.

  A country retreat for the Mob.

  ‘How come you were out there?’ he asked.

  Faye fell silent again. She turned her head away and stared out of the window.

  Entertaining important people.

  Frank sighed as it dawned on him what she’d meant.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Faye managed a small shrug but her cheeks were flushed red.

  The road crested the top of a rise and swept around to the right, then dipped down into a hollow, snaking back and forth through tight, tree-lined curves.

  Frank snatched another quick look at Faye.

  ‘Well, at least we have an idea where Ellis is headed,’ he said, trying to shift the conversation onto safer ground. ‘And the bastard wouldn’t come all this way without a reason. My guess is, he needs to meet up with whoever it is he’s working for.’

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and frowned.

  That was someone he wanted to meet too.

  They were descending now, the line of the road dropping away before them. The trees here were taller, older, and the sky became a narrow strip of light as branches and foliage reached over to enclose them in shadow. Rounding a bend, they could see that the road ahead angled away sharply to the right, while a dirt trail continued straight on, sloping down to disappear among the trees.

  ‘Slow down a minute.’ Faye sat up in her seat, pointing towards the start of the trail. ‘There… I think that’s it.’

  Frank stepped on the brakes, bringing the car to a gentle halt. He leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering out through the trees, but there was no sign of the Chrysler now, nothing to indicate if this was the right place.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  Faye hesitated.

  ‘No, but… oh, I don’t know.’

  Letting the engine idle, Frank studied her expression, then nodded grimly.

  Something had jarred her memory. And just because she couldn’t say what that was, it didn’t mean she was wrong.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, indicating the tur
n-off. ‘Is the house far from the road?’

  Faye shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘Why?’

  Frank paused, frowning to himself.

  ‘Well, we don’t want to blunder into Ellis, or whoever he's working for, and that trail doesn’t look wide enough for me to turn around easily.’ He glanced across at her. ‘Maybe it’s best if we find someplace to ditch the car, then walk down to the house.’

  Faye’s expression was nervous, but she nodded quickly.

  ‘Okay.’

  Frank lifted his foot and allowed the car to creep forward again. They rolled past the turn-off and pulled slowly around the bend.

  ‘What can you tell me about the place itself?’ he asked. ‘Is it walled in? Are there fences, anything like that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, frowning. ‘But I remember a little grassy slope that led down to a jetty, and a long shore that curved away into the distance.’

  Frank considered this.

  ‘Okay then,’ he said to himself. ‘So I guess I just need to find a way down to the water, then follow the shoreline back to the house.’

  He drove on slowly, peering out between the trees, then pointed.

  ‘There! Is that the lake?’

  ‘I think so. Yes, it is.’

  Frank slowed the car to a crawl, then carefully bumped the wheels down onto the patchy grass at the side of the road. Switching off the engine, he took a deep breath, then twisted round in his seat to look at Faye.

  ‘This is liable to get ugly,’ he warned her. ‘I really think you’d be better off staying here.’

  Faye held his gaze without blinking, an expression of cold determination on her face.

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Her eyes challenged him to refuse, and he looked away.

  ‘Your choice,’ he sighed.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Frank got out and stood for a moment, listening to the forest. The air beneath the trees was cool and still, rich with the scent of decaying leaves. He took his gun out and checked it one more time, wincing at the sharp metallic snap as he pulled the slide back.

  He glanced over at Faye, standing on the other side of the Oldsmobile, her eyes on the trees, large and watchful.

  ‘Ready?’ he said softly.

  For a moment, he thought she hadn’t heard him, then she gave a slight nod.

  ‘Ready.’

  They left the road and started to pick their way down the uneven, forested slope. Some distance below them, Frank could just make out the early evening light reflecting off the water, but their progress was slow, particularly where the ground fell away more steeply. Faye matched his pace, but the carpet of fallen leaves made it difficult to find any sure footing and, despite their efforts, it was impossible to move silently.

  Halfway down the slope Frank paused, lifting a hand and motioning her to stop so he could listen, but there was nothing, just the faint sigh of a breeze in the branches above them. His eyes swept left and right, searching between the trees…

  …like that night at the ski lodge near the Swiss border, when he’d almost lost Rafe.

  He turned back to Faye, standing absolutely still a few feet behind him, her face alert and anxious. She looked so small among the towering trees.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ he told her.

  They continued their descent. Eventually the ground leveled off, and they emerged from the shadow of the trees to step out beneath a vast open sky. The light was just beginning to fail, and the first dark clouds of evening were drawing in from the eastern horizon.

  Cautiously, Frank walked out onto the rough grass, glancing left and right, before beckoning Faye to follow him. Together, they made their way down to the stony shore and gazed out over the broad expanse of the lake. The surface was calm, maybe half a mile across to the far side, where rolling hills rose from a dark line of trees. Gentle waves lapped and gurgled against a large shelf of rock that extended out into the water.

  ‘Quite a view,’ Frank said softly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Faye nodded, but her eyes were staring along the shore to their left.

  Towards the house.

  Frank came over to stand beside her.

  ‘Let’s go take a look at the place,’ he said.

  They made their way back up to the strip of ground that separated the forest and the lake, and followed its course along the meandering shoreline. Here and there, the trees came right down to the water’s edge, but they were always able to pick their way through, and the grass allowed them to move more quickly and quietly.

  Before long, they rounded a bend where a ridge pushed further into the lake and, looking ahead, Frank made out a long straight line that stretched from the shore.

  That must be the jetty.

  His eyes flickered to the trees behind it and there, on a gentle grassy slope, he finally saw the house. It was a modern, timber-frame construction, two stories tall with a sloping roof. A broad balcony looked out over the lake, supported on wooden stilts above the incline.

  He turned to alert Faye, but she’d already halted mid-step, bad memories visible in her eyes as she stared towards the house.

  ‘Let’s get back under cover,’ he told her. ‘We don’t want to be seen out here.’

  She remained still for a moment longer, then wordlessly turned and followed him into the trees.

  The shoreline curved round towards the jetty but Frank took them deeper into the forest, picking his way back up the wooded slope so that they could approach the house from the side, where there were fewer windows.

  It was beginning to get darker now, especially here under the canopy of branches, and it took them some time to reach it, but eventually they crested a shallow rise that overlooked the front corner of the building, and the open clearing beside it.

  Frank motioned Faye to get down, and they both dropped to their knees, peering out from behind the barrel trunk of a gnarled old tree.

  ‘There.’ Frank pointed at the broad gravel area where the dirt trail emerged from the trees. There were three cars parked there: a sleek blue Cadillac convertible, a brown Chevy, and the familiar grey Chrysler.

  ‘So his car’s down there.’ Faye shrugged. ‘So what? We already knew this was the place.’

  Frank looked across at her then gently shook his head.

  ‘There’s three cars down there.’

  ‘So?’ she said, frowning.

  ‘So we need to know how many people we’re dealing with here.’ Frank turned back to study the cars. ‘The grey one is Ellis, and I’m guessing the Cadillac belongs to whoever he’s working for. But the third one? That could mean three or four extra guys.’

  He reached inside his jacket and carefully withdrew the .45, weighing it in his hand for a moment.

  ‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ he muttered.

  45

  A breath of wind created a faint rustling in the leaves of distant trees, like the stirring of some ancient spirit. They could hear it approaching from down by the lake, growing nearer until it seemed to pass right over them. Faye gazed up nervously into the branches above them, then turned to Frank.

  ‘So?’ she asked. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I'm working on it.’ He had squatted down low, still staring at the three cars outside the house.

  Had he really come this far only to find himself outgunned?

  ‘We need to do something,’ Faye pressed him. ‘It'll be getting dark soon.’

  Frank nodded unhappily.

  ‘I really want to go in there and find Ellis’ boss, but it’s too risky without knowing who else is with him.’ He paused, then stared along the trail that led back to the road. ‘I guess we could wait until Ellis leaves, but even then…’

  Faye looked appalled.

  ‘You aren’t going to let Ellis go, are you?’ she gasped.

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Frank scowled. ‘But there’s only two of us against w
ho knows how many. We can’t just walk in there and hope they all surrender.’

  Beside him, Faye frowned.

  ‘Couldn’t you just get Ellis as he comes out?’

  Frank looked down at the .45 in his hand and wished he’d brought his suppressor. Without it, the noise would be too much.

  ‘This thing isn't quiet,’ he told her. ‘If I pull the trigger out here, everyone in the house will know about it.’

  Faye frowned, then slumped against the tree in frustration.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re just going to let him drive out of here,’ she muttered. ‘There must be some way to stop him. What if you let the air out of his tires or something?’

  ‘But that would just keep them all together.’ He paused, staring down the car, thinking. Something that Groth had told him, a late-night story in the Bierkeller. ‘Unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’ Faye asked.

  Frank turned to her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he whispered. ‘Stay here and keep out of sight.’

  He crept down the slope, moving from one tree to another, pausing now and then to listen. His own footsteps seemed terribly loud, crunching through the fallen leaves, but as he drew closer he thought he could make out music coming from the house.

  Good.

  Reaching the last tree before the grass gave way to gravel, he paused to compose himself, then took off at a crouching run, quickly covering the ground and ducking down at the side of the grey Chrysler.

  Taking a breath, he listened again, but there were no voices, no sounds of alarm, just the music. Was that Sinatra? Cautiously, he lifted his head and peered through the car interior towards the house. From this angle he was relatively well shielded; none of the windows looked this way.

  His luck seemed to be holding… so far.

  Steeling himself, he edged around to the back of the Chrysler, feeling for the trunk release button with his fingers and pressing it until it clicked. Easing the trunk open just a little, he peered inside.

  Yeah, there it was.

  Reaching in, he located the long metal lug wrench and drew it out, then carefully eased the trunk lid down again until it clicked shut. With another anxious glance towards the house, he moved back around to crouch by the rear wheel. Using the flat end of the wrench, he managed to pry off the chrome hub cap, remembering just in time to catch it so it wouldn’t clatter on the gravel. Then, flipping the wrench around, he set to work undoing the lug nuts.