by James R Benn
Diana didn't look at me. She chambered the last round and closed the cylinder. I touched her shoulder and she flinched.
"Sorry," I said. "Are you all right?"
"I'm glad you're alive." She reached up and touched my arm, to be sure I was real. Her hand didn't linger. As if she couldn't wait to trade the feel of flesh for steel, it closed around her other hand which held the revolver.
"What now?" she said.
"Watch him for a minute. We have friends outside."
I went into the courtyard, saw Banville on foot at the entrance, and the others waving from the jeep. I waved back and they drove in, parking in front of the barracks. I heard muffled shouting, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
"Is there a basement in this building?" I shouted to Diana.
"Yes, I'll show you, if you find someone else to watch Mathenet."
I told Duxbury to guard our prisoner. I thought he was faking now, waiting for us to leave him alone. Rodney stayed on the.30 caliber, Harry with him in the jeep, complaining about his leg. Banville came with Diana and me.
"Anything we can do to help you, Miss?" he asked Diana, trying to take her arm, as if she were crippled. She jerked it away from him, giving him a startled look, her eyebrows raised in a question.
"Help me get these men out; they've been down in the cellar for two days." She led us into the other room of the barracks, where the SOL men had been posted and pointed to a trapdoor closed by an iron padlock, attached to a ring on the floor. We could hear pounding and yelling more clearly now.
"Who are they?" Banville asked.
"Twelve men from this post," Diana said quickly. "The others were called away on some pretext, then Villard and his men took over. I think he still has the key."
"Stand back," Banville said. He took out his Webley revolver and aimed at the lock. The first round dented it, the second shattered it. He lifted the door.
French soldiers poured up from their underground prison, shielding their eyes from the light. Carefully, they hoisted up their captain. His face was bruised, his uniform tunic stained with blood. They helped him to a chair. He issued orders. I couldn't understand what he said, but I could tell they were commands by his tone of voice and the way his men jumped to. Most scurried off, while one man brought him water. He drank and only then seemed to notice us.
"Americans?" he asked.
"American and British, sir. Can you tell me what happened here?"
"My name is Captain Victor Gauthier, and what happened here is a crime."
"What exactly do you mean, sir?" I asked. One man's crime may be another man's natural exuberance.
"My men and I were ready to welcome the Allies and join the fight against the Germans. We are not among those who believe in collaborating with our enemy. When that Gardes Mobiles officer came here with his orders, we had to obey, to give him food and supplies, to house his prisoners. Orders from Headquarters," he said, almost spitting out the word.
"Signed by Captain Bessette," I added.
"Yes, how did you know?" He looked up, surprised.
"There's no shortage of crime here, Captain, in your army or mine."
"I refused to obey his orders when I saw his treatment of his prisoners," Gauthier said.
I tensed, wondering what he had seen. I watched Diana. She was seated, her expression blank.
"What treatment?" I asked.
"He is a criminal, a corrupt policeman and-contrebandier- smuggler, yes?"
I nodded. He had Villard pegged.
"Villard used some of my men, whom he took prisoner, to move supplies he has stolen to an outpost in the desert. From there, he makes contact with the Germans, or Arab caravans that buy from him and take the goods to Dakar."
"Where is this outpost?"
"That I do not know," said Gauthier, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Villard thought I did and had me beaten. Then he threw me, with my remaining men, into the basement storeroom. I think they would have killed us-left us to starve or suffocate-if you had not come."
"Thank you, Captain," I said. "Allied forces landed at the harbor in Bône this morning. We'll be glad of your support." I tried to sound like Major Harding. He was good at this diplomatic stuff.
We left Gauthier in the care of his men and walked back to see Mathenet. He was sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands.
"Take your jacket off," I told him. He looked at me dully, as if he were trying to gather his wits. Maybe that knock on the head had been too hard.
When I raised the butt of my Tommy gun as if I was going to hit him again, he wailed in a high-pitched voice. "Yes, yes, please do not strike me." He had his well-tailored jacket off in a flash. I grabbed his left arm, ripped open his shirt cuff and rolled up his sleeve. A gauze bandage covered his forearm.
"How's the shrapnel wound, Lieutenant?"
"It is healing well, why-"
I ripped off the bandage. It was as I had expected. "Ever see such nice, neat, straight shrapnel wounds?" I asked. Banville and Duxbury leaned over and stared at Mathenet's arm. Diana didn't take any notice. She sat near the desk, holding the revolver in both hands, as if in prayer. I looked at Mathenet again.
"Can't say as I 'ave, sir," Duxbury said. "Looks like a razor or knife cut to me."
"Aye," said Banville. "Shrapnel makes a nasty, jagged cut, not like these wounds."
"It was shrapnel," said Mathenet, "I was caught in the air raid-"
"You were cleaning up loose ends for Villard," I said. "Just like you were doing here, fetching his briefcase like a trained dog. And what did he do? How does he reward you?"
I let go of his arm and pushed him down onto the bed.
"He uses you for a shield, gives you up, and runs for it. He cared more for that briefcase than he did for you."
"What do you want of me?" Mathenet said, his voice catching.
"I want you to hang for the murder of Sergeant Joseph Casselli."
"You cannot prove that-"
"You're right, not on the basis of those cuts alone. If that were all I had, I'd shoot you right now. Anybody here mind?"
"Never had much use for coppers, never mind Frog coppers," growled Duxbury.
"I'll do it," said Diana, the pistol clasped between her hands.
"Miss," Banville said, "perhaps you should wait outside-"
"Perhaps you should mind your own damn business," she snapped back. She looked up, angry, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed, staring Banville down, daring him to offer assistance or sympathy again. He didn't.
"As I was saying," I announced, trying to get the interrogation back on course, "all we need to do before bringing charges is to find out who stitched up your wound and thought up the shrapnel story."
"What does your hospital staff know of war wounds?" Mathenet said dismissively. "You Americans know nothing and act as if you know everything. France has been in this war since it began!"
"I don't think a crooked, murdering Vichy cop should speak for
France. Not for men like Colonel Baril and the Dupree brothers! Did you kill Jerome Dupree as well?"
"No." He started to protest, then caught himself. "I think I recall a Dupree from the prisoner's list, but he was reprieved at the last minute."
"Who did kill him?"
"I know nothing about that."
"Where is Villard's outpost in the desert?"
"I have not been there."
"I didn't ask you that. I asked you where it was."
"Truly, I do not know. I have never been there," Mathenet said with a desperate edge to his voice. It was hard to tell if he was lying. He sounded sincere, but I couldn't tell for sure.
"Were you Villard's second in command?"
"He was my superior officer, yes."
"No, I mean in his smuggling and ransom operation. I have written proof of this racket." That caught him by surprise and deflated him. His head fell back into his hands.
"He should not have left me."
>
"It was a lousy thing to do," I agreed.
"I thought coppers stuck together," said Duxbury.
"They do, in the States. A guy would never toss a fellow officer to the wolves."
Mathenet may not have quite understood the part about wolves, but he got the point.
"He left me because he thought he had what he wanted," Mathenet said, with a hint of pride. He raised his chin and looked me straight in the eyes for the first time.
"So, you outsmarted him?"
"He's too pathetic to outsmart anyone," Diana said, in disgust.
There was nothing I wanted more than to take her in my arms and comfort her. I could still hardly believe I had found her. But dealing with Mathenet wouldn't wait. He was off balance now, having been abandoned by Villard after being clonked on the head by me. Now, when he was softened up, was the time to get him to cooperate. The way to accomplish that was to convince him I was his best and only hope. That was going to be hard to do with Diana threatening to blow his brains out with his own gun. It made it hard for him to concentrate.
"Excuse us for a minute," I said to Mathenet. I glanced at Duxbury, then back at Mathenet. Duxbury nodded and moved in front of the door.
I walked over to Diana and put my arm around her shoulder. "Let's go outside," I said.
She shrugged off my arm. Her lips were pressed together yet she was trembling. She was on the verge of breaking down but pride wouldn't let her lose her self-control. She looked at Mathenet and at me. Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something. Nothing came out. She wheeled and walked out of the room. I followed her i outside.
She stood in the courtyard, her face lifted to the sky. Her eyes were shut.
"This is the first time I've been outside since you saw me in that courtyard in Algiers," she said. Her voice was calm, her face relaxed. She seemed to have left her tension inside.
I moved close to her and took her hand, still holding the gun, in mine.
"You don't need this anymore," I said. "We'll protect you."
"Nobody protected me from Villard," she said. "Who else was looking for us? What took you so long?"
I didn't expect to be thanked for her rescue, but I wasn't prepared to answer that question. She pulled her hand away.
"Things got complicated. And we didn't want to blow your cover," I stammered to a halt.
"My cover didn't matter. We were all working for the Allies. Those students risked their lives. With thousands of troops coming ashore why couldn't you just… just come and get us?" Her voice broke and she turned away from me.
"I'm sorry, Diana. Harding said you'd be freed as soon as they worked out a deal with Darlan."
"A deal? They're making a deal with that fascist? What was it all for if they're making a deal with these people?" She gestured with the pistol toward the barracks, Mathenet, her memories. "Why did we attempt a coup? People died, you know, Billy."
"Diana, I don't make the rules. I would have come for you sooner, but I had my orders. Once I knew the smuggling operation was connected to Le Bar Bleu and this depot-"
"How did you know I was here?" she asked.
"We found orders at police headquarters in Algiers directing Villard to bring the prisoners here, and then move them to another base in the desert. Do you know where that is?"
"No, but I heard him talk about it. We were supposed to be taken there in a few days. He was waiting for some kind of shipment first. But wait a minute, I don't understand. You knew Villard was bringing the prisoners here. But how did you find out about his smuggling operation?"
"There was a theft of supplies from the army hospital in Algiers, and two murders. I found a notebook page, with the name of Le Bar Blue and a password on it: Le Carrefour, the crossroads. We figured the bar was a hideout for the smugglers, so Harding had me sent, along with the British Commandos, on this mission to capture Bône. We've taken the town… I mean the commandos have."
Diana's squinted and her forehead wrinkled. She was trying to work something out, but it looked like she was having trouble. She'd been drugged and couldn't have been thinking clearly. Which was why I wanted to get that pistol away from her. She paced back and forth, holding her free hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. She scuffed up dust, kicking at the ground as she thought.
"What you're telling me, Billy, is that no one cared enough to come after us right away."
"What do you mean?" I asked, knowing exactly what she meant.
She confronted me. "Villard was stealing drugs from the army, so they sent you after him. I only happened to be here."
"You're right." There was nothing else to say. I could explain about how I angled to be sent to Bône, how I would have lied through my teeth to come after her, but it didn't matter. She knew how the war worked.
"So the rest of the prisoners, the ones no one will ransom, what happens to them? Does anyone care if they live or die?" Her voice rose into an hysterical pitch.
"Diana, you were on a mission. It failed. It wasn't your fault. You're safe now-"
I knew as soon as I spoke the words that I'd made a mistake. It was the same thing that had happened to her before, as a FANY on the destroyer laden with evacuees from Dunkirk. She was caring for the wounded on deck when they were hit, and sunk. She had been on a mission. It failed. They died in the water. It wasn't her fault then either. But here she was, still alive, while the others were dying. It seemed as if it was long ago, in another world, but it was really not quite six months ago, in England, that she had told me about her nightmares. She stood on the deck of a sinking destroyer, and huge waves would wash the wounded overboard. She'd try to save one and just miss him as he went over the side. Then another, and another, until the destroyer sank while she floated, peacefully watching the bobbing heads disappear, one by one.
"I was so confused, Billy," she said, tears streaking her face. "I didn't know if I was dreaming or if what happened to me was real. I'm not even sure if this is real."
She began to back away from me. As the gap between us widened, fear flooded me. I could feel the blood pumping in my head. I took one step closer and she retreated a step.
"Diana…" I implored her.
"He kept giving me drugs and everything seemed so pleasant and peaceful and then it didn't. I dreamed awful things. I think I dreamed you were walking through fire. Or did that really happen? It couldn't have, could it? I mean, here you are."
I held out my hand, trying to keep it from shaking.
"Stop, Diana, just stop. We'll find the others, and free them, I promise."
"Yes. Find them, Billy. Save them."
Her hand holding the pistol rose, slowly. I could only watch it, carried upward by that strong and graceful arm, in an arc I knew would end in oblivion. I tried to move, to launch myself across the distance separating us, but I knew there wasn't enough time to reach her. I kept my eyes on hers, willing her to stay with me. But there was nothing to lock onto. Her eyes looked right through me to some other place, somewhere else she wanted to go to.
I didn't see Harry dash toward her until he tackled her and they both fell onto the sand. There was a melee as they struggled for possession of the gun. He pushed it away from her, down onto the ground. Diana was thrashing and kicking and screaming. I ran and picked up the pistol before she could seize it again.
"Get him off me! Get him off!" she screamed.
Harry rolled to the side, holding his wounded leg with both hands.
"Get off!" she screamed again, pushing at the air with her hands. I flung the pistol away and knelt at her side, trying to take one of her flailing hands in mine.
"Get him off me, please," she cried. She drew her knees up to her chest, went limp and covered her face with her hands. I cradled her so her face wouldn't rest on the sand.
"It's okay, it's okay now. I'm really here. And I will find them. It'll be all right, everything will be okay," I said, lying over and over again, in my gentlest voice.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-six
DIANA WAS QUIET A S we got her into the jeep. Rodney knew shock when he saw it and covered her with a thick woolen blanket from the rear of the vehicle.
"There you go, miss," he cooed to her. "You sit tight. We're here now."
He sat with her in the back seat, tucking the blanket in around her and urging her to sip from his canteen. She still had a faraway look in her eyes, but at least she was quiet. I stood at the side of the jeep. When I put my hand on her shoulder she didn't flinch.
"I'll be right back, Diana," I said. "Rodney and Harry will take good care of you. I won't be long." I waited until she met my eyes.
"Billy?"
"I'll be right back," I repeated. "Okay? Rodney's right here, he'll stay with you."
She nodded.
"We'll be all right, Lieutenant," Rodney said with a cheerful voice that didn't match his expression. "You go on and… take care of things."
Harry limped up to the Jeep and leaned against it. The bandage around his leg was soaked with blood.
"Thank you, Harry." It seemed so little to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He placed his hand over mine. I thought he intended to push mine away, but he kept it there.
"I guessed what she intended to do," he said.
"How? I didn't, until too late."
He shrugged, and looked down at the ground. "I realized as soon as she stepped into the daylight. It was the way she held the gun, pacing back and forth, like an animal in a cage, realizing there was no way out."
"Except…"
"Yes," Harry said, "except for that. The quick way out." A flush of shame reddened his face. I realized why he'd been able to interpret the signs so easily, but this wasn't the time or place.
"I'll just be a few minutes. You all right?"
"I'll be fine. It's just a through and through, right?"
"Sure, pal."
On my way back to the barracks I picked up Mathenet's revolver from the ground, blew the sand from it, and wiped it on my pants leg as I entered the barracks. It was a relief to have the sun off my back as I hit the shade. I stood in the corridor, catching my breath and letting the sweat drip off my face. It wasn't exactly cool inside, but it was cooler. I looked at the gun in my hand and waited. When I was calm I strolled into the room where I had left Mathenet. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, fear and hope flickering in his eyes, as he watched me and then Duxbury.
