by James R Benn
"Yeah, sure, yes." I helped Diana up and offered my arm to her.
She took it, but our eyes did not meet again as we walked down the hall, back out into the heat of the day.
Chapter Thirty
"The last time we made this drive someone shot at us," I said, inclining my head to the right but keeping my eyes on the road. Diana was in the passenger seat, her head tilted back and eyes closed as she let the sun and wind wash over her face. It felt idiotic as soon as I said it, trying to impress her with my brush with danger, while she had been held prisoner, drugged, beaten, and raped.
"Really," she said, without opening her eyes. "How remarkable."
I looked at Kaz and shrugged. I went back to staring at the road, and the scrub brush on the hills around us. Ahead the landscape was greener, palm trees shading both sides of the road, but the five miles between the hospital and edge of Algiers proper was nothing but a dry, stony wasteland.
"It was, actually," Kaz said, leaning forward from the jeeps back seat. "An assassin was laying in wait for us on our route back to the hotel. The first bullet went right between Major Harding and Billy, and I could hear it pass by me. Billy drove like the devil to avoid the next shots. We know it had been an assassin, not just a random sniper, because he took his shell casings away. The shooter." He said that last word with the positive enthusiasm of someone who's mastered a tricky piece of foreign jargon.
That got Diana's attention. She opened her eyes. "You mean that somebody was trying to kill you, specifically?"
"That's my guess," I said, glad that at least she was talking with me. "We took Kaz out of the hospital soon after the killings there. He had deciphered a code, and we thought the killer might make a move on him."
"How did they know where you were going?"
"Plenty of people in the hospital knew we were leaving. A doctor named Dunbar checked Kaz out. Rita, a nurse-you know her-she knew, and so did Captain Morgan. Each of them could've mentioned it to half a dozen people. There's a working phone in Walton's office; he's the Hospital CO. The place is run pretty loosely. Anybody on that staff could've walked into his office and made a phone call."
"No, that's not what I mean, Billy," Diana said, holding onto her long hair as the wind whipped it against her face. "I mean how did they know your route?"
I started to explain it to her, and as soon as I opened my mouth I knew it didn't make sense. "Well, they knew we were attached to headquarters, which is based at the St. George Hotel…"
"But you weren't going to HQ exactly, were you?"
"No," I said slowly, thinking it through. I didn't speak for a minute as a small convoy of trucks pulling big 155mm artillery pieces passed us, headed out of the city. The two-wheeled cannons bounced and pounded on the uneven road surface, kicking up a cloud of sand and grit that swirled around us and stung the skin on my face and hands. Diana covered her eyes and mouth until the convoy passed and we drove out of their dust, the hot air flowing around us feeling comparatively fresh and clean as it blew the gritty sand off of us.
"We told Dunbar we were taking Kaz back to his quarters," I said, picking up where I had left off, "but we never said where that was."
"Yes!" Kaz. "I remember thinking that it would be too ostentatious to mention where we were staying. Whoever contacted the shooter could not have guessed that. The St. George is only for senior officers."
"You didn't tell Rita, when you were filling her in on all the baron stuff?"
"No, Billy, I did not."
"So how did they know?" Diana asked.
"Maybe Colonel Walton found out when he contacted HQ to check us out," I guessed. "That was after we found Casselli's body and he had me assigned to look into the murder. He talked to somebody at headquarters, maybe he got wise to it then."
I gripped the steering wheel hard, until my knuckles were white. I was steamed at myself. It was such a simple thing to overlook, so obvious that I had never even considered it. Somebody had to have known exactly where Kaz was quartered. There were hundreds of guys attached to HQ spread out all over Algiers, in tents, garages, small hotels, you name it. It couldn't have been a lucky guess.
I didn't feel like talking. I was glad when we drove into the shade and started seeing houses nestled in among palm trees and green, flowering bushes. The Arab homes came first, rounded white stucco houses, decorated with colorful geometric tiles above the doors and windows. Then came the European homes, more widely spaced and built from stone, with white crushed-rock driveways and iron gates. I thought about all those people inside, Arabs and French, leading their lives, going to work, worrying about the rent or mortgage, arguing, kissing, reading the newspaper, yelling at the kids, just a stone's throw away from our jeep. So near to a place where the only color was khaki and daily life was the same routine, over and over again, until you went out and got killed or lost a leg or part of your soul. I looked over at Diana and wanted to reach out and touch her, to comfort her, to bring her to one of those houses disappearing behind us as we drove further into the city, and surround her with the peaceful rhythms of daily life. I wanted to shelter her from the cruelty and evil brought into our lives by this war. But then what? What would I say when she asked me again if everything was going to be all right? What the hell was I supposed to say?
I turned a corner and downshifted, slowing down for a line of traffic headed for the hotel. Jeeps, staff cars, some civilian vehicles, were all jammed together waiting for a security check. Ike was in town, and with the Darlan deal in the works there was good reason to check things thoroughly. We inched forward, then stopped. I tried to think of something to say, and felt like I was back in Boston, in high school and on my first date, trying to make some remark that wouldn't sound like it came from the jerk I knew I was.
"Sorry for the wait," I said. Brilliant. Yeah, speak like a chauffeur, that's a great idea.
"I have time," Diana said. "I'm coming back from a failed mission. No one will be in a hurry to debrief me, I'm sure of that much." She turned away and rubbed her eyes. Was it fatigue? Or tears? Was she crying for her failure, the agony and humiliation, the wasted lives, and for all I knew for the faith she once had in me? I put my hand out and tried to take hers. She shook it off, then buried her face in her hands. Traffic moved and I gunned the engine.
The MPs gave us the once-over, and double-checked Diana's release papers from the hospital. They sent us down the road from the hotel to park the jeep anywhere we could. The place was packed, and lowly lieutenants did not rate their own parking area. We pulled over and got out, walking past stacks of wooden crates, supplies of all kinds, covered by camouflage tarps and guarded by bored GIs walking back and forth, ignoring us and yelling at the occasional Arab who got too close. More tents had sprung up all around the hotel, and some of the gardens had been taken over, sprouting green canvas in place of palm leaves. I took Diana's arm as we went up the steps to the main entrance and she flinched, then relaxed and leaned on me. I guessed I was going to have to take my chances, to wait and see.
Kaz unlocked the door to the room and opened it. Our stuff was still there, just as we'd left it a few days ago, bedrolls and knapsacks stashed in a corner. The long windows on either side of the bed were open, and a cool breeze drifted in off the water. Diana walked ahead of us, went to the window, and drew aside the curtain. Aquamarine water shimmered in the sunshine, and a few white puffy clouds stood out against a clear blue sky. Deep green palm fronds just outside the window swished as the wind coming in from the Mediterranean blew the tops of the trees back and forth, sending a cooling breeze into the room. The gauzy curtains fluttered around Diana, brushed against h like a caress, and then withdrew as the wind pulled them back against the windowframe. On the table there was a glass pitcher beaded with cold moisture holding orange juice, glasses turned upside down paper doilies, next to flowers in a vase. She turned from the view and looked at the room, the white sheets on the four-poster bed with mosquito netting draped over the top, the vibrant col
ors of the orange juice and the pink flowers, the couch upholstered in a deep blue fabric, almost the shade of the ocean. There was an odd expression on her face. Maybe she wanted to cry again, but couldn't.
She looked confused. Then she fainted. Her eyes rolled up and her knees buckled. I made a dive to catch her before she cracked her head on the floor. I held her and put my hand under her head, lifted her and put her in bed.
"Diana!" Kaz said, the urgency in his voice betraying the fear that was just under the surface. "What can I do?"
"She's okay," I said, to convince myself as well as him, to calm my own fears. I listened to her breathing and felt her pulse. Normal. It had all been too much, too elegant, too different. Too clean, too white, too pure. I stroked her cheek, one hand still cradling her head, and she half awoke, her eyes opening part way and meeting mine.
"Billy, what happened?"
"You fainted."
"Damn silly…" She shook her head as if to deny her weakness, then rested her cheek in the palm of my hand.
I knelt by the bedside, pressed up against the night table, as she curled her hand around my wrist. It wasn't really a comfortable position, but I liked it. I could hear the rhythmic, even sounds of her breathing as she dropped off to sleep.
I heard Kaz open the door. "I will be right back," he whispered.
By the time Kaz returned, I had managed to free my hand without waking Diana. I sat in the armchair near the window, watching her and looking out at the Mediterranean, trying to make believe we were on our honeymoon, at a seaside resort, and Diana was just taking a nap. The oversized fatigues and unlaced combat boots she was wearing didn't help my imagination. There wasn't much in the way of women's clothing available in U.S. Army warehouses, and I was wondering how to find her something else when Kaz walked in, carrying a couple of parcels and trailed by a very pretty young girl.
"Yvette, this is Lieutenant Boyle, and there is our friend, Miss Seaton."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant," she said in slow but proper English, holding her hands together in front of her. She wore a skirt with all sorts of flowers on it, and a white blouse with ruffled sleeves and blue embroidery around the neckline, a peasant blouse I think the girls back home called it. Her hair was brown, short and wavy, and she had a confident smile. Her eyes cautiously flitted around the room, taking in everything, assessing the situation, to see if whatever Kaz had said that had gotten her to accompany a stranger into a hotel room was on the up and up.
"Yvette works in a little shop down the street…" Kaz started to explain.
"What were you shopping for?" I asked in a low voice.
"I thought Diana would like some clothes and feminine articles," said Kaz, "so I went in search of a shop. Yvette was very helpful, and speaks excellent English." He nodded to her, and she returned the favor.
"That's nice," I said. "I don't mean to sound rude but what is she doing here?"
"I have engaged Yvette to stay with Diana for the rest of the day and night. She had just finished work at the shop, and is also free tomorrow. Her mother runs the establishment, and agreed once I explained the situation."
"Thanks, Kaz. I hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Yes, well, that is what friends are for, is it not?" Kaz didn't wait for an answer. He sat on the couch, opening the parcels with his good hand as Yvette held them for him. There was perfume, colorful silk pajamas in greens and blues, a long robe that looked almost like an evening gown, lipstick, and a bunch of make-up stuff that I could only guess at.
"Yes, it is, Kaz. Thank you. I'm glad you're here."
He stopped for a moment, then he looked at Diana, and at Yvette, standing in front of him holding an open box with silks spilling out of it in an eruption of colors. "You know," he said, a hint of amazement creeping into his voice, "I am glad also."
"Glad of what?"
We all turned to see Diana, awake and propped up on her elbows, blinking her eyes and looking at Yvette.
"Glad to see you, and to be among friends," Kaz continued, a smile lighting up his face. "This is Yvette, and she will stay with you tonight. Billy and I have some business to attend to."
Diana pushed herself up and said, "Be careful, both of you."
"We will be, my dear," Kaz answered. "We have all sorts of things here that Yvette picked out. I told her you were without anything a young lady needs and she has supplied you with all the basics." He spread his hands out to indicate the boxes strewn around the couch.
"Perhaps tomorrow, Miss Seaton, I can go out and purchase some dresses for you, if you tell me what you like."
"That sounds nice, Yvette," Diana said. "Very nice. And please call me Diana."
"Oui. Today, we can perhaps wash your hair, Diana," Yvette said. She had a very precise way of speaking, as if she were thinking about each word, which she probably was. Diana said something to her in French, not as slowly, and they both laughed.
"And shoes, also," Yvette said as she moved around the bed to help Diana take off the combat boots. "Yes, definitely shoes."
"I must go now," said Kaz. "I will speak to the kitchen about your meals and they will be brought to you. No army food will be allowed in this room, I promise you. I will meet you at the jeep, Billy." He made a little bow and smiled at Yvette before giving her the room key.
Her face lit up. One thing I could never figure out is the effect Kaz had on women. He's a short, thin guy with glasses, with a long scar on one side of his face. But there's something about him that drives women wild. Maybe it's that he's the kind of guy who thinks about buying soft frilly things. Or maybe it's the bow. I couldn't see myself pulling that one off.
I sat on the side of Diana's bed. Yvette got busy around the couch, picking up clothes, folding them, and putting them away in the dresser drawers.
"We'll be back in the morning," I said.
"You don't have to come back, you know," Diana said, watching Yvette opening drawers. "You came to Bone to rescue me, I know that. If it wasn't for you, I might be dead right now." Her voice trailed off, and I wondered if she was thinking back to that courtyard at the French supply depot and remembering raising that pistol to her head. Or, was she recalling Villard.
"But I will come back," I assured her.
"I'm not sure I want you to."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"You figure it out, you're the detective." Her eyes were filled with pain and hurt. She spoke again before I could, but she was done talking to me. "Yvette, help me up, please. I'd love to get out of these men's clothes and to bathe." She tried to swivel her legs around, pushing up with her hands. As she rose into a sitting position at the end of the bed, she winced.
"Can I help?" I asked, sounding like a little kid in the kitchen with his mother.
"No, no, no," said Yvette, advancing on me and wagging a finger. "This is work for women only. You must leave."
"Billy, please go, I know you have things to do," said Diana.
"Okay," I said, trying hard not to sound like a chump getting the heave-ho. "I just want to wash up for a minute before I go. I'll knock before I come out to make sure you're decent." I retreated to the bathroom. It was big, with a marble sink, nickel-plated fixtures, and a big freestanding tub on little claw feet with soft towels hung on either side. Nice bathroom for the honeymoon suite, I thought glumly as I looked at myself in the mirror. Everything about me was rumpled. Shirt, hair, even my face. I ran some water and washed, wanting to feel clean and fresh. I wet my hair and ran a comb through it, finding the part and noticing that my hair was already turning lighter and my skin darker as I spent more time under the North African sun. I gave myself the patented Billy Boyle smile, guaranteed to charm every time. I saw pearly whites against tan skin, but not a touch of charm. Then I heard a shriek. Without thinking I quickly opened the door.
Yvette was standing on the other side of the bed, holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. I moved around the bed as she shook off whatever had scared
her and kneeled.
"She got up too quickly and fainted, Monsieur. Je suis desolee." I think that meant she was sorry.
Then I saw why Yvette had screamed. Diana lay on her side on the floor. The robe she was wearing had fallen open. She was naked, her body covered in welts and bruises, the kind of marks a real sadist leaves. No blood, no cuts, just ugly black, blue, dark red, and grayish-green colors decorating her like a tattooed nightmare. Yvette grabbed one end of the robe and covered her, but not before I could see the large dark, bruises between her thighs and the red welts on her breasts.
"Je suis desolee," Yvette said again, this time to Diana as she patted her cheeks. "Je suis desolee." I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Diana came to suddenly, grabbed at her robe and pulled it tightly closed.
"I got up too quickly- "
"I know. Let me help you," I said, trying to make light of her state, as if she had merely been a bit dizzy.
She didn't say anything. Yvette and I each took an elbow and lifted her, seating her on the edge of the bed. Our eyes locked for an instant and a silent message passed between us. Diana didn't need to know that we had both seen.
"I will start the hot water running in the tub," Yvette said, now in command of her English once more. "Do not get up, I will help you into the bathroom in a minute." She went into the bathroom and I was left alone with Diana. I struggled to stay in control, to sound normal, to pretend I hadn't just seen the marks of a torturer's hands all over her. I didn't know what I was feeling. A numbness had settled in over my heart.
"I don't know what's wrong, but I have to stop this fainting," Diana said.
"You've been through a lot. You'll feel better after a few days of bed rest." I tried to sound chipper, like I knew what the hell I was talking about.
