The First Wave (29 page)
I LOOKED IN THE MIRROR and adjusted my service cap. My bandages had come off yesterday, but I still didn’t relish the brim sitting on that bump, so I had to adjust it to just the right angle. Clean khaki shirt, freshly shaved, lieutenant’s bars gleaming, I looked like a real staff flunky. I hooked my web belt on and checked my holster, knife, and spare ammo. Everything in place. Kaz and I were back at the St. George, but stuck in a tent with Harry outside on the grounds. Still, we had access to real bathrooms and the restaurant, the latter due to Kaz’s constant praising of the chef and his dishes, and his free way with francs.
I walked to the lobby and found Diana and Yvette. Diana was wearing a long summer dress, and a light coat with long sleeves. She looked fashionable, and if you didn’t know her clothes were chosen to hide her bruises, you’d think she looked fine. She said she was healing, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She had her arm in Yvette’s, who was helping her down the lobby steps. But her hand dug into Yvette’s forearm, and I knew every step she took was filled with pain and required courage.
“What’s the big surprise you’ve summoned us for, Billy?” Diana asked. She smiled, but it was a distant smile. All lips and no eyes. A re-creation of an emotion from memory.
“Come outside, find a nice spot in the shade, and wait,” I said. I wanted to take her by the hand, but I was nervous. It was like that between me and Diana now. We hadn’t had much time together the past few days, and when we did, Yvette was always there, fussing with Diana’s hair or chatting with her in French. Diana seemed calm when Yvette was by her side. But if we were alone, or if I tried to hold her hand, she became jittery. And I did, too. She wasn’t the same, not the same Diana I’d known back in England, not even the same Diana I had glimpsed in that dusty prison courtyard the first day in Algiers. And me? Yeah, I wasn’t the same guy either. Things had happened. Nothing as bad as what had happened to Diana, but I had to live with that, too. I felt lousy, like a low-life bum who cared more about his two-bit problems than the people who depended on him. People he loved. Every time I thought about Villard and what he had done, his hands on her, beating her, caressing her, drugging her, raping her, owning her in that room, on that filthy mattress, I’d feel red rage rising up inside me until I wanted to scream. I knew if I had any chance to make things right with Diana, that image had to disappear.Whatever it took.
I found Diana and Yvette a bench in a part of the gardens that hadn’t been taken over by tents and trailers yet.When Diana sat down she let out a sigh, as if the short walk downstairs and outside had exhausted her.
“You okay?” I asked, bending down to talk to her. My hand rested on the back of the bench, close to her shoulder. She nodded, offering me a bit of a smile. Not much, but real, her eyes locking on mine. This we could manage. Not an actual conversation, just a quick exchange now and then that caught us both by surprise, our old selves taking over, reminding us of how things had once been.
“Diana,” I said, “I have to leave right now with Kaz and Harry. I’ll be back later. I just wanted you to see this, and, and to know, that . . . uh, well, you’ll see.”
“What are you trying to tell me? See what? What’s happening, Billy?”
“I’ve got something to do. It needs doing, and should have been done . . . I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I just wanted you to know—”
“Know what, Billy?”
“That I kept my promise.”
With that I got up and headed for the drive. The main drive leading into the hotel ended in a circular loop that was already lined with parked vehicles but was still wide enough for a large truck to pass. Kaz and Harry were at the entrance to the hotel to escort the truck in. It was noon, and I could hear church bells ringing the hour in the French district. The sun was shining, reflected in the calm sea. In a minute, they drove in, Harry at the wheel of the jeep, leading an old open truck whose canvas sides flapped in the breeze. The decrepit vehicle looked out of place among the freshly painted olive drab army vehicles parked along the drive, but it was a beautiful sight.
The truck was crammed with young kids, rail-thin and dirty, like scarecrows, their clothes in rags, hanging off them. They were cheering like crazy, hugging each other and crying.When the truck braked to a stop, the driver yelled “
Sortez
,” but no one needed to tell them to get out. They jumped down, whooped and hollered, and I saw Diana run to them, a huge smile on her face, more joy than I had seen in her since I got her away from Villard. She jumped up and down like a schoolgirl, going to each and embracing every one of them in turn, all memory of bruises and pain gone.
My eyes met those of the driver. His frown stayed right where it was. He held out his hand. I pulled a wad of notebook paper out of my pocket and placed it in his palm. He took it and grunted. I got in the jeep and we drove out, following him to our next appointment. I looked at my watch. It was 12:15.
XIX Corps Headquarters had moved out of the hotel, which had been taken over entirely by Allied Forces HQ. Corps staff had moved to a big palace on the heights above Algiers, near other French Army staff headquarters.We drove up the winding roads, past churches and large houses that rose up from the slopes to look out over the Mediterranean. Harry had to keep downshifting the jeep to make it around the sharp bends in the road as it wound its way up. The truck chugged along slowly. We didn’t rush, knowing that Bessette would want to check out the first half of his payment before letting us in. We arrived at a low, white stone wall with an ornate iron gate barring the drive leading into the palace grounds. We parked off the road, outside the gate. The truck drove up, and we got out, waiting for Bessette. He came down the front steps and yelled orders to the guards at the gate. They opened for the truck and let it through, one of them holding up his hand, signaling us to stop. The truck entered the courtyard, stopping by Bessette. The driver handed him something, the notebook pages I’d given him. Bessette signaled him to park. After several minutes he waved to the guards. They opened the gate and let us walk in.
“Just you,” Bessette said, pointing to me. “The others, no.”
“Nous attendrons ici,” Kaz said, and I thought, damn right you’ll wait here. I don’t want to be left here with these bastards all by myself.
“When my colleagues see me come out, they’ll go to get the rest of the notebook, bring it back and hand it over. Then we’ll leave together.”
“Okay,” said Bessette, enjoying his bit of American slang. “Okay, yes? You, come get your rug!” He threw back his head and laughed as he clapped my shoulder. Good buddies. Good business.
I started to perspire as I walked beside Bessette. Yet it wasn’t hot up here. Cool breezes flowed up the hill, making the sun’s heat bearable. Even so, I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my back.We entered the building and I saw French soldiers, doing all the stuff HQ staff does everywhere. Carry papers, look busy, look important, stay out of the way of the brass. We hoofed it up two flights of a grand staircase, the kind you might see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance down in the movies. At the top we took a left, and a soldier snapped to attention as Bessette passed. This was his territory; these were his guys. I was either going to buy a rug or buy the farm.
“Enter,” said Bessette, opening a door and motioning inside.
“After you,” I said politely.
“Ah! Good business. Yes, after me.” He went in and I followed.
Villard sat in a leather armchair, smoking a cigarette. He didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Ah. Lieutenant Boyle, we meet again. I understand you have something for us.”
No expression crossed Bessette’s face. This was nothing more than a business meeting. I looked away from Villard to Bessette’s desk on my left. A pair of candlesticks stood on it, just like back at the hotel. One of them had been nicely cleaned up.
“Sorry if I ruined your ransom racket.”
“That was nothing,” Villard sneered. “A sideline, yes. But with our source out of the picture, the value of the rebel prisoners lessened. Too bad, really.”
“She was a handsome woman, the American captain of nurses,” Bessette said, more fully in command of English than before.
“Yes, but not as pretty as some,” Villard stared at me, spitting out a piece of stray tobacco. “Nor as young. But variety in love is wonderful, no?”
“In love, yes,” said Bessette. “In business, no. You fail to discern the difference, Luc.”
Villard threw his cigarette in the ashtray. “Henri . . .”
Bessette left, slamming the door behind him. I stood between Villard and the door, as his expression changed from surprise to comprehension. Anger, and maybe a hint of fear flashed across his face before he reached for his revolver. But I was ready. I had no fair fight scruples, no illusions about bringing him in alive and letting the law take its course. The war was the law now, and that war had decreed that Luc Villard was free to go about his business. But the war had taught me a few things, too, things that hadn’t been agreed to by generals. I had my knife out already as I closed the distance between us in a step. I had planned on telling him why I was going to kill him. I had planned every word, so he would know exactly why I was doing it, what was going to happen, that he was living his last minutes on this earth, drawing his last breath of air. With one blow, I was going to justify myself, to make everything better, to erase those handprints in black and blue all over Diana, and he was going to know it. It didn’t work out that way.
I stepped into him, the knife entering his ribcage as he was still trying to unsnap his holster. He kept trying to get it open but his hand flapped at his side like a bird’s injured wing. I pushed him, slamming him against the wall, watching his eyes for some evidence of comprehension and remorse, or even anger at being betrayed. Even anguish would have satisfied me. Instead, there was only desperation, his hot breath in my face, his eyes wide and unfocused, his mouth gasping for air. I twisted the knife and felt a rib crack as he let out a cry. I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand and swung him around, throwing him down on the rug in front of Bessette’s desk. I stepped on his chest and pulled out the knife. Blood gurgled out of his mouth as he worked his jaw trying to say something, or maybe choking on his own blood. His right hand flapped around on the floor, still vainly searching for the holstered gun. Then he was still. I squatted next to him for a minute, watching. No movement, no breath, no more bubbles of blood. No heartbeat. Luc Villard was dead. Just like that.
I cleaned my knife on his pants and wiped my hands on his blue cape that was folded over the arm of the chair where he had been sitting. I walked out of the room and Bessette was standing in the hallway. With two of his guards, ready with a new rug to go in the room.
“I was not entirely sure which of you would leave that room,” Bessette said.
“We both will, but he’s going feet first.”
In the courtyard, Harry and Kaz were waiting in the jeep. Harry cradled a Sten gun in his lap, his eyes riveted on Bessette who nipped at my heels. I nodded to Kaz. He reached inside his sling and withdrew the notebook containing the other half of the pages.
I handed Bessette the notebook. Good business.
My clothes had blood on them. I changed in the tent as Kaz took the bloody shirt and pants to throw in the garbage. Harry sat outside the tent, smoking, keeping watch. No one spoke. I headed into the hotel, washed my hands, washed my face, and looked in the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t the first guy I had killed, but he was the first I’d killed in cold blood. An execution. Murder, some might say. I half-expected to feel guilty, but all I felt was sad, and tired. I wanted to sleep. Or to go down to the bar and get drunk. I looked at the guy in the mirror. He didn’t look any different. Was this the old me or the new me? Would Diana recognize which one I was? Could she still love me? Would the red rage return, or would it fade away with her bruises?
I made myself go to Diana’s room and knock on her door. She answered it herself. Diana reached up and kissed me on the cheek. She was still happy because of the release of the rebel prisoners. Yvette wasn’t there. I went in, wondering which of us needed the other the most, ashamed that I was still thinking of myself.
We stood there, the closed door behind us, holding each other tightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I had just mur- dered a man, and I was afraid that the violence still marked me, and that I’d hurt her, without meaning to. I felt ashamed to be in her presence.
“Billy?”
“Yeah?”
“How did you manage it? To free all of them?”
“I made a deal. Ike made his with Darlan, I made mine with Bessette.”
Diana raised her head from my shoulder. “What did it cost you?”
“A notebook. Worthless by the time they got it, but they didn’t know that. Bessette thought it was very valuable, worth both the prisoners and his partner in crime. Villard is dead.”
She tensed at the mention of his name. Her hands gripped my arms tightly. “Good,” she said, finally. “Good.”
“I . . .”
“What’s that noise?” Diana said. The doors to the balcony were open. It was a far-off droning sound that I was beginning to know too well.
“Goddamn it! Another air raid!” I ran onto the balcony, swiveling my head around to try to spot the source of the increasing sound. Diana was right behind me.
“There they are,” she shouted, pointing toward the horizon. I followed her finger and found them, a formation of bombers, flying low this time, heading straight for the harbor. Going after the ships docked side by side, trying to sneak in under the radar. They were dark specks, growing larger with each second. The harbor was to our left, and the formation would pass right in front of us if that was their target.
“We should go down to the bomb shelter,” I said.
“No. Let’s stay here. I don’t want to run and hide.”
She hooked her arm through mine and something told me that she was right. Cowering in a basement was the last thing Diana needed to do right now. Unless those bombers were aware this was a headquarters building, that is. We stood at the balcony railing, watching the bombers draw closer, coming toward us at an angle, aiming for the harbor. Air raid sirens started to howl throughout the city, as people below us scattered to shelters and slit trenches. I shaded my eyes with my hand and tried to count them. It looked like twenty-five or so. Heinkel 111s again.