The First Wave (28 page)
“If somebody has done all these terrible things, they could also have framed me, have you considered that?” Gloria tilted her head.
“We know you used this telephone to call Bessette or Villard and arrange to have us ambushed as we drove back to the hotel.”
“If you know everything, what more do you need from me, Sam? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?”
“I want to know why,” Harding said.
She laughed. “You know everything, and nothing.” She folded her arms. Not exactly a confession, but not a protestation of innocence either. It was awkward.
There was nothing for me to say, so I glanced around the room. I looked at Walton’s books. All the Army manuals, medical texts . . . and one empty space.
“Where’s your
Gray’s Anatomy
?” I asked Walton, my eyes on Gloria. She flinched.
“What the hell does that matter?” Walton growled. Then he surveyed his shelves. “Damned if I know. People borrow my books all the time.”
I looked at Gloria. What would she need to decode now? What was in the notebook that she didn’t already know? Then I knew.
Light
dawns on Marblehead
, as my dad used to say, whenever he figured out something that should have been obvious from the start.
“Captain Morgan,” I said, as calmly as I could “What was it? Bank accounts?”
Everyone in the room looked at me, quizzically.
“Let me guess. Swiss bank accounts. You weren’t just after a split of the take from drug thefts, no matter how valuable the penicillin was. You were after that notebook for yourself.You were going to double-cross the Bessettes.With Villard? Or were you double-dealing him, too?”
She said nothing. No more sweet Southern murmurs, no more innocent fluttering eyelashes.
“Captain Morgan,” Harding stated, in his official voice, “you will shortly be arraigned for a General Court-Martial on a number of offenses, including murder, attempted murder, larceny, embezzlement, and a host of lesser charges. You will be lucky not to be executed, as these crimes occurred in wartime.”
“Why are you telling me this, Sam?”
“Tell us why.Why did you do it? Cooperate. Please.” Begging her to explain cost Harding. It revealed his agony.
“Oh, you poor dear man,” Gloria said, laughing. “What, will you promise only to shoot me with one bullet instead of ten? You could learn a lot from Billy, Sam. He’s more intelligent than he looks.”
I felt sympathy for Harding, and even a little for Gloria, but she was a cold-blooded killer who had confessed her guilt. She had been playing everyone, probably even Villard, and there was no way she was going to beg for mercy now. She had counted on making a big haul, and if she couldn’t have that she wasn’t going to settle for a little pity from Harding.
The noise in my head returned, a low buzzing sound. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if it would go away, but it got louder and louder. I tried to ignore it, but then I noticed everyone else was looking out the windows. The door flew open and Harry burst in.
“Air raid. Get to the shelters!”
There was a rush to the door. Harding took Gloria’s hand. I fell in behind them. I expected her to twist away, to reject him or even to try to escape. She didn’t. But she looked scared.Maybe she needed a little tenderness. Maybe Harding wanted something from her other than contempt. I don’t know.What I wanted was a well-built air raid shelter over my head.
The slit trenches were still there, but there were improved shelters as well. Sloping walkways had been dug into the ground, with entrances covered by wood beams layered with sandbags. Some of them were pretty large, and nurses were guiding the patients who could walk into them. I knew there were plenty of nurses, doctors, and patients left inside, and I prayed the Luftwaffe wouldn’t aim at the hospital. At the same time I wished the army would move the goddamn supply dump next to us a good ten miles down the road.
We made our way down into a smaller shelter. We had to duck going in, and the ceiling was low inside as well. I couldn’t stand up straight, so like most everybody else I squatted and listened to the insectlike buzzing get nearer and nearer.
“Where’s the bloody RAF?” Harry asked no one in particular.
There was a faraway sound of bombs, explosions that sounded like fireworks. It lasted a full minute, the buzzing coming ever closer. I heard the rhythmic, slow, pumping sound of a 40mm anti-aircraft battery, not too far away. I glanced at Harding. He was crouched by the side of the door, still holding Gloria’s hand. A jailer or a lover?
The anti-aircraft batteries around the supply dump opened up, and the noise level increased, until we couldn’t hear the planes anymore, which didn’t matter since the anti-aircraft fire meant they were coming our way. Gloria took her hand away from Harding and lowered her head, covering her ears tightly. Harding put his right arm around her.
As smooth as silk, she made her move. She lowered her left hand, as if she was going to take his again, but it kept going, down to his leather holster. She unsnapped it, pulled out the big .45 automatic, flipped the safety off and raised it to Harding’s head.
“Get back. No one move or I’ll kill him!” she screamed loud enough to be heard over the anti-aircraft fire and the thudding of bombs that had started to shake the ground. Clumps of dirt shook loose from the sides of the shelter as if someone was just outside hitting it with a sledgehammer.
“Gloria, don’t, there’s no where you can go,” Harding pleaded with her. She backed toward the entrance.
“You’re right, Sam. Nowhere. You’ve got me right where you want me. But I’m not playing by your rules. If I can’t have it all I’m not going to rot in a stockade waiting for the firing squad.”
“Gloria—” Harding began, moving closer to her. She pulled the hammer back and held the automatic, squarely aimed at his forehead.
“I’d hate to do it,” she said, “but I will. Back off.”
Harding eased back. She unbuttoned two buttons of her fatigues and reached inside her shirt. Hidden within the bulky men’s uniform was the notebook.
“You’re a smart young man, Billy. Here’s your reward. Five million dollars, maybe more.Waiting in Switzerland.” She tossed the notebook to the ground and backed out of the shelter. Another load of bombs hit nearby and I could feel the vibrations shake the ground. Harding followed Gloria to the entrance. She fired once, striking the ground in front of him. Then she was gone.
Harding started after her. I grabbed him by the shoulder, to prevent him from jumping out of the shelter.
“You can’t go out there, Major!”
“Let go of me, Boyle!”
He turned and swung at me, hitting me on the jaw hard enough to loosen my grip. He scrambled up the walkway and I followed. The enemy aircraft were almost on top of us. I pulled him down.We both crouched as low as we could as tracers lit up the sky and the chatter of machine guns joined in, small puffs from the 40mm guns exploding above us. Straight into this hell flew five, no, six formations of four bombers each. I could hear other bombs going off farther away, and guessed this was only a part of the main raid. Heinkel 111s again, their spade-shaped wings beginning to become visible.
Gloria ran right toward them, as close to the supply dump as she could get. She was about a hundred yards away, all alone above ground. She turned once, gazed in our direction, and dropped the pistol, then calmly walked forward as she raised her arms, palms outstretched. I kept both my hands on Harding, as we watched, transfixed, from the dugout entrance. The drone of the engines mixed with the anti-aircraft fire until sound enveloped us and felt like it would crush our eardrums. We could see the bomb bay doors open, as if in acknowledgment of Gloria’s gesture. The lead plane dropped its load and then the others followed, the bombs wobbling in the air for a hesitant second, then gaining speed and becoming blurs that exploded inside the supply dump, throwing up flames, black smoke and crashing thunder that crept toward Gloria, her honey brown hair blown back by their force. The concussion from the blasts staggered her, thrusting her back a step. A final stick of bombs walked their way toward her, the last of them exploding where she stood, eruptions of fire, smoke, and debris covering everything. She was gone. But on her own terms.
I pulled Harding down so he wouldn’t have to look out on that scene once the dust settled, but it didn’t matter. His eyes were closed and tears traced rivulets through the dust on his face.
IT WASN’T UNTIL THE day after the air raid that Harding got around to telling me. I don’t blame him for the delay, as he had just watched the woman he loved, and who had broken his heart twice, get blown to bits. But that didn’t mean I liked the message much either.
It was hands-off time with the Frenchies. No interference with local affairs allowed. There was still a lot of delicate diplomacy going on, and Ike wanted things running smoothly. Even if those things were run by the same former Vichy officials who had done the Germans’ bidding and would probably sell out to the Germans again if they made a return appearance. It was determined that Major Gloria Morgan was behind the murders and theft of the drugs, and that Luc Villard’s other activities, such as smuggling, ransom, and murder, were all local concerns, best left to the local authorities to handle. Or not, since Luc Villard was one of those local authorities.
I was pretty steamed over that, but there wasn’t anything I could do, at least nothing I could think of right then. Harding had Doctor Perrini check out Kaz and me, and the doc ordered us to stay at the hospital for observation. Harding liked the idea of keeping me out of circulation for a while, in case I tried anything stupid. So he kept us at the 21st, while I tried to think of something that wasn’t stupid, that might have a chance of working. Harry Dickinson was well enough to be discharged, so Harding grabbed him from the Royal Navy for limited detached duty while he recuperated fully. Harding wanted a bodyguard for us while Kaz worked on the code. I rested my head and thought about things, while Harry stood watch and Kaz deciphered the notebook. The search of Gloria’s quarters had produced
Gray’s Anatomy
, with a pencil and paper next to it. Gloria had almost finished deciphering the contents of the notebook when she was called to Walton’s office. They found the morphine and nalorphine under a false compartment in her footlocker. She also had her passport hidden there. The Army didn’t require one for travel, so I wondered what had been on her mind when the war started. Had she planned to make a big score all along? Then desert, and cross over to a neutral country? Or was she simply prepared for any opportunity that might come her way?
I had sent a note to Diana at the hotel, telling her I might be stuck here a few days. I didn’t hear back. I knew she was waiting for me to do something about freeing the prisoners, the kids who had been involved with the coup attempt. But that was one of the local matters we weren’t supposed to interfere with.
I watched Kaz work all day to finish transcribing the contents of the notebook, making letter substitutions. With
Gray’s Anatomy
in hand, it was easy. We got the names of two banks, one in Berne and one in Zurich, Switzerland, each followed by a series of numbers. It was my guess that Villard was in this with her, and given each of their natures, only one would’ve been skiing in Switzerland this winter. That was the key to my plan.
Harding came to collect Kaz’s transcriptions and decodings the next day.We met in Walton’s office.Walton was told to go elsewhere. Thankful to still have his job, he willingly made himself scarce. Kaz went over everything and handed his report to Harding. Before he could take the notebook, I grabbed it and flipped through it, idly looking at the pages.
“Major, I would guess that whoever we have in Switzerland is going to receive these numbers pretty fast, and these accounts are going to be cleaned out. For the benefit of the war effort.”
Harding was silent for a minute, deciding that what I said was so obvious it wasn’t worth denying. He just nodded.
“So, I’d guess that by tomorrow, this notebook will be worthless?”
“Yes, we’ll have gotten all the value out of it that we can.” He took it from my hand. “What are you after?”
“You know, Major,” Kaz said, “Miss Seaton is very worried about the rebels that were her fellow prisoners. They are still being held by Villard.”
Another silence. Harding stared out the window, watching a work detail filling in bomb craters. He sighed. Finally he tossed the notebook on the table.
“Tomorrow, after twelve noon, this notebook will be so much worthless paper.”
I guessed that meant Harding didn’t think my idea was stupid.We got Doc Perrini to discharge us, and Kaz, Harry, and I went in search of Captain Henri Bessette. About a local matter.
Kaz enlisted Vincent, our pal the Polish spy, and by nightfall we found ourselves seated at a swank sidewalk café, with a view of the nice part of the waterfront, on the same road Kaz and I had taken to the harbor. There were bushy green plants along the sidewalk and Cinzano umbrellas for shade. Harry sat at another table, sipping a brandy, smoking a cigarette, and trying to look like a Royal Navy lieutenant on leave. He had arrived a half-hour before us, wearing his Webley revolver and carrying a Sten gun, with the shoulder butt folded back, inside a haversack. Honor among thieves only applies when you’re a thief, too. I noticed a couple of beefy guys in dark suits who were probably carrying under their jackets. Good.We understood each other.
“There,” Kaz said, nodding. Vincent was standing across the street with Bessette and one other uniformed soldier, probably his official bodyguard. I guessed the dark suits were SOL. Vincent pointed to us and waved. Two Gardes Mobiles officers walked past the café, eyeing us, a visual, and not too subtle, warning to not try anything funny.
Bessette and his guy stood across the street for a minute after Vincent left. Then they crossed, waiting another minute on the sidewalk. The cops came back, greeted Bessette, and then he walked over to our table. He sat and took out a package of Galuoises. Before he could light up one of those foul-smelling French cigarettes, I reached for a pack of Luckies. The two dark suits jumped up, pistols at the ready. I smiled and slowly pulled out the Lucky Strikes.
“American cigarette?”
Bessette took the whole pack, and motioned for his men to sit down.
“Merci,” he said, lighting a Lucky and savoring it. “Very good.”
“You speak some English, Captain Bessette?” I asked.
“Some, not very good. Parlez français?”
“Je parle français,” answered Kaz.
“Très bien,” said Bessette. “If we need French, him,” he said, pointing roughly at Kaz with his cigarette. “Now, you, American, say what you want.”
“To do business, what else?” Bessette glanced at Kaz for confirmation. He rattled off some French, ending with a shrug of the shoulders. What else, indeed?
“Business! But we are allies, not businessmen!” Bessette grinned, showing off nicotine-stained teeth. His fingers were yellow where he held the cigarette. “Or are you from Chicago? Gangsters! Al Capone!” He thought this was hilarious and roared with laughter. A bottle of red wine and glasses appeared at the table. No one spoke as the waiter poured. He scurried away and Bessette took a long swallow.
“Business,” he said, staring me in the eye. “What business?”
“I have something you want, and you have two things I want.”
“That,” he said, shaking his head, “is bad business. Two for one? No.”
“The one thing I have is worth nothing to me and a great deal to you.”
“And the two things I have?”
“One is worth much less, and the other, nothing.”
He refilled his wine glass and took another drink.
“Say what it is you want, and what you have to give.”
“The first thing I want is Villard’s prisoners from Le Carrefour, delivered to the Hotel St. George, at noon tomorrow.” I nodded to Kaz to translate, to make sure Bessette understood.
“That is a police matter,” he said, once Kaz was done. He waved his hand. “That has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, but the notebook, that does have something to do with you.”
Kaz started to translate but Bessette cut him off.
“You have the notebook? Here?” His eyes flew to the dark suits.
Now it was my turn to laugh. “That would not be good business,” I said, and took a drink myself, smiling at Bessette like he was an old pal. He glowered at me, then nodded.
“Very bad business it would be, yes. Notebook for rebels. Good business.”
“Half of the pages for the rebels.” Kaz translated.
“What will the other pages cost?” Bessette demanded. His English got better as the negotiations went on.
“All I want for the other half,” I said, leaning in close to whisper, “is a rug.”
