James Benn: The First Wave

"You mean so that we wouldn't report the murder of Lieutenant Dupree?"

"That, and the fact that you were allowed to see the number of detainees in the courtyard," Remke answered.

"What do you mean?" Harding said.

"I told you old scores would be settled. Some of those people will never be seen again. Villard is very powerful here, a law unto himself."

"Why are you telling us this?" I asked. I was worried about Diana, and I needed to know if this guy was on the level.

"Most of those prisoners are ineffectual rebels who hardly know how to fire a weapon. They pose no threat to us. Perhaps you can assist in their release if you are freed soon enough. The French government here will go over to you within hours. There is no reason for Villard to shed innocent blood, but he will, and gladly."

I was trying to believe in this little speech about the sanctity of innocent life, but it just didn't add up. Especially when I saw how nervous Gerhardt was becoming. Harding caught on faster than I did.

"You've got some of your own people out there," Harding said with certainty. "I guessed you were in Intelligence. You're leaving a spy ring behind and one or more of them was caught up in this dragnet. You figure that if we yell loud enough, Villard will let them go."

I admired Harding's smarts until I saw how right he was. Gerhardt shifted one leg slightly and all of a sudden that Schmeisser was pointed straight at us.

"I don't think so, Major…" I stammered, trying to think of something, anything to say Remke put his hand on Gerhardt's arm and gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"I see you are already learning how things work here, Major," Remke said. "But you still have more lessons to learn if you plan to stay alive. When to keep silent, perhaps. Remember that. Come, Gerhardt."

Remke turned on his heel and was gone. Gerhardt smiled, bowed, clicked his heels, then followed his boss up the stairs.

I waited a couple of heartbeats and then turned to Harding. "Major, you almost got us killed!"

"Don't worry, Boyle. All that talk was to deliver a message, to get us to look out for those prisoners so Villard doesn't knock off a German agent among them. I knew Remke wouldn't gun us down in here. Too unprofessional. But that lieutenant of his, Gerhardt, he would've done anything Remke asked. That's my idea of an aide!"

Unsure if he was joking, and not really wanting to know, I sat on the floor and waited for Vichy French politics to run their course. I also sent up a little prayer that everything would work out in time for me to get Diana out of here. I had already broken too many promises to God to even bother making another one, so I just straight out asked if He would save her. No reason, no promises, just save her from Luc Villard, the Germans, her own feelings of guilt, and her goddamned good intentions.

When I woke up, I didn't have a clue where I was. My head ached and nothing felt right. I deduced from my extreme discomfort, and that fact that I was sleeping on a cold, smelly, damp stone floor, that something was wrong. Then, I remembered that floor was in the basement of the Gardes Mobiles headquarters in Algiers, I was a prisoner, and Diana was, too, if she was still alive.

I lay there thinking how nice those few seconds are after you wake up, before reality sets in. Opening one eye, I saw early morning sunlight filtering through the high, narrow, barred window above the cell. Another day in sunny North Africa. I closed that eye and wished I could fall asleep again, buying back those few precious moments of ignorant bliss. I kept my eyes shut and tried to sleep. I couldn't. I kept seeing Diana in the courtyard, blood on her face, but no fear in her blue eyes. She was brave, all right. You didn't volunteer for the SOE and go behind enemy lines if you weren't brave. And foolish, too. I tried to remember the last time we had been together in England. She must've known she was headed for North Africa. I knew I was. Neither of us had said anything. No loose lips between us. I had come to see her father, Sir Richard, concerned about how he was doing after losing Daphne, her sister. Diana showed up with three days leave, and visited me in my room each night, just as she had the first time. That first time I had only held her as she cried, and fallen in love with her. This last visit, there were no tears. We made love as if there were no tomorrow, which we both knew might be true but neither of us could admit. I smiled now as I remembered her, face shining in the moonlight, beautiful, whispering my name.

I heard a crash, and tried to rouse myself from my daydream. A loud thud followed by a rattle of automatic fire got me up fast. I rolled over with a groan and saw Harding standing by the door, trying to see down the hallway. There were shouts from outside, single shots that sounded like pistol fire, then running feet above us. More cries, some in French, more in English. The yelling grew louder and the sounds echoed down the stairway, into the cellblock, now closer to us. A single gunshot rang out, incredibly loud in the narrow stone passageway, and the French yelling suddenly stopped, replaced by the heavy sound of a body rolling down the steps and hitting the bottom with a thump. Harding and I leaned against the bars, trying to see what was happening. The smell of cordite was thick, smoke and dust drifting in the air. Through the haze a slight figure in British battle dress that looked like it was tailored just for him, which it probably had been, strolled nonchalantly. He held a Webley revolver, smoke curling out of the muzzle, in one hand and in the other, a ring of jailer's keys. The grin on his face was split by a scar that ran from the corner of one eye down to his chin, a souvenir of the explosion that had killed Daphne, ended their love affair, and broken his heart.

"Gentleman, in a few minutes the St. George Hotel will be serving breakfast. Would you care to join me?"

Lieutenant Piotr Augustus Kazimierz was the unlikeliest soldier I had ever seen. He was small, thin, pale, wore glasses, and had studied foreign languages at Oxford University before the war. Before the Germans invaded his native Poland and killed all of his family, which made him a very angry small, pale, thin guy who wore glasses. He had a heart condition that had kept him out of the army until he kicked up such a stink that the Polish Government in Exile commissioned him a lieutenant and sent him to work for General Eisenhower as a translator. That's were he'd met Daphne Seaton. And me. I was still alive, Daphne was dead, and now Kaz didn't care if he lived a minute longer.

He'd gotten involved in the Norway job with me, and did pretty well as my Junior G-man, so Uncle Ike posted him as my assistant to his secret Office of Special Investigations. He wasn't supposed to be in combat because of his medical condition, but working at HQ meant you could bend the rules a bit. That gave him the chance to get into the fight, which is what everybody else seemed to want to do over here. Between his bad ticker and the loss of everyone he loved, I understood that he didn't particularly care about planning for the future.

Kaz was supposed to be an egghead, a back room, quiet, paper- pushing staff officer. Instead, here he was leading a raid to spring us from a Vichy slammer, holding a smoking revolver in one hand and our ticket out of here in the other.

"Kaz!" was all I could manage.

"Yes, Billy, it is Baron Kazimierz to the rescue!" he said, as he tried to find the key for our cell among the dozens dangling from the chain. He winced as he struggled with the heavy ring of keys. I saw blood dripping from his sleeve. More boots thundered down the stairs as a team of Royal Commandos came into view.

"Baron, you promised to stay behind us!" shouted a very exasperated Commando officer as he signaled his men to check the other cells.