James Benn - Death

“I must have seen that movie too,” I said. “I was sure we’d met. Don’t recall it, though.”

“For good reason,” Hayden answered. “It was only my second film, and might be my last. Silly way for a man to make a living. Come on, let’s all take a load off and talk this thing through.”

“What does the OSS have to do with this operation?” Kaz asked as he took a seat at the table. I saw Croft and Hayden exchange glances, Croft giving a subtle nod.

“Okay, we’ll play it straight with you guys, since you sound like a no-nonsense bunch,” Hayden said. “The orders that Big Mike here brought with him came via a slightly different route than he thought.”

“I got those from Colonel Harding,” Big Mike said, his mouth set in a grim line. “I wouldn’t like to hear him called a liar.”

“If he’s a friend of yours, I’d hate to call him one,” Hayden said. “And I won’t have to. Or General Eisenhower either. There’s just a missing link in the story. It wasn’t the president that Bishop Finch called when he heard of the murder. It was another old pal, this one from Columbia Law School.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “William Donovan. Head of the Office of Strategic Services.” The OSS was the American equivalent of the Special Operations Executive. We were newer at the game, but eager to make up for lost time. “Your boss.”

“Right on both counts,” Hayden said, slapping the table with glee. “Wild Bill-that’s Donovan’s nickname, one he doesn’t mind a bit-Wild Bill didn’t want OSS to be connected to this operation, for security reasons and out of the same concern for Vatican neutrality that Colonel Harding has. But Wild Bill wants to do his pal a favor and find out who killed Monsignor Corrigan, so the story was altered a bit in case anyone spoke out of school.”

“As for your being detained,” Croft said, “that is standard procedure before a mission. Nothing sinister about it.”

“So other than keeping watch on us, Lieutenant Hamilton, or Hayden, what’s your game?”

“Hey, call me Sterling if you want, but don’t spread it around. I’d prefer to keep the movie business quiet. It’s all a load of horseshit anyway. And hell, I’m not here to watch you boys. I’m here to drive the boat.”

“Boat?” Kaz said.

“Sure, the boat. We’re taking a little trip up the Adriatic,” Hayden said, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Lieutenant Hamilton is an experienced seaman,” Croft said. “He makes regular runs to Yugoslavia to deliver arms and supplies to the partisans, and brings out downed Allied airmen.”

“Billy and Kaz are going to Rome, not Yugoslavia,” Big Mike pointed out.

“Yes,” Croft said. “And we will get them there, via the Adriatic. We can’t use the western coastline, since there is heavy activity around the Anzio beachhead. So Lieutenant Hamilton and his men will take you up the eastern coast, past the front lines and into Pescara.”

“Why don’t we fly out in one of those Lysanders you have parked outside? Isn’t that what they’re used for?”

“Quite,” Croft said. “But we’ve had some losses recently from Luftwaffe interceptions. We think there may be agents nearby watching our flights take off. We’re taking countermeasures, but we can’t wait for them to take effect. So I asked Hamilton here for a favor.”

“I didn’t know the SOE and the OSS were so chummy,” I said.

“We have to be,” Hamilton said. I decided it was too confusing to call him by two names, and if he wanted to go incognito, that was fine by me. I liked him for it. “We spend as much time fighting the brass as we do the Nazis.”

“The OSS is dependent upon the Royal Navy for shipping,” Croft said. “And when it comes to sharing resources with Americans, who seem to have so much of everything, it brings out the worst in some officers.”

“Same goes for American regular army types,” Hamilton said. “They don’t want to cooperate with the Brits and learn from them, even if they’ve been at this cloak-and-dagger stuff for years. Stupidity knows no boundaries. Guys like Croft and me just want to get things done, so we help each other out.”

“If the Royal Navy isn’t helping you out, what kind of boat are we talking about?” I asked.

“An Italian fifty-foot sailboat with a rebuilt diesel engine. Looks like an ancient wreck, but she’s gotten me home safely every time. Crewed by a dozen Yugoslav Partisans, able seamen, all of them. Damn good fighters, too.”

“Well, Billy,” Big Mike said. “What do you think? They sound like our kinda fellas.”

“I’m game,” I said. “Kaz?”

“I do not like boats,” Kaz said, and downed his vodka.

It was four in the morning. I stood at the window, watching the stars and the silvery water below. I couldn’t sleep, while everyone else was dead to the world. I could hear Big Mike sawing logs in his room, and watched Kaz thrashing, dreaming of all that had been lost, or at least that was my guess.

I’d slept for a while, and dreamed of horses. Galloping horses with black manes, against green fields and blue skies. They were all around me, and I held out my hands to feel their flanks as they sped past, my fingertips grazing warm, silky hides. The horses slowed and circled me, shaking their heads, frosty plumes of breath pumped from heaving lungs. They came closer, nuzzled me, pushed me forward until I fell against a saddled horse and felt a booted heel in the stirrup. I looked up. It was Diana. Suddenly the sky turned dark as thunder crashed and lightning flashed hot white. The horses reared in terror, large brown eyes wide with fear. As one, the herd turned and galloped away, taking Diana with them, leaving me alone in the field, watching them disappear into the rain and darkness.

I’d awoken, gasping for breath, not knowing where I was, but thinking instantly of Diana and where she was. In prison, but alive. I knew it now. The first time I’d ever seen her, she was on horseback, bringing horses to the safety of her father’s barn as a thunderstorm drew close. It was a message, I was certain. She wasn’t dead. She was waiting, waiting for me to follow where the horses led, and carry her to shelter from the storm.

I felt a calm I hadn’t known in days. I got up, dressed, and waited. Waited for the other dreamers to rise and bring me where I needed to go. I watched the sky until I saw the first faint trace of sunrise edging up from below the horizon. It was time.

One hour later, Kaz and I said our good-byes to Big Mike, and made him promise to take it easy for a while. Croft said he’d watch out for him, and Big Mike, still not quite trusting how things had turned out, said he’d watch Croft for us until we got back. I felt fine on both counts.

Kaz was relieved when he found out the first leg of our trip was not by boat. Croft drove us out to a Halifax from 148 Squadron, already warming up. We stood on the tarmac, prop wash whipping at our clothes as the engines roared. Croft went over the final details while crewmen loaded gear into the belly of the black bomber.

“You’ll have an escort of two Spitfires north to Termoli,” he said. “It will be a quick hop. Hamilton will look after you from here on out. You’ve got your clothing, identity papers, and everything you’ll need for Rome in duffle bags, marked with your name. He’ll take you by sea from Termoli to Pescara. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” I said, shouting to be heard above the din. “You seem to have this well organized, but you’ve missed one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“How the hell do we get out of Rome? Or is that not part of your plan?”

“One step at a time, Lieutenant. Find that murderer first. Someone from SOE will contact you when the time comes to smuggle you out,” Croft said. “Good luck.”