James Benn: A Mortal Terror

“Well, at least he didn’t fill his royal flush. We’ve sent his name to the International Red Cross, in case it shows up on a POW list. Meanwhile, we’re looking into anyone who was on that road and was reported missing. We’ll figure out whose dog tags he grabbed.”

“Any word on Big Mike?” I asked.

“Nothing yet. Your brother is shipping out tomorrow from Naples. Sorry you’ll miss him.”

“As long as he’s going home in one piece, I’m happy.”

“Any idea what Flint meant?” Kaz asked. “About a joker downriver?”

“The joker must refer to a card. Maybe he had me tagged for a joker in my pocket. Downriver? No idea. Maybe he meant in the future. Who’s to know? So what’s next, Colonel?” I said. “After Naples.”

“Cosgrove has set something up for us in Brindisi. Then back to London. I hope to God Big Mike is alive and kicking when we get back. How about you, Boyle? Are you all right? That was a helluva nap you took.”

“Doc Cassidy said it was a reaction to the sedative he gave me. I guess seeing Danny almost get killed was more of a shock than I thought it was.”

“It makes sense,” Kaz said.

“Nothing makes sense,” I said.

They exchanged looks, and Kaz shrugged, granting me the point. I lifted a cup of coffee, and saw ripples in the black steaming brew. My hand was shaking, so I set it down. Harding and Kaz stared at their food. I tried to look at mine, but all I saw was Danny and his ruined shoulder, Big Mike inert on the ground, the look of surprise on the face of the German with the grenade, and a blur of faceless uniforms, dappled camouflage drenched in blood. Flint, giving me his silhouette on the riverbank, daring me to shoot.

“Billy,” Kaz said, his arm reaching toward mine. “Are you all right?”

“Leave me alone,” I said, not wanting to lie to Kaz, or tell the truth to Harding. I settled for bitterness instead. I was hungry and I ate, which was simple, unlike everything else that had happened here. I went after my food, not caring what anyone thought, wanting only to fill my belly and get out of the Anzio Bitchhead, which was what the orderly who brought my clothes had called it. I couldn’t argue.

Never one to miss an opportunity to improve relations with our allies, even one that had recently been our enemy, Harding had come up with the idea of returning the pearls Cole had found to the Italian royal family. Me, I had sort of hoped everyone would forget about them, and Kaz and I could do a split once we were back in London, since I’d come to know some fellows there who might be in the market for hot jewels. But Kaz was already rich, so that plan didn’t occur to him. Plus, being one of the European nobility, even if from a minor branch of that intertwined family, he felt it was the right thing to do.

The only thing I liked about the whole idea was that Signora Salvalaggio was the one who was going to give them back to the king and queen. It was only right, since she’d practically been accused of the theft, and her whole life had been changed by it. Maybe the king would be so happy to get his mother’s pearls back that he’d give her a reward, or a castle, or whatever kings these days had to give.

The only thing that worried me about the whole idea was that Signora Salvalaggio had insisted on bringing Ileana along. She’d taken her under her wing, and since neither had anyone else to take them in, it didn’t seem like a bad match. But escorting a former prostitute to see a king just plain made me nervous.

We walked up the stone steps to the Swabian Castle in Brindisi, on the heel of the Italian boot. It was a medieval fortress overlooking the harbor, where King Victor Emmanuel III hung his hat. It would have been hard for him to find a suitable joint any farther from the fighting. Signora Salvalaggio was dressed in her finest black. Ileana wore a long white silk dress that the signora had helped her sew. It showed off her raven-black hair and dark eyes. I didn’t comment on the fact that it looked like parachute silk. Shopping was hard in war-torn Italy, after all.

“Remember,” Harding had lectured us. “There are over twenty thousand Italian soldiers fighting the Germans right now, and acquitting themselves well. We want more to join them, and we want King Emmanuel to encourage it. He’s been supportive, and any little thing we can do to show our appreciation will be good for the war effort. So best behavior, Boyle.”

I wanted to ask why he singled me out, but instead I just said, “Yes sir.”

The beachhead seemed very far away as we trooped through the ornate rooms of the castle. I’d cleaned myself up, gotten a new dress uniform, and was currently trying to fool myself into believing everything was going to be fine. Danny was on his way home, and he’d have stories to tell. He’d proved himself in combat, and would live to tell his kids about it. Flint was hopefully in a POW cage where he wouldn’t be associating with generals, and where, with the help of the International Red Cross, we might find him. What could go wrong?

Nothing. Except that everything already had gone wrong. I was living in a world where shooting your own brother was the logical thing to do. I had known I was going to do it, if the opportunity presented itself, for quite a while. I just hadn’t admitted it to myself, even though I knew exactly why I’d swapped for that damn carbine. Now I was having dreams of shooting shadowy men in Luftwaffe camouflage, and as they fell and their faces turned in surprise, they became Danny. All of them. I was no longer afraid for Danny; I was afraid for myself. Would I be able to pull the trigger next time? Be fast enough, quick enough, to act without thinking?

This world had gone mad, and I was part of it. One of the faceless crowd. Flint had been right about that.

I felt a hand on my arm. It was Kaz, and we were already standing in front of the king. How did we get here? I tried to focus, but it was all a lot of Italian mumbo-jumbo. King Victor was a bit short in the legs, and I could barely see the top of his head over Signora Salvalaggio’s bent form. Harding had a translator who gave a cleaned-up version of how the pearls were found, and then introduced the signora. She bowed, spoke for a minute, and then motioned to Ileana, who opened her purse, drew out the coiled pearls, and presented them to the king. He said something in a low voice, and nodded to one of his aides, who came and retrieved them. I knew enough Italian to hear him thank Signora Salvalaggio before he turned his back and walked away.

“That was underwhelming,” I said. Even Harding didn’t disagree, as our small group was left alone in the large room with portraits of long-dead rulers staring down at us.

“I am sure the king will make some gesture,” Kaz said once we were outside. Harding and Cosgrove had gone to get the staff car while we waited with the ladies. “Once he understands the value of the necklace.”

“His mother draped herself in them,” Signora Salvalaggio said. “That family knows the value of pearls like a pig knows mud. I don’t want his money. If anyone who is left alive knows of the theft, now they know I and my officer did not do it, God rest his soul. That spineless shrimp can go to hell. His father would be ashamed of what he’s done to Italy.”

“But it is not fair,” said Kaz. “You should have something for all this time under suspicion, not to mention for returning the pearls.”

“You are a good man, Baron,” she said. “Truly noble, in the real sense of the word. I do not want you to worry about an old woman, or a young one, either.” She patted Ileana’s arm, who smiled at her with a gentle grace. “So I will tell you a secret.” Her fingers worked at the top buttons of her dress, and with a girlish smile showed us a short strand of pearls, which quickly disappeared beneath the folds of black. Ileana giggled as she took the old woman by the arm, guiding her to the car that Harding had just driven to the curb. I laughed, and winked at her as she waited for the door to be opened.