James Benn - Evil for evil

"I don't know what to make of it. Every time I think I understand something, it changes. I can't find any solid ground."

"Or maybe you see another side of things. Remember, these fellows Taggart and O'Brick, they're the sort who outlived their time. It would have been better for them to have died heroes twenty years ago. Instead, they lived on, nursing their hatred into madness. Don't feel bad about putting a stop to that. I don't. I was sent to do a job, and I did it. So did you. So stand tall, boy. It doesn't mean the cause is a bad one, just that standing close to its center for too long can burn any man out."

"Thanks, Uncle Dan. Really," I said. I put out my hand and he grabbed me in a hug, slapping me on the back, rubbing his hand on my head.

"Give my love to Mom and Dad and little Danny, OK?" I said, burying my face against his neck. He took me by the shoulders and put on a stern look.

"I will give your love to all of them, and Danny's not so little anymore! But if you don't write your mother right away, and more often, I'm going to tell her you're drinking and smoking and whoring all over England. Now go on, don't waste any more time here."

We hugged again, and he shook hands with DI Carrick before boarding the plane through the rear cargo door. Our escort, an Army Air Force lieutenant, gave Uncle Dan a sheepskin leather flight jacket, cap, and gloves.

"Compliments of Bull Dawson," he said. And with that, Uncle Dan was gone. We watched the crew close up the plane, and it taxied out into the darkness, the drone of the engines deafening, until it rose into the night and vanished among the stars.

"You look to come from a good family, Lieutenant Boyle," Carrick said. I knew that was a major compliment from an Ulsterman when it concerned an Irish Catholic. Maybe there was hope after all.

"I try to live up to them," I said, "every day." We stood, watching the darkness in the empty hangar. "Thanks for all your help," I finally got out.

"Don't mention it; it was my duty. Where can I take you now? You deserve some rest."

"I think I'll stay here, to wait for the next flight."

"Don't you have a report to make?"

"Only to Major Cosgrove, and he can come get it if he wants. The army has its BARs back, the German agents are in custody or dead, and the IRA plot has been stopped. What else is there?"

"Indeed. You've done well, Lieutenant. Good luck." We shook hands, and he clasped my arm before he let go, and drove off into the night.

"So, Mac, what's your story?" the air force lieutenant asked me.

I thought about all the places I could go. A side trip to London, drop in on Kaz, spend a few nights of luxury with him at the Dorchester. It would be easy, and I could talk things over with him. Maybe even have a few laughs.

"I'm headed for Algiers," I said. It wasn't Kaz I needed to see.

"Well, Bull said, whatever you guys want. I can have you in Gibraltar by tomorrow night, Algiers the next day. We got a B-24 outbound in the morning, ferrying VIPs to Gib for when the president and General Marshall stop there on the way back from meeting Stalin. Room for one more if you don't mind being squeezed in with admirals, generals, and journalists."

"That's fine, I like newspapermen."

It took four days, two of them grounded in Gibraltar due to a storm in the Atlantic. The generals and admirals complained, the reporters played cards. I stuck with them, and ended up with a fistful of pound notes, a sign that my luck was improving. We landed at Maison Blanche airfield, east of Algiers, and I hitched a ride into the city as far as the docks, then trudged up Rue Marguerite, sweating in my woolen uniform, hoping somebody I knew at headquarters would be on duty. Halfway up, I stopped to catch my breath and turned to see how far I'd walked. It was a dizzying view, so intense it almost didn't seem real, palm trees and blazing sunshine reflecting off whitewashed stone. Minarets pointing the way to heaven, and church bells echoing against the drab, brown hills. Turquoise blue water, sparkling in the distance. A long way from Ireland.

The rest of the walk was cooler, in the shade of the giant palm trees in the Hotel St. George gardens. I walked along the drive, dodging jeeps and staff cars as they went about their important rear-area business. Allied Forces HQ had grown from a few hundred officers and enlisted men after the invasion to thousands, a bloated, bureaucratic beast that had taken over seven other buildings at last count. I was nothing but a drop in that bucket, and the sentry at the main entrance didn't recognize me and didn't want to risk his PFC's stripe by letting me stink up the lobby.

"Call Ike's office, see if Kay Summersby or Mattie Pinette are in," I told him. "They know me."

"Why are you wearing that uniform, sir?" he asked, taking in the sweat-stained, dirty wool. Four days in the same clothes hadn't helped my appearance, and I sensed his suspicion that I was a Kraut spy dumb enough to wear a winter uniform in the North African sun.

"Because it's cold in Northern Ireland. Now telephone the office, that's an order."

Five minutes later Kay had me by the arm, pulling me along to Ike's office, filling me in on what had happened since I left, her words coming out in a breathless jumble.

"The president and his party are returning from Tehran. The general is going to meet them in Tunis, and everyone says Roosevelt is going to appoint General Marshall to command the invasion of Europe, and that Ike is going to go back to Washington. What's going to happen to all of us, Billy?"

She sat at her desk while I collapsed in a chair, waving to Mattie and the other familiar faces in the office. Kay took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, glancing at the other WACs. I wondered what they knew about her and Uncle Ike. I wondered if I could forget it.

"I don't know, Kay, maybe we'll all go home with the general." As soon as I said it, I realized that wasn't what Kay wanted to hear. Home meant Mamie Eisenhower.

"I'm not an American citizen, Billy. They'll split us all up, after everything we've been through. I can't bear the thought of it."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Kay. From what I hear, the president thinks General Marshall is too important to let him leave Washington. And the boss is already over here. You never know."

"I'm sorry, Billy, I suppose I'm overreacting. There's a new rumor every day, and it's gotten to me, that's all. Tell me, how was your assignment in Ireland? You look dreadful, if you don't mind me saying." She dabbed her eyes one more time and put away the handkerchief.

"It was resolved," I said. "But I've been traveling for four days, and I need clothes, chow, a bath, and a bed, not necessarily in that order. Can you fix me up?"

"Sure, Billy. I think we can get you into a room here, at least for a couple of nights. We've got VIPs and VGDIPs coming in every day but I can take care of it. I'll get someone to get your gear together too."

"Thanks. What's a VGDIP?"

"Very Goddamn Important Person," she whispered. "At least in their own eyes." She laughed, and her face lit up with that mischievous look that made a beautiful woman even more attractive.

"Have you heard anything from Kaz? When's he coming back?"

"No, nothing," she said. "And the Poles in London aren't talking. The general had me contact them but all they said was that Lieutenant Kazimierz had been recalled indefinitely. Something is damned odd there."

"It's a damned odd war. Is the general around?"

"Yes, but he's leaving shortly. Do you want to see him now? The way you look?"

"I'll be dead asleep on my feet in ten minutes. Now or never."

"Is there anyone else you want to see?" Kay said, with a coy smile.

"Is Diana here?"