“All right,” Diana said in a low voice, her face close to mine, close enough to feel the heat of her breath on my cheek. She backed away and I followed as she took the stairs. Two at a time.
Sunlight streamed in, warming us as we huddled under the white duvet.
“Do you think he’s still down there?” Diana asked.
“Yeah. He’s probably knocked on my door a couple of times by now. If he’s got half a brain he’ll start asking questions and figure out I’m in your room.”
“Perhaps Kim will shoot him. Or have him shot, more likely.” She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes on a warm spring day. But it was winter, a war winter, and this hidden moment with a bit of sunshine was all we had. It was enough, I decided, and laughed along with her, until we lay exhausted and the sun rose higher in the morning sky, leaving the room in a gloomy chill.
Dressed again, we went down to the restaurant. It was nearly empty, with no trace of the messenger boy. The waiter brought coffee to our table and said the young man had gone off to look for me. He smiled and Diana blushed.
“I hope they don’t have microphones in the rooms,” Diana said as the waiter left.
“Could they?” I asked, and then saw she was trying to hide a laugh. “Make a nice souvenir,” I added, trying to cover up.
“Mr. McCarthy?” It was the embassy kid, looking at a photograph and checking it against my face. It took me a moment to remember that was the name on my Irish passport.
“In the flesh,” I said, and Diana gave an abrupt laugh, her hand covering her mouth as she looked away. “Please join us.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to speak to you in private.”
“Unnecessary, as I’m sure Mr. Gallagher has told you.” That was Philby’s cover name.
“Very well,” he said, taking a seat and waving off the approaching waiter, probably having had his fill of coffee. “Julian Dwyer, Assistant Commercial Officer, American Embassy.”
“Sorry we missed you earlier,” I said.
“How do you know I was here earlier?”
“Because I saw you and figured you were bad news. So we skipped out.”
“My time is quite valuable, Lieutenant Boyle,” he said, whispering my name and rank in a hiss.
“No it isn’t. There’s not much commerce these days between Switzerland and the U.S. And the fact that you couldn’t find me and you stand out like a virgin in a whorehouse means you’re not a spy operating under diplomatic cover. I bet you just graduated from Harvard or one of those snobby schools and daddy got you a posting so you wouldn’t have to associate with the lower classes and dress in khaki.”
“Yale,” Julian said, sounding offended more by the Harvard remark than anything else.
“I’m not a college football fan, so it makes no difference to me. It boils down to the fact that you’re the only guy they could do without up in Bern and not insult whoever sent the message to be passed on to me. You dress well, I’ll give you that.”
“Billy,” Diana said, placing her hand on my arm. I was getting steamed, and poor Julian was the perfect target. It wasn’t his fault, but he was right in front of me, and I never liked his type much anyway.
“It was my grandfather, not my father,” Julian said. “Six-term congressman. And I have a punctured eardrum, not to mention flat feet, so khaki was never in the cards. But I would look good in it.”
“Okay, Julian, sorry. But I’m not wrong, am I? About bad news?”
“I guess you would call it bad news,” he said, eyeing both of us. “Your orders, Lieutenant Boyle, are to proceed immediately to Naples, Italy. I’ve booked you on a flight from Zurich to Lisbon tonight. From there you’ll travel to Gibraltar and then via military transport to Naples.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. The orders came from London. From a Colonel Samuel Harding.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Diana said, with an edge of bitterness.
“I still have three days of leave,” I said, knowing it was futile.
“Sorry. I have the orders right here, along with a file,” Julian said, popping open his briefcase.
“I believe you,” I said. “It’s got to be important if Colonel Harding sent it. My leave was approved by General Eisenhower, so if he’s overruling that, he’s got good reason. Have you read the file?”
“The file is for you,” Julian said.
“Right. It’s not sealed, so stop making believe you haven’t looked at it. This has got to be the most interesting thing that’s happened since you got here.”
“Not quite as interesting as some of the Swiss girls I’ve met skiing at Gstaad, but you’ve got me dead to rights. You’re sure?” He nodded to Diana.
“Spill, Julian. She’s got higher clearance than either of us.”
“There have been two murders in Naples,” Julian said. I could see the eagerness in his eyes. He was excited, and I was sure this bit of cloak-and-dagger was the high point of his life.
“Only two? Must’ve been a slow night.”
“Both U.S. Army officers. First guy was found in the 3rd Division bivouac area at Caserta, outside Naples. Lieutenant Norman Landry. Found behind a supply tent, his neck snapped. The other officer was Captain Max Galante, M.D., of Fifth Army medical staff. He was found the same night, outside headquarters at Caserta, strangled.”
The waiter came to our table with a tray of warm rolls, butter and jams. Conversation ceased as he laid everything out. As soon as he was gone, I buttered a roll, not knowing when or where my next meal might be.
“Forgive me for asking, Julian,” Diana said, flashing him a warm smile, “but terrible as these murders are, they don’t seem to warrant your presence here. Why the orders from London? Fifth Army must have plenty of military police to sort this out.”
“Like the lieutenant said, I’m only the messenger. But there is something here that may explain it. Pictures of the bodies.” He pulled two black and white photos from the file, face down. “They’re a bit gruesome.”
“Gruesome is par for the course,” Diana said. “Let’s see them.”
They weren’t pretty. Lieutenant Landry was on his back, head lolled to one side. His field jacket was open, and his. 45 automatic was still in his holster. His hair was curly, and a splash of freckles decorated his cheeks. He looked young-too young to be leading men into combat. A canvas tent was visible in the background. A piece of paper appeared stuck in his shirt pocket. As if in answer to my unspoken question, Julian laid the other photo on top. It was a close up.
“The ten of hearts,” I said.
“A brand new card,” Julian said. “No other playing cards were found on him.”
“You read this pretty carefully,” I said.
“There wasn’t much else to do, waiting for you.”
“Okay, okay. What about the other guy?”
“Meet Captain Max Galante,” Julian said. Captain Galante was older, late thirties maybe. Stocky, dark haired. His throat was heavily bruised, his eyes bulging, the terror of death still on his face. Landry probably died instantly. This guy didn’t. What looked like a playing card stuck out from his shirt pocket as well.
“Don’t tell me,” I said.
“The jack of hearts?” Diana asked.
“Yes,” Julian said, laying down the close up as if he were dealing a poker hand.
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“The bodies were found yesterday morning. As soon as Fifth Army put two and two together, they sounded the alarm. German agents, Mafia, Italian Fascists, they’re seeing them all behind every rock.”
“There must be a lot of nervous majors, not to mention colonels and generals,” I said.
“From the cables in the file, I think it’s a general who sounded the alarm. But he probably got a major to do the work. Count in the British, and there are probably a thousand majors within five miles of Caserta Palace. And they’re all worried it will be them next.”
“No one else killed?”
“Not since we got that report last night in the diplomatic pouch from London.”
I leafed through the paperwork. Orders to proceed without delay to Naples and report to Major John Kearns at Fifth Army HQ. Maybe he didn’t like the odds. Maybe he knew Harding and called in a favor. There were more
