Blonde Bait

cooperate with the private investigator?”

     “Could be,” I said, wanting to shout he was darn well right. “But, somehow, after all this time, Mrs. Fedor and the diary... I mean, why are they still important?”

     Jock gave me that slightly annoying laugh of his. “The search for Rose Fedor has become an international, if unofficial, cause celibre. The diary will be of prime importance as long as Algeria remains unsettled, and that can be a matter of years. As I told you, the search had practically died down, until yesterday.”

     I nodded and kept pumping. “About the importance of this book: are you saying the French army knocked off this village and are now trying to hush things up?”

     “Jacques does not know,” Colette said, as if to keep in the conversation.

     He shook his head. “Colette is correct, we have no proof of the killers' identity. When you say 'the French,' or 'the English,' or 'the American,' by themselves the words are also without meaning. It is the same as saying the sky is blue, which it is not, for the sky is composed of many shades of color, even of blue. Democratic governments likewise are a mosaic of different shades of political opinions. While this is a 'good' thing, it may also result in some government official doing terrible things in the name of 'righteousness,' and without it being an official policy of the government. We live in complex times and ironically, as the power of weapons increases, in the same ratio so does the power of the individual, A lieutenant piloting a plane with a bomb can start a world war at his whim. For all we know, Budapest was the result of a trigger-happy Russian tank driver, or Korea caused by a frightened machine-gunner. It is frightening but true that a drunken officer at a guided missile base can set the world afire. The military mind is such, the world over, that they cannot admit an error, a mistake, and feel they must either back up or bury any such action of then-men. It is possible Sowor, Fedor, and the others wiped out Melouza in a moment of drunken rage. The idea may have been entirely their own. But for me, that is far too simple a view.”

     “What's that mean?”

     “It is also possible, if they were involved in this horror at all, they were ordered to wipe out the village by a superior officer. What one must understand is: that such an officer although doing a monstrous act is not necessarily a monster. Indeed, he can be a sincere person convinced his act of terror is for the 'good' of his country. Do not smile, sir, in the history of your own country Indians were massacred and robbed, and not always by scoundrels. Some men, fine family men and upstanding citizens, felt that only by taking—stealing—the Indian lands could America win the West and grow powerful. Many Indian chiefs, far from villains, were just as certain the slaying of settlers and wagon trains was best for their tribe. In our complex world, nothing is all black or entirely white. Everything depends upon the point of view. A murder to one man can easily be a matter of necessity to another. Am I clarifying the picture or fogging it for you?”

     “I'm kind of mixed up. Maybe because it's hard to believe this cloak and dagger stuff, officially or unofficially. Do you think the Algerian rebels killed the people in Me-Lucy-ah?”

     “We all have opinions on the subject, but no proof of anything, hence the importance of the diary. Let me try again to clear the air. Myself, I am a liberal in my politics, I respect all humanity. Now let us imagine I am an officer sent to Algeria, in command of an area. Regardless of my orders, I would make an unofficial effort, completely on my own, to understand the problems of the Algerians, perhaps seek out a compromise. I am not doing this for power, or glory, or greed, but with what is known as the best intentions. The net result may be success, the saving of many lives. Then again, I could also be making a tragic mistake. If my opposite number among the FLN is a brute, a fanatic, my act could cause the death of hundreds of my men. Reverse the coin. I am a rockbound reactionary, I am a colon raised in Algeria, fearing and hating the Arabs. To me, then, the Arabs seem to threaten the very life of my beloved France and thus the rebels are but rascals and savages to be given no quarter. Therefore, I might, on my own, and with the most sincere intentions, order the massacre of a village. All this is the consequence of individual action. History is full of men who did horrible acts in the guise of patriotism. No doubt many of Hitler's concentration camp beasts felt they were doing a dirty job but one necessary for their Germany's survival. Trusting one's judgment can be a bad gamble for others.”

     I sucked on my cigar; it was dead. Relighting it, I asked, “How did Sowor and Fedor get into the USA?”

     “Perhaps as tourists, or they might have smuggled themselves across the border. Again, they may have been special guests.”

     “Now what does that mean? Are you accusing Uncle Sam of playing potsy in this mess?” I asked.

     Jock let me have another weary smile. “I am not insulting your country. The truth is, in my own way, I greatly admire the USA. What I meant is this: assuming the men were involved in this and whether their higher officers agreed with their action or not, if the army backed them, then it would be a simple exchange. I do you a favor and you do me one. These are dirty times with dirty wars and incidents going on all the time, involving every big power. Your CIA is authorized to bring in a hundred aliens per year into the USA, regardless of quotas or immigration rules. France has about the same set-up. So I, if I represented a high army department, might ask the USA to do us a favor and let two or three men into the country, no questions asked. In return, France allows several of your men to live in Paris—also no questions asked. In short, the USA knows nothing of what Fedor and Sowor might have done, and doesn't ask. Mind you, this is merely a supposition on my part, I have no proof.”

     I told him, “Suppose you find the diary and it says your country did the killing. What will you do with the book?” I wanted to get his “in”; his pitch.

     “Whatever the diary may say is nothing. It must prove a Frenchman, or French policy, was responsible. If that should be the case, I assure you we moderates would use it as a weapon to oust the fascist element among the colons and the government. We would insist the guilty be punished. Naturally, in such a case, if the diary landed in the hands of the other side, they would be anxious to destroy it.”

     “Suppose the Algerians got it?”

     Jock shrugged. “Monsieur Mouse, the Algerians, like the French—and all peoples—are also made up of various political elements. It would again depend on what the diary proved and which faction possessed the book. As I have told you, no country is entirely good or bad. As for myself, we moderates, we haven't any selfish motives in this. It is my belief that such a massacre, no matter how high or low the reason, was a terrible crime. Those guilty, whether French, Algerians, or men from the moon, must be exposed and punished. To prevent any other such killings.”

     “And for that, for what the diary may say, all this cops and robbers stuff has been going on? After all, the massacre was years ago, who gives a damn now?”

     Colette said, “You do not mean what you say, Mickey!”

     Jock said sadly, “I trust you are not that cynical, Monsieur. Or so ignorant you do not understand the power this expose will have. The leveling of Lidice, another obscure little town, did as much toward the eventual defeat of the Nazis as did all the strategic bombing by the Allies. World opinion is a tremendous weapon. That is the great importance of the diary.”

     “Then how come the oil companies are so hot after it? They're not in politics.”

     He waved the stub of his cigarette in the air, as if pointing out my nose to me. “Obviously, since they are interested in the oil concession, they must play all sides to insure ending up with the winner. They would use the diary to blackmail, if necessary. Even de Gaulle wants...”

     As he talked on, I tried not to smile. Poor Rose. Poor me. Running all this time and carrying the hot potato with us in those “letters.” Like a mutt trying to escape the clatter of a tin can—tied to his tail. There was such an easy and simple solution. All Rose had to do was drop the letters—publicly—and we'd be safe.

     Glancing at the clock on the desk, I stood up, cut Jock off with: “Well, if I ever see this Mary again and if she is Rose, and if she has the diary, I'll try to...”

     He gave me a sharp laugh. “Monsieur Mouse, do not be insulted when I say, frankly, I think you are a liar. I also think you know very well where Rose is. Here is my card. I want you to please...”

     “I don't give a damn what you think—I don't know where she is, or that Mary is this Rose!”

     He gave me a mock bow. “Let me put it this way: keep my card. If you should ever come across such a diary... well, I've tried to impress upon you its importance to the world—to the safety of mankind. All I ask is if you do come across it, bring or mail it to me. I am a true Frenchman, and what is more important, above all else I consider myself a true humanitarian— in the fullest civilized meaning of the word. If the diary proves anything, I swear to you, I will see justice done, in any case. You must trust me to do that. As we are strangers, you must take Colette's word for my character, for my...”

     “Save the pitch. I keep telling you I have no idea where Rose or such a diary can be.”

     “All we ask is if you do see her,” Colette said, “to convince her to send the diary to us, to Jacques. It can save many lives and in the wrong hands result in much misery. Mickey, you must do that!”

     Jock blew a cigarette ring and then a short puff of smoke through the center of the ring. He was good at it. He said, “There is one other thing you should know, the diary is worth $10,000 to me.”

     “How come the price has gone down?” I