heard you use your tide except to get reservations back in London.'
'That Commando captain is actually Lord Waverly. He didn't care to have me along, so I played the fellow aristocrat. It turns out we had several friends in common at Oxford, and this warmed him up to me. A Polish baron is a rarity, and he may think of me as a mascot.'
'Pretty deadly bite for a mascot,' I said. Kaz ignored me and went on hunting through the files. His family was descended from one of the ancient clans in Poland, and now this Baron Kazimierz was at the end of his line. Very far from home and alone in the world.
An hour later there was a mound of paper on the floor and three sheets on a desk. Harding and Kaz leaned over them. I leaned against the wall.
'This is all we can find, Major,' Kaz reported.
'My French isn't as good as yours, Lieutenant,' Harding said, 'but I can tell these are travel orders of some sort.'
'Yes, and requisitions for food, quarters, and most importantly, petrol. For twenty-five prisoners and ten guards, no names listed.' Kaz stabbed his finger at one of the sheets. 'At the French Army fuel depot at Bone.'
'That's not much to go on,' said Harding. He turned to a map on the wall. 'Bone is here, on the coast about 125 miles due east. Way beyond our advance units. If they're refueling there, it stands to reason they're headed even further out.'
'Here, Major,' Kaz said, favoring his bad arm as he read through one of the sheets. 'This says the final destination will be confirmed when the convoy arrives in Bone.'
'Confirmed by whom?' Harding asked.
'By the deputy administrative officer of XIX Corps, a Captain Henri Bessette, according to this. It says final instructions will be radioed to the commander of the supply depot, who is to turn them over when he is given the authorized password.'
'What's the password?' I asked.
'It does not say here.'
'Why all this secrecy about a bunch of rebels, anyway? Why didn't they keep them here, or shoot them and get it over with? It doesn't make sense,' I said.
'XIX Corps covers the area from Algiers to the Tunisian border,' Harding said, half to himself as he studied the map.
'But why would a staff officer at an Army Corps headquarters issue orders and supplies to a police force?' I asked.
'Remember that the Service d'Order Legionnaire militia works hand in glove with the Gardes Mobiles police force,' Harding said, 'and SOL draws its supplies from the army. Whatever is intended for these prisoners is connected with people in high places.'
'Like General Juin?' Kaz asked.
'Maybe,' Harding shrugged. 'But with Darlan in town, who knows?'
'Let's get to Darlan then,' I said.
Harding reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of Luckies. He lit one and sat on the desk, staring at the wall map of the North African coast.
'Listen to me, both of you. I want to get Miss Seaton back as much as you do. I understand what she means to each of you.' He stopped and looked at us, then back at the map, blowing a stream of blue smoke toward it.
'But, we have a job to do here. That job doesn't include running off to find one missing SOE agent, no matter who she is. The best thing we can do is sort things out with the French so she can be released. If I let you go after her, you could as easily screw things up and get her killed. Let Ike and General Clark negotiate with Darlan. They should have things wrapped up in a few days.'
'You mean in a couple of days we'll be pals with Villard, and he'll simply hand her over?'
'It's common to add 'sir' when addressing a senior officer, Boyle,' Harding said. 'Now let's get out of here and get some chow.' He stood, ground out his cigarette, and walked out the door.
'Who is Villard?' Kaz asked. Neither of us had to comment on the fact that Harding had avoided my question.
'I'll tell you on the way to the hotel. You said something about breakfast?'
We set out. I can worry just as well on a full stomach.
Breakfast was powdered eggs and Spam cooked in a field kitchen erected in the courtyard of the St. George Hotel. We sat on ammo crates in the shade beneath camouflage netting, watching swarms of GIs carrying supplies from trucks through the main entrance like they owned the place. The St. George was four stories high, surrounded by gardens and palm trees, tucked in a quiet area away from the dust and traffic, overlooking the Mediterranean. It was pretty fancy.
'I've eaten at nicer hotels,' I said to Kaz, as I pushed the congealed eggs around in my mess tin. Harding gave a grunt, which passed for hysterical laughter coming from him.
'I asked if I could make a reservation,' Kaz answered, 'but the phone service from Gibraltar was not dependable.'
'He's serious.' Harding said, through a mouthful of Spam. He actually looked like he was enjoying the stuff.
'In any case, all reservations have been canceled and the guests are being moved out,' Kaz said. 'All except one. Admiral Darlan.'
'Darlan's quartered here?' I asked.
Harding nodded. 'See those French Naval ratings guarding that entrance?' Harding gestured to a far wing of the hotel with his fork, a hunk of burned Spam pointing the way. 'That's where he's holed up, negotiating with General Clark. He's got XIX Corps headquarters staff in there too. Including Bessette.'
I stared at Harding, wondering how he always seemed to know everything, and if he was giving me a hint about what to do next. And wondering if I could do it.
'Why are we bothering with Darlan anyway?' I asked.
Kaz said, 'Darlan is the direct representative of Marshal Petain.'
'But Colonel Baril, and Georgie…' I began.
'Darlan's arrival threw a monkey wrench into the works. It took a lot of courage to do what they did,' Harding said. 'But I'm afraid Colonel Baril may pay the same price Lieutenant Dupree did. Only he may be allowed a blindfold.'
'So what does that mean for your mission to work with the rebels?' I asked.
'It's a military dictum that no plan survives contact with the enemy, Boyle. That mission is over. Now we collect whatever information we can on French troop dispositions until they come over to our*ide or Ike gives us a new assignment. It was supposed to be a quick coup. The rebels didn't pull it off, so now Darlan's in charge. He's got them in prison and we're pleading with him to come over to our side. Remke was right. Darlan's going to come out smelling like a rose,' Harding said.
'What exactly does that mean for the civilian rebels in custody?' I asked, dreading the thought of Diana in Villard's hands. 'A firing squad?'
'I doubt it,' Harding said casually. 'It's one thing for an officer to disobey orders. A bunch of kids, that's another thing. Once things get straightened out here, they'll let them go. Don't worry.'
'Sure, Major.' I looked over at Darlan's rooms and counted the guards. I drank my coffee. It was cold.
Chapter Seven
I only had combat boots with me, so I went out of the skylight in my stocking feet. Kaz boosted me up and I pulled myself out onto the roof. I looked down and Kaz disappeared in the darkness, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hallway. I sat on the warm tiles for a second, glad that I didn't have to shinny up a drainpipe to get here thanks
