on this mission? It's a British show, not ours. I had to call in a few chips just to get you on that boat, so forget about anything else. The Commandos are tasked to take the harbor and ensure none of the facilities are destroyed. The paratroops are taking the airfield for an advanced fighter base, which we need very badly.'
'Yessir. Understood.' What I understood was that I was going into Vichy territory with two other guys to find a renegade smuggler who had enough troops to hold Diana and twenty-four others hostage. Great.
'Good. Do you have the address of that bar? We can mark it on the map.'
I picked up my Parsons jacket, feeling the scorched holes near the collar, and rummaged through the pockets until I found the match- book. I flipped it over, opened it up, but no address. Just the name and phone number. I shook my head. I held it in my hand and looked at the matches. I thought back to the last time I'd used one, to light Gloria's cigarette. Casselli and I had been racing to give her a light. Then I felt those holes again.
'Give it to me,' said Kaz from the bed. I handed it to him and tried to let the thought that was forming in my mind take shape. Kaz picked up the phone and I heard him ask for the hotel operator, then read out the telephone number from the matchbook. I tried not to pay attention as the thought took shape. He had a brief conversation in French, liked a question, said 'Merci!' and hung up.
'Sometimes it pays to think like a man who wants a drink instead of like a policeman, Billy. Le Bar Bleu is in business at 410 Rue de
Napoleon, which is off the Boulevard Fesch, the main road along the quay at the harbor.' He flipped the matchbook back to me and smiled. A happy, debonair smile from the old Kaz. I smiled, too, because something had just made sense to me. I pulled my jacket on and stuffed the matchbook in my pocket.
'Thanks, Kaz,' I said as I traced my finger over the map and found the two streets. 'That just made things a lot easier.'
'Get going, Boyle,' Harding snapped as he moved toward the door. 'I'm going to visit the central police office and try and find Mathenet. Your orders are being prepared now. You'll need them to get on the MTB base. I'll pick them up and meet you at the hospital at 1600 hours. That ought to give you enough time to question the staff there.'
'Will you be interviewing Captain Morgan while you're there, sir?'
'None of your damn business, Boyle. Now get moving!' With that, Harding slammed the door behind him.
'Billy,' Kaz said as he folded up the map on his lap, 'there was no reason to anger the Major…'
'Yes there was,' I said, holding up the matchbook. 'I was having coffee yesterday morning with Joe Casselli and Gloria Morgan. I lit her cigarette with one of these matches. And within hours two people were dead.'
'She and Casselli both saw the matchbook? And the name of the bar?'
'They could have, if they looked. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Or maybe one of them did see it and made a connection that started the chain of events that led to two deaths.'
'Perhaps Sergeant Casselli saw it. If he was involved with the smugglers, when Villard came for the supplies, he could have told him that an American officer knew about Le Bar Bleu, and Villard decided to eliminate anyone who could link him to the thefts.'
'Or,' I said, 'Gloria saw it and put two and two together.'
'In which case,' Kaz said, 'Major Harding may be in danger.'
'No. If she were involved she'd pump him for information. Which means that if he tells her about this side trip to Bone, I'm the one in danger. All she-or anyone-would have to do is drop a nickel on me.'
'A nickel?'
'Make a phone call, tip off their pals. Then when I go in, I get a lead cocktail, compliments of the management.'
'A lead cocktail, I like that,' laughed Kaz, ever the eager student of American gangster slang. 'Very good, Billy.'
'Yeah, great. I'm so glad my time in the Army gives you the opportunity to learn new terms for death and mayhem.'
'Billy, isn't that what war is all about?'
I nodded. 'That's what I don't like about it, in case you haven't noticed.'
'You know, I think it is what I am beginning to like about it.'
I'd thought he was kidding, but that got my attention. Kaz looked deadly serious.
'What do you mean?'
'You have a home and family to go back to, Billy. The Nazis killed my family and enslaved my country. I've lost the only woman I ever loved, or expect to love. So death? What do I have to fear from death? I have greater cause to fear what else life may offer me.'
'You're not going to… do anything stupid, are you?'
Kaz laughed. 'Stupid? No, not while I have you to look out for, Billy. You do provide a distraction which keeps me amused.'
'Distraction? You've been shot, nearly died, then shot at again. Some distraction!'
'Exactly, I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow.'
'Me either. It will help if I'm around when tomorrow comes.'
We didn't say much else. Kaz looked out the window. I thought about home. That summed it up, both of us together, in our separate worlds.
Finally, I picked up my gear. 'Gotta go, Kaz. You need anything?'
'No, Billy, I'll be fine until the doctor arrives.'
'Okay. Do me a favor? If the doc lets you up, check with the Army base back in England at Blackpool and see if there was any funny business there with supplies. Call the Provost Marshal's office for that military district and see if they've uncovered any black market activity.'
'Or murder?'
'Yeah. Or murder.'
Chapter Fifteen
Colonel Walton's office looked more like a whorehouse parlor than an army hospital administrator's digs. Thick deep purple drapes hung over the windows, blocking out the sun and heat. Oriental rugs were spread over the floor, and a velvet couch sat next to the antique walnut table that served as his desk. A big, ornate telephone and a glass ashtray stood on either side; otherwise the table was bare. There was a matching table at the other end of the room with six chairs around it. Probably for poker games, although there was a map open on it now. It was a National Geographic map of the Mediterranean, dated 1935. Hardly a top-secret document. On the wall opposite the window, a bookshelf was half-filled with army manuals and a few scattered medical books.
I was seated in front of Walton's desk, waiting for him to finish the delicate business of lighting a cigar. He clipped the end, fired up his Zippo, and pulled on the stogie until it glowed red like a taillight at a stop sign. He finally blew out a substantial puff of smoke and appeared to be satisfied. He looked at the cigar like it was the only thing in his world and smiled. He took his eyes off of it and laid them on me, and the smile faded to a frown. Next topic on the agenda.
'Well, Lieutenant Boyle? What have you found out so far?'
'If I were a gambling man, Colonel, I'd bet it was an inside job.'
He went back to puffing on his cigar, and gazed at me through a cloud of blue smoke.
'I am a gambling man, junior, but then you probably know that already.' He blew smoke in my direction and looked at the stogie again, rolling it between his thumb and thick fingers. The tobacco leaf crinkled faintly under the pressure.
'Yessir, I do. I know that officers under your command owe you money, and that makes me wonder what they'd do to pay you back.'
'Dunbar doesn't have the balls to kill a soul. The rest of them don't owe enough to worry about.'
'Colonel, doesn't it bother you that gambling is against regulations? You're the commanding officer-'
