'It is very possible. This is a small-time operation, run by Arabs, the Tabriz brothers. They do business with all the organized crime gangs, including the Bessettes. If your doctor asks around in the Kasbah, this is where he would be sent.'
'Why?'
'Because if he is with the military police, then no one will care if the Tabriz brothers are arrested. It won't make trouble for the Sicilians or for the French mob. Also, one of them speaks English. It is my best guess. In any event, if Doctor Dunbar has a meeting set up with any of the main crime families, then we would not be able to follow him. Not if we are concerned with staying alive.'
'It's a big concern of mine, Vincent, but I don't have a lot of time.'
'You are speaking to a man who has lived the last ten years of his life in Algiers, Lieutenant Boyle. I have learned here that we all have the same amount of time.' He smiled thinly and sipped his tea, eyes darting across the square. I decided not to debate the nature of time with Vincent and drank my tea. It was pretty good, but it didn't cool me off. I guess it took a few years here to achieve that effect. I wondered how long the war was going to last and if I'd still be in North Africa in a couple of years, an old hand with strange acquired habits, still very far from home.
I tried to not keep looking at my watch, but I couldn't help it. After about the twentieth time, I looked up to see a U.S. Army officer walking among the stalls. He had blond hair like Dunbar's under his fore and aft cap, but I couldn't make out his face or rank. He was wearing a khaki uniform jacket with big pockets, just right for carrying half a dozen small cardboard boxes.
'That could be him,' Kaz said before I could.
'If he comes this way, Vincent, we'll duck into the bar and you keep an eye on him,' I said as I strained to see between the stalls and awnings in the marketplace. He turned toward us and I could see his face clearly. It was Dunbar, and he was looking over his shoulder, like a guy carrying stolen drugs in a bad part of town.
'It's him,' I said as Kaz threw some francs down on the table and we got up to follow at a distance.
'Wait,' Vincent said, holding up his hand to keep us back. 'He is being followed, see there?' Two bull-necked guys in dark, dusty suits were trailing Dunbar, stopping to look at a stall full of dates or nuts or grapes every time Dunbar looked around. I couldn't tell if they were French or Arab, but one thing was for certain, they weren't there for the fruit.
An Arab kid ran up to Dunbar and said something, pointing to an alleyway at the end of the square. He nodded and dropped some coins into the kid's palm. He went off toward the alley with the two goons in his wake. It's amazing how a guy smart enough to be a doctor can be dumb enough to get in a fix like this.
'He's being hustled,' I said, 'let's go.'
'I must leave you now,' Vincent said. 'I cannot be involved any further. Your friend Doctor Dunbar is not a very clever drug dealer.'
'He's neither. Thanks, Vincent.' I heard Kaz say goodbye-or who knows what-in Polish as I trotted across the square, trying not to be noticed by the two big guys whose backs were just disappearing into the dark alleyway.
The sound of a big meaty fist smashing into a ribcage is really unpleasant, but I knew I'd rather hear it than feel it. It came from inside a doorway in the alley, and was followed by a loud thud, a groan, and a yell. I made it to the alley in time for someone to throw Dunbar onto the ground. I could hear the door slam as he fell against me, knocking me down, too. I had my hand on my. 45, but there was no one else around except Kaz, a few paces behind me. He pulled Dunbar off me and leaned him up against the wall. The doctor's eye was puffing up and he held his ribs, wincing every time he drew a breath.
'Boyle… what are you…' That was all he could manage. I gave him the once-over. No broken bones. He had gotten a nice professional beating. No blood on the bad guy's hands, lots of close-in work to the torso. He'd have cracked ribs at the least. No syrettes in his pockets, and no wallet. No shoes, either. That made me laugh.
'Doc, you are one goddamn dumb Barney.'
Dunbar moaned.
'Barney?' Kaz asked. 'Is that American slang for a doctor?'
'No, it's strictly a Boston term. We call the Harvard boys Barneys, because of the trolley barns that used to be near the university. And this chowderhead is the dumbest Barney I've ever come across.'
'The Arab boy… he was supposed to…' Dunbar stopped to wince again.
'He was supposed to take you to meet someone who would buy your drugs,' I said, trying to finish the sentence for him.
'Oh God,' Dunbar wailed, 'what have I done?' He started crying.
'For starters, stolen U.S. Army property and conspired to sell it for personal profit.'
His face went white. Tears were still streaming out of the corners of his eyes, but he seemed too stunned to take notice. Before I could say anything else, he doubled over and vomited.
'Good thing you don't have those nice leather dress shoes to worry about anymore,' I said as I jumped back to dodge the splatter. I grabbed an arm and dragged him back across the marketplace, where the Arabs who didn't ignore us looked at each other and laughed. The whole place seemed to know what had happened. We walked under the arched entrance to the Kasbah and back to the jeep. Dunbar was still out of breath, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, and trying not to blubber.
'It was… just supposed to be… a one-time thing,' Dunbar said, gasping for air as I helped him into the jeep, barefoot, dribbled stains on his tie and shirt, his cover gone. He was definitely out of uniform, which was the least of his problems right now.
'Sure, sure. Now just sit there and lean out the side if you feel sick again.' I turned to Kaz, who was surveying the situation with that slightly amused look that usually seemed to be on his face. Around me, anyway.
'Big waste of time, huh?' I said.
'Well, Billy, I think you can eliminate the good doctor from suspicion of being the brains of a smuggling ring.'
'Maybe that's what he wants us to think?'
'If so, then I am very impressed by his ability to vomit on command just to convince us he is a frightened incompetent.'
We both managed a laugh. I heard Dunbar moan a bit as he tried to find a comfortable position and that made me feel better too. I plopped myself down behind the wheel as Kaz pulled himself into the passenger's seat.
'Okay, let's get back on track, Kaz. How's your arm feeling?'
'It hurts, but I'm fine. The doctor said I could have the stitches out the day after tomorrow.'
'If you're up to it, can you work on the Blackpool connection?'
'Yes, I was just about to start when you called. Vincent is inquiring quietly about smuggling connections into Tunisia, assuming that Villard and Bessette are selling to the Germans. He also knows dock- workers who may have information about a smuggling route, through neutral vessels in the harbor. He said he's heard of refugees being smuggled into Portugal in the holds of merchant ships flying neutral flags.'
'That fits with the Bessette family's control of the docks.'
'Yes, but they will have to find an alternate route for the Germans or Italians now that Algiers is in Allied hands. We will search the vessels more thoroughly than the Vichy did, when they weren't bribed to look the other way.'
Something in the conversation clicked in my mind. I had no idea what, but something Kaz said started the wheels turning. What was it? Bribes, Portugal, dockworkers…? I had the feeling that somehow he had given me the answer to a big question, but all I could think of was a million little ones.
'Billy, are you listening to me?'
'Yeah, Kaz, yeah, I am. Sorry. What were you saying?'
'I will use the radio link at Headquarters to contact the base at Blackpool and the Provost Marshal's office. Call the hotel and ask for me anytime. The staff will know how to find me.'
'I'll bet. In the bar or the dining room, if I know you.'
'Are you going to turn me in?' whined Dunbar from the back of the jeep.
