'Anything else you can tell me?' I asked.
'No, Villard did not trust me with any information. He always told me things right before they were about to happen.'
'So that's it?' I asked.
'Yes, truly. Please take me to the doctor now.'
I patted down his uniform jacket pocket, the pocket I saw him put something in when he'd taken the briefcase. I felt a notebook inside and reached in for it. A black leather notebook, flail of pages just like the sheet I found on Casselli.
'You missed a page when you killed Casselli, by the way. It was folded inside the matchbook,' I offered, just being helpful. I flipped through the pages, seeing nothing but a lot of letters that didn't make sense. Code again. 'Smart move palming the notebook. A nice insurance package in case your boss turned against you,' I said. 'But it was not smart to lie to me.'
He started to shake again, his whole body trembling, waiting for my hand to raise the gun and make that sound again. I wanted to, I wanted to empty his goddamn pistol into his chest and watch him die. Then I wanted him to come back, so I could do it all over again.
'Ain't worth it, Lieutenant,' Duxbury said quietly. 'Not even a rotten piece of garbage like that one.'
I had to agree. 'Let's go,' I said. But I knew someone else who was well worth it.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Captain Gauthier was happy to take Mathenet into custody, and I was happy he didn't ask about the hole in Mathenet's foot. Duxbury had given it a good bandaging, and the last I saw of Mathenet, a grinning French sergeant was opening the trap door to that hole Villard had kept Gauthier and his men in for two days. Mathenet had tried to protest, but I told him he didn't have a leg to stand on. Duxbury thought it was funny, but I guess it lost something in translation since Mathenet didn't laugh.
Duxbury and Rodney dropped us off at Harry's boat. They said it had been fun, and I don't think they were kidding. We traded handshakes and cigarettes, and I pretended to be glad to fork over a couple of packs of Lucky Strikes for English cigarettes, which tended to taste more like straw than tobacco.
Harry's crewmen helped him aboard and then promptly ignored him while they made Diana comfortable. Banville got on the radio and contacted base. They relayed our situation to HQ in Algiers, and we were told that Harding had issued orders for an RAF Catalina flying boat to pick us up just outside the harbor. Harry, Diana, and I were to be taken to the 21st General Hospital in Algiers. Back to square one. But now I had Diana with me.
Aboard the giant seaplane, watching Banville turn the MTB out to sea for the long ride back, I observed Diana as the Catalina took off. Its two engines revved high and the hull bounced hard each time it sliced through a wave until it finally lifted off, leaving the heavy seas behind. The Catalina was outfitted for Air-Sea rescue; Diana lay on a stretcher, covered in blankets. Her eyes were closed, but I knew she wasn't sleeping because I could see her brace herself every time the Catalina hit one of those waves. I reached over to place my hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened. I took it away and I made believe she was sleeping too.
Harry had his leg propped up on a case of ammo. Just beyond him were the waist gunners, who had great views from the observation blisters that jutted out from the narrow fuselage. Great, except when what you saw were German or Italian fighters diving toward you. The waist gunners ignored us as they swiveled their guns around and scanned the sky, which was fine with me.
'How's the leg?' I asked, settling down on the metal seat next to Harry.
'Hurts like the devil, not that I dare complain about a little through and through, as our Commando friends kept reminding me.'
'Shot is shot,' I said. 'The human body wasn't built to have red hot lead smash through it. You have a right to complain.'
He didn't say anything. After a minute or so he pointed with his thumb to Diana.
'How is she?'
'Asleep. I think, or hope. You saved her life, and I owe you for that.'
'Trick is, Billy, will she think I did her a favor? And did I? She's obviously suffering, and I've just given her the chance to face more sleepless nights, more anguish, more memories…'
'What happened?'
'What do you mean?'
'What happened to your last boat?'
More silence. His eyes stayed glued to the floor.
'You knew what she was going to do before I did,' I said. 'Maybe even before she did. You knew what she was feeling by the way she moved. Like a caged animal, looking for a way out, you said.'
'Only there is no way out,' he finished.
'Except- '
'Yes, except that. By your own hand, or someone else's, what does it matter? This is war, people die all the time!' Harry bit off those last words with anger, his face turning red.
'Before I ran into you, back in England, I was questioning a woman about a murder. Her husband had gone down with his bomber and she didn't know if he was alive or dead. Know what she said to me?' 'What?'
'She said, thousands die every day, and they send no one. One old man dies, and they send you.'
'The difference being?'
'That old man didn't have to die. Diana didn't either. It wasn't her time. You don't, at least not by your own hand.'
Harry laughed at that, more of a grunt, really, with a lazy smile tacked onto the end of it.
'I couldn't, anyway. Too much of a bloody coward. But it did seem like the only way out, when the walls were closing in and nothing made any sense at all.'
'So what happened?'
'Deuce of it is, I don't really know. Or remember. We were on patrol, nothing special really. Last thing I remember is coming up on deck. Then, being in the drink I woke up with blood in my eyes, floating in the water, my boat capsized and burning. I couldn't remember how I got there, or what had happened. I looked around for the others, and there was no one. I saw one body, yards away, badly burned and obviously dead. That was it. Everybody gone, just me with a gash on my head bobbing around in my life jacket, watching my boat burn and go under. Maybe we hit a mine and it happened all in a second, or maybe we were jumped by S-Boats or Messerschmitts. I have no idea. I found a piece of wreckage and floated on it, and one of our own boats finally found me. Just by chance, too. How lucky is that, Billy, to be spared death in an explosion and then to be picked up before I could die of exposure?'
'If you were really lucky, you would've been ordered to stay in port that day.'
Harry grunted again, his slight grin offering the hope there might be something to really smile about someday He looked out the small round window behind his head. The sea was choppy and there were small white plumes riding the crests of a thousand waves below. I thought about Harry floating in a sea like that, all alone, and remembered something. What had been just a story now seemed very real and terrifying.
'My Uncle Dan had something like that happen to him,' I said.
'Yes…?'
'He fought in the First World War, in France. His squad had crawled out on a night patrol in No Man's Land to cut wire. That night it was his turn as rear guard, to make sure a German patrol hadn't spotted them, to stay put in a shell hole while the rest of the squad crawled back to their trench.'
I could see Uncle Dan out there now in a way I never could before, all alone and listening for any tell-tale sound in the darkness.
'He said the Germans sent up a flare, so he buried his head in the mud and didn't move a muscle. Then he heard the artillery start up. He heard the shells whistling overhead and felt the ground shake as they hit behind him. He couldn't tell how long it lasted, but it seemed to go on forever. When it stopped, he waited and waited, not moving a muscle. Then he started crawling back, heading the same way his squad had. He never found them, not a
