knowing it was too late, hoping that Slaine had had time for one last dream, of peaceful green fields perhaps, or maybe Michael Sullivan himself, waiting for her, and all the other Wild Geese who had served every cause but their own.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Hugh Carrick drove us to Langford Lodge. I sat in the back as he and Uncle Dan chatted, comparing notes, talking shop, probably each thinking the other was not a bad sort, considering. I wished death could roll like water off my back, letting me join in on the cop talk and sly jokes. But instead it clung to me, as dreary as the darkening sky and the too familiar gray landscape of Lurgan drifting past the window. Our route to Lough Neagh took us through the city but bypassed Brownlow House, which was fine with me.
The air had turned cold, winter showing its bite on a fading autumn day. Smoke drifted from rows of chimneys, and I wondered who would take the peat from Grady's croft.
It wasn't fair, any of it. We were in a war, and there was plenty of killing to go around. That Grady and Taggart had planned to trigger warfare in all of Ireland, for revenge as much as for the Cause, didn't bear thinking about. But I couldn't stop. The waste of innocent lives, the suffering, all for a blood debt that could never be repaid, always demanding a new reprisal, a repayment of pain again and again through the generations. It made me wish I was a common soldier fighting the Germans, man to man. It had been the last thing I wanted when I started working for General Eisenhower, the thing I avoided with all the wit and lies I could muster. But now, recalling the combat I had seen, it seemed cleaner-somehow purer in its intent-than the furtive murders and planned slaughter I'd seen here. Combat had been horrifying, and I'd never been so scared, but it was straightforward. Live or die. No gray areas, no wondering about each pull of the trigger. In combat, you knew who the enemy was; they had different uniforms, and they wanted to kill you. It was simple.
I dug out Pig and ran my fingers over his belly. I understood why Pete Brennan had wanted to leave all the black market intrigue, investigations, and suspicions behind. Put a rifle in his hands and he'd know where to shoot. It was appealing in a way. It would burn away any guilt he felt about his role in the black market, leaving him pure and clean, or dead. It took an honorable man to choose either of those over a rear-area job and plentiful graft.
I rubbed Pig again and understood something else. Diana. It was the same with her. She hadn't yet burned away the guilt she felt, the memories of the wounded soldiers drowning when that destroyer went down in the channel, and the death of her sister, Daphne. Diana was still alive, and that would never be anything but a burden until she did everything she could to prove she deserved to live.
It might kill her. It might free her. Either way, I finally understood.
'We're here, Billy boy,' Uncle Dan said. I looked up and saw the sign for Langford Lodge, USAAF Base Air Depot. The MP at the gate consulted a clipboard, gave a snappy salute, and we drove down a road running alongside the main landing strip. Dark shapes of B-17s and B-24s, bristling with machine guns, stood out against the stars. Beyond the runways was Lough Neagh, the huge lake that I'd flown over on the way in, black water as far as the eye could see in either direction. The base was operating under blackout conditions, and the darkness combined with the large, silent aircraft to produce an eerie feeling of barely restrained lethality.
A jeep met us near the main building, and the driver signaled for us to follow. He took us to a hangar, its massive doors open to reveal a C-47 being readied for takeoff. He told us Colonel Dawson had said this was as good as it was going to get, leaving in twenty minutes for Bradley Field in Connecticut-with refueling stops in Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland-and that he never saw us and never wanted to see us again. He waited, watching us as we said our goodbyes.
'Uncle Dan, I'm sorry you got pulled into all this,' I said.
'Ah, Billy, I jumped in feet first, and I was glad to give you a hand. It was good to be by your side. We all miss you back home, you know? You've become quite a man out here. But are you all right? I know this hasn't been the Ireland of our dreams, has it?'
'I don't know what to make of it. Every time I think I understand something, it changes. I can't find any solid ground.'
'Or maybe you see another side of things. Remember, these fellows Taggart and O'Brick, they're the sort who outlived their time. It would have been better for them to have died heroes twenty years ago. Instead, they lived on, nursing their hatred into madness. Don't feel bad about putting a stop to that. I don't. I was sent to do a job, and I did it. So did you. So stand tall, boy. It doesn't mean the cause is a bad one, just that standing close to its center for too long can burn any man out.'
'Thanks, Uncle Dan. Really,' I said. I put out my hand and he grabbed me in a hug, slapping me on the back, rubbing his hand on my head.
'Give my love to Mom and Dad and little Danny, OK?' I said, burying my face against his neck. He took me by the shoulders and put on a stern look.
'I will give your love to all of them, and Danny's not so little anymore! But if you don't write your mother right away, and more often, I'm going to tell her you're drinking and smoking and whoring all over England. Now go on, don't waste any more time here.'
We hugged again, and he shook hands with DI Carrick before boarding the plane through the rear cargo door. Our escort, an Army Air Force lieutenant, gave Uncle Dan a sheepskin leather flight jacket, cap, and gloves.
'Compliments of Bull Dawson,' he said. And with that, Uncle Dan was gone. We watched the crew close up the plane, and it taxied out into the darkness, the drone of the engines deafening, until it rose into the night and vanished among the stars.
'You look to come from a good family, Lieutenant Boyle,' Carrick said. I knew that was a major compliment from an Ulsterman when it concerned an Irish Catholic. Maybe there was hope after all.
'I try to live up to them,' I said, 'every day.' We stood, watching the darkness in the empty hangar. 'Thanks for all your help,' I finally got out.
'Don't mention it; it was my duty. Where can I take you now? You deserve some rest.'
'I think I'll stay here, to wait for the next flight.'
'Don't you have a report to make?'
'Only to Major Cosgrove, and he can come get it if he wants. The army has its BARs back, the German agents are in custody or dead, and the IRA plot has been stopped. What else is there?'
'Indeed. You've done well, Lieutenant. Good luck.' We shook hands, and he clasped my arm before he let go, and drove off into the night.
'So, Mac, what's your story?' the air force lieutenant asked me.
I thought about all the places I could go. A side trip to London, drop in on Kaz, spend a few nights of luxury with him at the Dorchester. It would be easy, and I could talk things over with him. Maybe even have a few laughs.
'I'm headed for Algiers,' I said. It wasn't Kaz I needed to see.
'Well, Bull said, whatever you guys want. I can have you in Gibraltar by tomorrow night, Algiers the next day. We got a B-24 outbound in the morning, ferrying VIPs to Gib for when the president and General Marshall stop there on the way back from meeting Stalin. Room for one more if you don't mind being squeezed in with admirals, generals, and journalists.'
'That's fine, I like newspapermen.'
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
It took four days, two of them grounded in Gibraltar due to a storm in the Atlantic. The generals and admirals complained, the reporters played cards. I stuck with them, and ended up with a fistful of pound notes, a sign that my luck was improving. We landed at Maison Blanche airfield, east of Algiers, and I hitched a ride into the city as far as the docks, then trudged up Rue Marguerite, sweating in my woolen uniform, hoping somebody I knew at headquarters would be on duty. Halfway up, I stopped to catch my breath and turned to see how far I'd walked. It
