banker regarding all the things he’s taken and sold. We hid twenty thousand dollars in the attic of this building, and now the two of us will take it and disappear. That kind of money will last a long time and give us a good start on a new life.”
Charley laughed harshly. “It’s not like we have a choice. The French cops and the MP’s are looking for me along with some of my associates. Seems that some of the penicillin I sold turned out to have gone bad and now they want their money back. I didn’t know it had to be stored carefully.”
Jessica was stunned. Had bad medicine killed GI’s? She had another thought. “Monique, but what about your son?”
Charley roared. “What son? Did you ever see him? That was all made up by Monique get your sympathy. And don’t worry about my fat wife and her dumb kids back home in the States. They can go screw themselves blind for all I care.”
Jessica sadly admitted to herself that she had never seen Monique’s son. She just assumed he existed because Monique said he did.
Even Monique laughed. “I used that story to make you feel sorry for me and give me a job. I never dreamed it would work out as well as it has. Before I found you and Charley, I was a prostitute, and, yes, I did sleep with Germans. This war has provided me with a lot of opportunities and I’m taking them.”
Jessica sagged. She had been a complete fool. Monique had lied to her from the moment she first opened her mouth. But what would happen to her now? She was tied up and helpless. Where they planning to kill her? After all, she knew all about them. But did she? She had no idea where they were going and what identities they might use.
“Don’t worry,” Monique said. “We’ll leave you here, unharmed. The police probably know more about us than you do, so there’s really nothing you can tell them except the obvious, that we’ve gone away. We’ll disappear, change our names, and move on, right Charley?”
Charley grinned. She felt even more uncomfortable the way he was looking down at her. “That’s right, baby.”
Monique patted her on the cheek. “Killing you is not only unnecessary, but something neither of us wants to do. Stealing is one thing, murder another. Consider yourself lucky, though. By the way, thank you for bringing that car with the Red Cross on it. It’ll solve a lot of problems. We’ll load it up and drive off and then simply disappear. Nobody will stop a Red Cross car.”
With that she took a suitcase and left Charley to watch her. For the first time, she noticed a. 45 automatic in the back of his belt. His expression changed and he glared at her.
“Y’know, I’ve always hated people like you. Rich bitches, officer’s kids, officer’s pussy. People like you don’t even notice enlisted men, no matter how many stripes I have or how much experience I have. We’re just part of the furniture to you.”
“Not true. I’ve always respected you.”
“Bullshit. You tolerated me. You know what else I hate? Teenage lieutenants giving me orders, that’s what. Some of those young pricks are still in diapers, yet they’re in charge. Ain’t right. Used to be the army was for men, not for little kids.”
He stood over her and leered. “Here’s something to remember me by.”
He put the rag back in her mouth and then tore her blouse apart. He pulled her bra over her breasts and she whimpered from the pain.
“Not bad,” he said, fondling them as she tried to pull away.
Charley laughed and pushed her slacks down and pulled her thighs apart. His hand slid inside her panties and began pawing her, hurting her.
Monica returned and pushed him aside. “Damn you, Charley, we don’t have time for that. Take these packages and get down to that car.”
Boyle laughed and did as instructed. Monique took the gag partway from Jessica’s mouth. “You’ll be able to spit it out in a bit. Then you can scream your little heart out and someone will probably find you before dark. Either that or you can crawl out the door and someone’s bound to see you. Sorry it had to end this way, but that’s life.”
Monique disappeared out the door. Jessica lay there, working the gag. A moment later, she heard screams and the sound of popping. What now?
The door opened and an American MP entered, his gun drawn. “Oh shit,” he said on seeing her. He threw a blanket over her and checked the other room, finally holstering his weapon. He took a knife and cut her bonds.
“What is happening?” Jessica asked, anxiously as she rearranged her clothing under the blanket. Another man entered and she recognized him as Major Harmon, one of the Provost Marshal types who’d questioned her before. She heard the unique squeal of Parisian sirens coming from the street below.
“Sorry this had to happen, Miss Granville,” said Harmon, “but we we’ve been watching this place for several weeks and were about ready to rush in when we saw Boyle. But then we saw you go in and wondered what the hell was going on.”
“You thought I was part of it?” she said, clutching the blanket closer.
“Yep. Not anymore though.”
Jessica stood and took a deep breath. She made it down the stairs without help, even though she thought she knew what she would find.
Monique lay on the floor by the door. A medic was treating her for gunshot wounds in her chest and leg. Monique’s face was pale, her eyes unfocused and rolled back in her head.
Jessica felt unsteady and Major Harmon took her arm. “She actually pulled a pistol on us,” he said. “If she lives, she’ll spend a long time in a French jail, maybe forever. Not so for Boyle.”
Charley Boyle lay on his back on the sidewalk. A cloth covered his face. Blood had poured from wounds in his skull and run down the sidewalk and into the gutter.
“He could have surrendered,” said the OPMG officer. “But I guess he couldn’t abide the thought of spending the rest of his life in a federal prison. Tough.”
What a waste, she thought. Charley’s family was destroyed and Monique would spend much, if not all of her life in prison, assuming she recovered.
Harry Truman took the oath of office as Vice President in FDR’s residence in the White House on Saturday, January 20, 1945. Eleanor was present, looking even more somber and gloomy than she usually did. Fewer than a dozen dignitaries were present at the low-key event. All plans for a gala were cancelled. The public was informed that the President was too ill to attend, although he was steadily improving. After the swearing in, Truman wondered if the poor man was alive enough to be cognizant of where he was and what was happening.
Chief Justice Stone administered the oath to the four-term President. FDR did not speak. He merely nodded to questions regarding whether he would preserve and protect the Constitution. His eyes were glassy and his breath was shallow. His cheeks were sunken and his skin was gray. This is a farce, Truman thought.
On the way out of the White House, Truman was intercepted by the departing Vice President, Henry Wallace.
“Best wishes, Harry, and I hope you are better prepared to step in than I was. At least Franklin lived long enough to prevent me from becoming President, which I think was one of his goals. I don’t think he will accomplish that regarding you.”
Nor do I, Truman thought.
“By the way, Harry, I understand there’s a strategy meeting tomorrow morning at ten in the Executive Office Building. Have you been invited?”
Truman bristled. He had not. What the hell had happened to the idea that he would be informed and involved? He would see about that.
Promptly at ten the next morning, the uninvited Truman strode forcefully into the conference room. He loved the look of surprise on everyone’s faces. “What is the problem, gentlemen? Or had you forgotten I existed and, more important, that I am the Vice President who will shortly become President and commander in chief?”
