"Get out," I said to Vito. Kaz nodded.
Vito got up stiffly, his eyes darting between the dead thugs and the two guns leveled at him. He made a show of brushing himself off, deciding, with the shrewdness that had kept him alive this long, that neither of our bullets had his name on it. He walked to the door, picking up two bundles of thousand-lira scrip as he did so. He looked at the corpses again and shrugged, whatever emotion he felt contained in that small gesture. He left us, a tiny fraction of the fortune he had planned on reaping tucked under his arm.
I really didn't care.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"You had the Beretta," I said, when I had recovered enough to notice the automatic in Kaz's hand.
"Yes, my backup gat, Billy. I had it inside my shirt, under my belt. It was uncomfortable, but it proved its value when I finally got my arm free."
"Are you OK, Kaz?"
"Yes. Now I am."
I clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. I seemed to be more concerned about what had almost happened to him than he did. But nonchalance was an art form with Kaz, and he was becoming tougher to read. A hard shell had formed over his soul, and I wondered if I'd ever see it revealed again.
"What were those first shots I heard?"
"Harry was trying to signal you. When I looked down at the jeep in which Lieutenant Howard had arrived-you must explain his nickname to me later-I saw a rifle partially hidden under a blanket. I thought we would have a better chance at shooting out Elliott's tires with a rifle, so I went down to look. It was a sniper rifle, with a telescopic sight. I knew he must have been the shooter. But Legs was waiting, and captured me as I ran between the buildings."
"I'm glad he was the type to underestimate guys who wear glasses. Let's get out of here." The flies were already gathering on the corpses. Kaz retrieved his Webley and as we left, I glanced at the stacks of bound notes. How much dough was this anyway? They were farther along than I had expected, not as far as I had feared. If we had been much later, Vito and his crew would have been busy laundering this small fortune, probably starting a major black market operation.
We walked across the space between the two buildings, and heard the distant sound of a jeep driving off. So long, Vito.
"We ought to find you an ankle holster for that Beretta," I said.
"That would be quite excellent-"
Two shots interrupted us. Harry's carbine from the roof again.
"Elliott," I said, and we broke into a run. Return fire echoed against the buildings, the sound of braking jeeps and squealing tires mixing with shouts and orders. It sounded like Harry had taken on an entire company.
"Up here!"
I looked up to see Harry in a second-story window. He tossed down his carbine, and I caught it, looking around for a target. Harry dangled from the windowsill and dropped, hitting the ground hard. The impact must have jarred the healing wound in his leg.
"There's half a dozen jeeps out there," he said, limping along with us. "Some MPs. I figured it had to be Elliott and fired above their heads to slow them down. We have to get out."
"Come on," I said, helping Harry along as he half ran and half hopped.
"What happened in there? Where's Howard?"
"I'll tell you when we get clear," I said.
"Box Hook. His name was Box Hook," Kaz said, still excited over a new bit of gangster jargon.
We ran along the edge of the building, away from the road. At the corner, we squatted low and scanned the terrain. Flat ground all around. A line of trees about fifty yards out, then an olive grove. If we could make it that far, we could vanish. I checked the clip in the carbine. Three shells left. I handed it to Harry.
"Any more ammo?"
He shook his head.
"OK. Don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary. Three of these will only make them angry."
"Whatever you say, Billy. Shall we run for it?"
Kaz tapped me on the shoulder. The sound of racing engines rattled against the walls, and I heard gravel spitting and gears grinding as jeeps came around both sides of the building. Clouds of dust filled the air and within seconds four jeeps had blocked our escape, while two others drove around the other buildings, checking for more of our accomplices. I wondered what Elliott would say when he found Howard and Legs stiffening up in the print shop.
"Lieutenant William Boyle?" I instantly recognized the voice. It was Elliott. I shielded my eyes against the dust settling around us where the jeeps had slammed on their brakes. I could make out several Thompsons and one jeep-mounted. 30 caliber machine gun pointed at us. Harry let the carbine drop to the ground.
"That's me," I said, standing with my arms raised high. I didn't want to give him a chance to shoot first and ask no questions later. "These two aren't with me, I just met them here."
Elliott vaulted from his jeep and walked straight up to me, holstering his automatic as he did so.
"Lieutenant Boyle, you are one dumb son-of-a-bitch flatfoot, I'll tell you that right now." His mustache twitched in what was almost a smile. I didn't like being caught much, and I liked being caught and insulted even less.
"Listen, Elliott, I'm sick of you and your Mafia pals. Do what you have to do and be glad you didn't end up like your flunkies in there."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Legs and Box Hook.
Elliott stood there, looking at me, Harry, and Kaz for a long time, shaking his head sadly.
"Major," he yelled, not taking his eyes off me. "Major Harding! Come over here and take charge of these three."
All the guns moved off us. An MP came running from the print shop and reported to Elliott, who listened and did that mustache twitch again. I saw a figure in the far jeep remove his helmet.
"Gentleman," Harding said, "I'm glad to see you are all right, but not happy at being shot at by you."
"We thought… who…?" That was about all I could get out.
"This is Major John Elliott, Criminal Investigation Division. He's been working undercover as an AMGOT officer to track down a series of supply thefts and rumors of a counterfeit ring."
"You're not one of them?" Kaz said, pointing to the print shop.
"Hell no, and I'm glad of it, from what I just learned. I've been on their trail since North Africa."
"Rocko and Andrews," I said, remembering what Howard had said about Rocko suckering Andrews in. I figured that part was true enough.
"Right. First radios, then more equipment went missing. We had some good leads, but when Rocko turned up dead and I lost Hutton, the trail ran out."
"Lost Hutton? What do you mean?"
"Hutton was CID too. He worked in our communications center. We needed someone in the Signals outfit, and he volunteered."
"That's why he had the number of the headquarters in Algiers written down. He was reporting to you."
"Yep. He had several numbers in Algiers and at Forward Headquarters in Tunisia."
"But how did you glom onto me?"
"I tracked down a couple of boys from the Eighty-second, Joe and Clancy. They told me about Hutton buying it up there, and once I convinced them I wasn't on a chickenshit detail, they told me that you'd given them his name as yours."
"And that's when you started looking for me."
"Right. Turned out Major Harding and I were both looking for you. CID had no idea about the operation you were involved with. The major filled me in."
"Well, at the time, Major, neither did I. When I tried to put the pieces together, your name kept coming up. Then when I heard you had the MPs at the Signals Company looking for me-"
"You figured I was gunning for you. I was trying to help you, but you are one slippery customer."