“I did, although I was kept in the rear most of the time. Since it was impracticable to take seven Roman Catholic priests along with us, it was my duty to make sure the devils stayed in their tanks, and I did this with silver crosses that had been blessed by seven priests, and with incantations from the holy exorcism. I was only required once, as you know, when one of the tanks broke a track, and they found it impossible to move.”
Madeleine slowly shook her head. “didn’t it ever occur to you, Mr. Taylor, that the devil you left in that tank would bring misery to all who lived near it?”
The Reverend Taylor frowned. “I sealed it away and they told me the tank would last for ever.”
“But, out of all the thirteen devils, this was the only devil who hadn’t been rewarded, right?” I asked him.
“I suppose so.”
“So it was bound to be troublesome, and dissatisfied?”
“Well, yes.”
I sat back, and wearily ran my fingers through my hair. “What you did, Mr. Taylor, left a thirty-year plague on that community. Milk went sour, eggs went rotten, and now the devil’s got out, and two people have died. Three, if you count this young lady’s mother.”
The vicar licked his lips in embarrassment. He said, in a low voice, “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything to protect you, or assist you?”
“You can tell us where the other twelve devils are.”
The Reverend Taylor blinked at me. “The other twelve? But I haven’t the faintest idea. They took them away after the war, and I never found out what happened to them. I suppose they sealed them away, once they had had their rewards, and took them off to America.”
“America? You have to be kidding! We have a devil out there who’s—”
The Reverend Taylor’s eyes bulged. “You have it out there? You have Elmek outside my house?”
I took a deep breath. I hadn’t really meant to tell him straight away. But I said, in the most controlled voice I could muster: “I have him locked in a lead trunk, in the back of my car. He forced us to bring him to England, on pain of death by cutting or slicing or whatever it is he does. He wants to join his brethren.”
The vicar was so flustered that he got out of his chair, and then sat down again straight away. “My dear man,” he said, breathlessly, “do you have any notion how dangerous that creature is?”
“I saw it kill Father Anton’s housekeeper, and I saw what it did to Father Anton.”
“My God,” said the Reverend Taylor, “that was why the Americans wanted them. They’re devils of war—devils of violence. Thirteen devils in army tanks were as vicious and terrible as three divisions of ordinary troops. They swept through the hills of the Suisse Normande in a matter of days. The Germans just couldn’t stop them. I wasn’t right up at the front line, so I never saw what they did first hand, but I heard dreadful stories from some of the German prisoners-of-war. Some of the Hun were dying of leprosy and beriberi. Tropical diseases, in northern France! Some were blazing like torches. And others were drowning in their own blood, without any apparent signs of external injury. It was a terrible business, and I was glad when Patton stopped it.”
“Why did he stop it?” asked Madeleine.
The Reverend Taylor pulled a face. “Once he’d broken through Normandy, I think he felt it would be more discreet, with regard to future war trials, if his tanks didn’t leave behind them the bodies of men who had died in unnatural and unholy ways.”
I took a deep drag on my cigarette. “What I can’t understand is why the church was so ready to go along with it. These devils are enemies of the church, aren’t they?”
“People’s standards are different in time of war,” said the vicar. “I believe that the Bishop felt he was doing the right thing. And after all, the Americans did agree to take the devils away after it was all over, and dispose of them. We were all glad of that.”
I sighed, tiredly. “But you’ve no idea where they were taken, or who took them?”
The vicar said: “I know that Colonel Sparks took care of them once they were shipped back to England. But where he took them, or how, I was never told. It was an extremely hush-hush operation. If any inkling had leaked out—well, there would have been a terrible flap.”
Madeleine asked: “They were brought back to England? They weren’t shipped direct to America from France?”
“No, they weren’t. The last time I saw them myself was at Southampton, when they were unloading them from ships. The usual dockers were told to keep well away.”
“So what makes you think they took them off to America? Couldn’t they still be here?”
The Reverend Taylor scratched his head. “I suppose so. There’s only one way to find out.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you’d have to talk to Colonel Sparks himself. He always sends me a Christmas card, every year, although we never met after the war. I have his address somewhere.”
Madeleine and I exchanged anxious glances as the Reverend Taylor went across to his desk and started sorting through stacks of untidy papers in search of the American colonel’s greetings cards. It was now eight-twenty, and I began to have a fearful, restless feeling that Elmek wasn’t going to give us much more time. The Reverend Taylor said, “I was sure they were here, you know. I never throw anything away.”
I took out another cigarette, and I was just about to lift it to my lips when Madeleine cried, “Dan—look. Your hand.”
I couldn’t think what she was talking about at first, but then I looked down at the cigarette I was holding and saw that it was soaked pink with blood. I had a small deep cut on the end of my finger.
“It’s Elmek,” said Madeleine, in a tight, desperate voice. “Oh God, Dan, he’s warning us.”
Tugging out my handkerchief, I bound up the end of my finger as best I could, but it didn’t take long before the thin cotton was drenched. I said, “Mr. Taylor—I’d really appreciate it if you hurried.”
“Sorry—did you say something?” asked the vicar, looking up from his papers.
“Please hurry. I think Elmek’s getting impatient.”
The Reverend Taylor shuffled through some more papers, and then he said: “Ah—here we are! This is last year’s card, so I expect he’s still living there.”
He passed over the Christmas card, and Madeleine opened it up. Almost immediately, uncannily, my finger stopped bleeding, and the wound closed up. I was left with a crimson handkerchief and no visible scar at all.
The Reverend Taylor said, “My dear chap, have you cut yourself?”
The transatlantic line to Silver Spring, Maryland, was crackling and faint. It was just after lunch in the States, and Mr. Sparks, one-time colonel, was out mowing his lawn. His cleaning lad dithered and fussed, but eventually agreed to get him on the line. I was glad I wasn’t paying the Reverend Taylor’s telephone bill that quarter.
At last, a sharp voice said: “Hello? Who is this?”
Madeleine watched me as I answered: “I’m sorry to trouble you, sir. My name’s Dan McCook, and I’m standing right now in the home of the Reverend Woodfall Taylor.”
“Oh, really? Well, that’s a surprise! I haven’t seen Mr. Taylor since 1945. Is he well? You’re not calling to tell me he’s passed away, are you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Mr. Taylor’s in fine shape. But I am ringing about that little business you and he were involved in on D-Day.”
There was a crackly silence.
“Can you hear me okay?” I asked him.
“Sure, I hear you. What do you know about that?”
“Well, sir, I guess I know almost everything.”
“I see. It’s a Pentagon secret, I hope you realize.”