"It does not say here."
"Why all this secrecy about a bunch of rebels, anyway? Why didn't they keep them here, or shoot them and get it over with? It doesn't make sense," I said.
"XIX Corps covers the area from Algiers to the Tunisian border," Harding said, half to himself as he studied the map.
"But why would a staff officer at an Army Corps headquarters issue orders and supplies to a police force?" I asked.
"Remember that the Service d'Order Legionnaire militia works hand in glove with the Gardes Mobiles police force," Harding said, "and SOL draws its supplies from the army. Whatever is intended for these prisoners is connected with people in high places."
"Like General Juin?" Kaz asked.
"Maybe," Harding shrugged. "But with Darlan in town, who knows?"
"Let's get to Darlan then," I said.
Harding reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of Luckies. He lit one and sat on the desk, staring at the wall map of the North African coast.
"Listen to me, both of you. I want to get Miss Seaton back as much as you do. I understand what she means to each of you." He stopped and looked at us, then back at the map, blowing a stream of blue smoke toward it.
"But, we have a job to do here. That job doesn't include running off to find one missing SOE agent, no matter who she is. The best thing we can do is sort things out with the French so she can be released. If I let you go after her, you could as easily screw things up and get her killed. Let Ike and General Clark negotiate with Darlan. They should have things wrapped up in a few days."
"You mean in a couple of days we'll be pals with Villard, and he'll simply hand her over?"
"It's common to add 'sir' when addressing a senior officer, Boyle," Harding said. "Now let's get out of here and get some chow." He stood, ground out his cigarette, and walked out the door.
"Who is Villard?" Kaz asked. Neither of us had to comment on the fact that Harding had avoided my question.
"I'll tell you on the way to the hotel. You said something about breakfast?"
We set out. I can worry just as well on a full stomach.
Breakfast was powdered eggs and Spam cooked in a field kitchen erected in the courtyard of the St. George Hotel. We sat on ammo crates in the shade beneath camouflage netting, watching swarms of GIs carrying supplies from trucks through the main entrance like they owned the place. The St. George was four stories high, surrounded by gardens and palm trees, tucked in a quiet area away from the dust and traffic, overlooking the Mediterranean. It was pretty fancy.
"I've eaten at nicer hotels," I said to Kaz, as I pushed the congealed eggs around in my mess tin. Harding gave a grunt, which passed for hysterical laughter coming from him.
"I asked if I could make a reservation," Kaz answered, "but the phone service from Gibraltar was not dependable."
"He's serious." Harding said, through a mouthful of Spam. He actually looked like he was enjoying the stuff.
"In any case, all reservations have been canceled and the guests are being moved out," Kaz said. "All except one. Admiral Darlan."
"Darlan's quartered here?" I asked.
Harding nodded. "See those French Naval ratings guarding that entrance?" Harding gestured to a far wing of the hotel with his fork, a hunk of burned Spam pointing the way. "That's where he's holed up, negotiating with General Clark. He's got XIX Corps headquarters staff in there too. Including Bessette."
I stared at Harding, wondering how he always seemed to know everything, and if he was giving me a hint about what to do next. And wondering if I could do it.
"Why are we bothering with Darlan anyway?" I asked.
Kaz said, "Darlan is the direct representative of Marshal Petain."
"But Colonel Baril, and Georgie…" I began.
"Darlan's arrival threw a monkey wrench into the works. It took a lot of courage to do what they did," Harding said. "But I'm afraid Colonel Baril may pay the same price Lieutenant Dupree did. Only he may be allowed a blindfold."
"So what does that mean for your mission to work with the rebels?" I asked.
"It's a military dictum that no plan survives contact with the enemy, Boyle. That mission is over. Now we collect whatever information we can on French troop dispositions until they come over to our*ide or Ike gives us a new assignment. It was supposed to be a quick coup. The rebels didn't pull it off, so now Darlan's in charge. He's got them in prison and we're pleading with him to come over to our side. Remke was right. Darlan's going to come out smelling like a rose," Harding said.
"What exactly does that mean for the civilian rebels in custody?" I asked, dreading the thought of Diana in Villard's hands. "A firing squad?"
"I doubt it," Harding said casually. "It's one thing for an officer to disobey orders. A bunch of kids, that's another thing. Once things get straightened out here, they'll let them go. Don't worry."
"Sure, Major." I looked over at Darlan's rooms and counted the guards. I drank my coffee. It was cold.
Chapter Seven
I only had combat boots with me, so I went out of the skylight in my stocking feet. Kaz boosted me up and I pulled myself out onto the roof. I looked down and Kaz disappeared in the darkness, his footsteps echoing faintly in the hallway. I sat on the warm tiles for a second, glad that I didn't have to shinny up a drainpipe to get here thanks to the skylights in every hallway being left open at night to let the heat of the day out. Four floors up was about even with the tops of the palm trees that encircled the hotel. I watched them sway in the slight breeze that moved the warm air around. It felt kind of nice up here, peaceful and quiet. But I wasn't here to relax.
When I told Kaz about my plan, he said it wasn't much as plans go. A guy who can't make heads or tails out of French really shouldn't expect to find a clue in a French army headquarters filled with paperwork. The only problem was I couldn't think of anything else, so although I had to admit he was right, I was determined to go ahead anyway. Kaz offered to come along, but his arm was hurting him, and I had no idea how he'd manage to dangle from a rope four stories up, over the heads of armed guards. Some things you don't want to find out the hard way. I told him to get his arm checked and go to bed, but he wanted to wait until I set out.
I looked at my watch. Half past two. Late enough that the night owls should be asleep and too soon for the early risers. I only had to worry about insomniacs and sentries. And falling.
The roof had a slope to it, but it wasn't steep. I crouched down and moved slowly, keeping my silhouette below the top of the roofline. I passed another open skylight and listened. Nothing. I stayed low and slow, easing myself around the angle where the eastern wing of the hotel began. This was Darlan's territory. I stopped and listened. I tried to breathe deeply a few times to quiet my heart. It still sounded like a bass drum banging in my ears. I strained to blank out everything else: the palm fronds rustling in the breeze, the sound of a faraway vehicle shifting gears, the little sounds you don't really listen to until they get in your way. I only wanted to hear footsteps, coughs, murmurs, and other telltale signs of bored guards on the graveyard shift.
I had one thing going for me. These guys were rookies at security. I had watched them all afternoon, just another dumb GI strolling around, gawking at the French sailors in their blue uniforms, standing at attention with rifles sporting shiny two-foot bayonets resting on their shoulders. They formed a good perimeter all right, but this wasn't a skirmish line. They had all the entrances covered, but only in one direction. Their mistake was that they all faced outward, ready to beat back an assault at ground level. No one was stationed above the first floor, and no one was watching inside the building.
Any good second-story man will tell you no one looks up. I've seen enough of them in cuffs and heard enough of their stories to know they only got caught when they ran into something unexpected inside and couldn't beat feet fast enough. I agree, people don't generally look up. They look around. But I didn't like taking chances with Mrs. Boyle's number one son, so I started off real cautious, every step a deliberate, conscious move. Nothing sudden, nothing to flicker at the edge of a guard's vision to make him curious about what was going on up here.