I woke up with a groan, and twisted around to get more comfortable. The floor was as unforgiving as a nun with a ruler. Kaz was sitting up in bed, sunlight streaming in through the open bay windows. Harding was gone. He would've had to step over me and open the door right in my face. I guess this sleeping dog had been best left to lie.
"Where's Harding?" I asked. I yawned and grimaced at the same time I tried to straighten up.
"He left near dawn. He ordered me to rest, and I decided it was an order worth following. He said he'd be back by nine o'clock with something for you to do."
"Great. Let me get washed up and I'll get some breakfast for us from the mess tent."
"No need, Billy," Kaz said with a smile as he gestured toward the old-fashioned ornate telephone on the bedstand. "The hotel is still operating and room service is quite dependable. I ordered breakfast which should be here any moment."
"Room service?"
"Billy, just because one is wounded on the African continent in the midst of a war, there is no justification for eating powdered eggs when there are more civilized alternatives. I did have to promise a substantial tip, nearly a bribe, really, but it should be worth it."
"Room service," I mumbled to myself as I unlaced my boots and shuffled off to the bathroom. "What a war."
When I returned, a room service cart had been rolled up to the edge of Kaz's bed. Shiny silverware and real china was laid out for us and we ate eggs benedict, hot rolls, figs, and grapes washed down with sweet black coffee. Or I should say I did. Kaz picked at his food, worked at keeping up chatter about everything and nothing. He was going through the motions of being himself without putting his head into it. That didn't stop me from gobbling up everything on my plate including the figs, which I had never seen before. I was just starting to feel human again when Harding walked in.
"Why am I not surprised?" he said, looking at the room service cart as he helped himself to coffee.
"You said I should rest, Major," Kaz said with a faint smile.
"I'm glad to see my subordinates are following orders," Harding said, gulping his coffee from a china cup. "Now, Lieutenant Kazimierz, a British doctor will come this morning to check your wound and give you your shot. If he says you're up to it, tomorrow I want you to see what^ you can find out about organized crime here in Algiers. Find out if Villard^: and Bessette are involved. Ask who's working the black market. Don't strain yourself, just talk to people, especially your Agency Africa contacts."
"Shouldn't I take that assignment, Major?" I said. "The Vichy cops are more likely to talk to another cop, even if he's an American. Kaz could come along to translate for me."
"I've got another job for you, Boyle. First, we go back to the 21st General Hospital and you question everyone who might be involved in the murders and the drug heist. Lean on them, see if you can shake things up. They won't expect that after we beat feet out of there, so maybe someone will become nervous and run to the smugglers."
"What do we do second?"
"Second, you take a boat trip. To Bone."
"When?" I nearly shouted, quickly remembering to add "sir" in a normal voice.
"You'll leave late tonight, from a Motor Torpedo Boat base about twenty kilometers east of here. British MTBs are going into the harbor at Bone with two destroyers to land the 6th Commando. A battalion of paratroopers will be dropped over the airfield later in the day to capture it. We don't think there are any Vichy combat units in the area, but we can't be sure and don't know if they'll fight if they're there. You go in on one of the MTBs, with a two-man shore escort-a translator and someone to protect you."
"Do we know where the Vichy supply depot is?"
Harding pulled out a map of the Algerian coast around Bone, and spread it out on the bed, covering Kaz's legs. It had a city street map in one corner and just off the dock area was a gray square marked "Le Depot de Provision."
"Looks like less than a kilometer from where you'll land," said I larding, pointing to a spot just above Kaz's knee.
"Major, I need the Commandos to seal off that area. If Villard's still there-"
"Whoa, hold your horses, Lieutenant," Harding cut in. He poured some more coffee and walked to the open bay window, looking out over the rooftops. "Do you have any idea what it took to get permission for you to go along on this mission? It's a British show, not ours. I had to call in a few chips just to get you on that boat, so forget about anything else. The Commandos are tasked to take the harbor and ensure none of the facilities are destroyed. The paratroops are taking the airfield for an advanced fighter base, which we need very badly."
"Yessir. Understood." What I understood was that I was going into Vichy territory with two other guys to find a renegade smuggler who had enough troops to hold Diana and twenty-four others hostage. Great.
"Good. Do you have the address of that bar? We can mark it on the map."
I picked up my Parsons jacket, feeling the scorched holes near the collar, and rummaged through the pockets until I found the match- book. I flipped it over, opened it up, but no address. Just the name and phone number. I shook my head. I held it in my hand and looked at the matches. I thought back to the last time I'd used one, to light Gloria's cigarette. Casselli and I had been racing to give her a light. Then I felt those holes again.
"Give it to me," said Kaz from the bed. I handed it to him and tried to let the thought that was forming in my mind take shape. Kaz picked up the phone and I heard him ask for the hotel operator, then read out the telephone number from the matchbook. I tried not to pay attention as the thought took shape. He had a brief conversation in French, liked a question, said "Merci!" and hung up.
"Sometimes it pays to think like a man who wants a drink instead of like a policeman, Billy. Le Bar Bleu is in business at 410 Rue de
Napoleon, which is off the Boulevard Fesch, the main road along the quay at the harbor." He flipped the matchbook back to me and smiled. A happy, debonair smile from the old Kaz. I smiled, too, because something had just made sense to me. I pulled my jacket on and stuffed the matchbook in my pocket.
"Thanks, Kaz," I said as I traced my finger over the map and found the two streets. "That just made things a lot easier."
"Get going, Boyle," Harding snapped as he moved toward the door. "I'm going to visit the central police office and try and find Mathenet. Your orders are being prepared now. You'll need them to get on the MTB base. I'll pick them up and meet you at the hospital at 1600 hours. That ought to give you enough time to question the staff there."
"Will you be interviewing Captain Morgan while you're there, sir?"
"None of your damn business, Boyle. Now get moving!" With that, Harding slammed the door behind him.
"Billy," Kaz said as he folded up the map on his lap, "there was no reason to anger the Major…"
"Yes there was," I said, holding up the matchbook. "I was having coffee yesterday morning with Joe Casselli and Gloria Morgan. I lit her cigarette with one of these matches. And within hours two people were dead."
"She and Casselli both saw the matchbook? And the name of the bar?"
"They could have, if they looked. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Or maybe one of them did see it and made a connection that started the chain of events that led to two deaths."
"Perhaps Sergeant Casselli saw it. If he was involved with the smugglers, when Villard came for the supplies, he could have told him that an American officer knew about Le Bar Bleu, and Villard decided to eliminate anyone who could link him to the thefts."
"Or," I said, "Gloria saw it and put two and two together."
"In which case," Kaz said, "Major Harding may be in danger."
"No. If she were involved she'd pump him for information. Which means that if he tells her about this side trip to Bone, I'm the one in danger. All she-or anyone-would have to do is drop a nickel on me."