"Armored car," said Diana.
"Whose?" I said.
"They have an armored car in the garage. An old model, from the First War."
"Damn!"
I sneaked another look. The armored car was there all right, moving up to the front of the line with its machine gun chattering, firing away at the jeep from behind the safety of steel plate.
Villard must've given us a parting shot with that burst. Now he was focused on the exit, and forcing his way through. I ran toward the gate, wondering if I could get close enough to lob a grenade under his vehicle. Then the tarp on the back of the last truck in line flew up; more rifles than I could count were pointed at me. I dove and rolled to the side of the headquarters building as bullets sang past my ears. Lying flat on the ground as more shots dug up dust and dirt, and slammed into the wood at the corner of the building, I caught a glimpse of Diana, still standing in the doorway. She had her revolver up, the grip cupped in the palm of her left hand, squeezing off carefully aimed shots at the guys shooting at me. After the fourth shot, they turned their fire on her, and she dropped to the floor.
Slugs from the SOL men peppered the doorway. I stood and fired a burst at them, then ran around the back of the headquarters building, discarding the empty clip and ramming a new one in as I went. The shooting died down. As I peered around the corner, I could see the armored car going through the entrance as Duxbury backed up the jeep, wisely retreating. There was no way four men in an open jeep could take on an armored car. Villard led the procession, the column of SOL trucks and cars following. I could have peppered any of them, but I didn't know which held prisoners, who were now hostages. And without the machine gun firing to cover me, the SOL riflemen would gun me down in a minute. I watched the column disappear down the dirt road, out toward the desert.
Diana! Had she been hit?
She was alone. With Mathenet, and he was the only link I had to Villard now. I ran to her, hoping not to hear a single revolver shot.
Chapter Twenty-five
Diana was inside the room, unharmed, leaning against the desk, reloading the revolver. She had emptied Mathenet's cartridge pouch and tied his hands, using the same rope on him that she had been bound with. He had a nasty cut on his forehead from where I'd whacked him, but he was awake, murmuring in French and wincing every time he moved his head.
Diana didn't look at me. She chambered the last round and closed the cylinder. I touched her shoulder and she flinched.
"Sorry," I said. "Are you all right?"
"I'm glad you're alive." She reached up and touched my arm, to be sure I was real. Her hand didn't linger. As if she couldn't wait to trade the feel of flesh for steel, it closed around her other hand which held the revolver.
"What now?" she said.
"Watch him for a minute. We have friends outside."
I went into the courtyard, saw Banville on foot at the entrance, and the others waving from the jeep. I waved back and they drove in, parking in front of the barracks. I heard muffled shouting, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
"Is there a basement in this building?" I shouted to Diana.
"Yes, I'll show you, if you find someone else to watch Mathenet."
I told Duxbury to guard our prisoner. I thought he was faking now, waiting for us to leave him alone. Rodney stayed on the. 30 caliber, Harry with him in the jeep, complaining about his leg. Banville came with Diana and me.
"Anything we can do to help you, Miss?" he asked Diana, trying to take her arm, as if she were crippled. She jerked it away from him, giving him a startled look, her eyebrows raised in a question.
"Help me get these men out; they've been down in the cellar for two days." She led us into the other room of the barracks, where the SOL men had been posted and pointed to a trapdoor closed by an iron padlock, attached to a ring on the floor. We could hear pounding and yelling more clearly now.
"Who are they?" Banville asked.
"Twelve men from this post," Diana said quickly. "The others were called away on some pretext, then Villard and his men took over. I think he still has the key."
"Stand back," Banville said. He took out his Webley revolver and aimed at the lock. The first round dented it, the second shattered it. He lifted the door.
French soldiers poured up from their underground prison, shielding their eyes from the light. Carefully, they hoisted up their captain. His face was bruised, his uniform tunic stained with blood. They helped him to a chair. He issued orders. I couldn't understand what he said, but I could tell they were commands by his tone of voice and the way his men jumped to. Most scurried off, while one man brought him water. He drank and only then seemed to notice us.
"Americans?" he asked.
"American and British, sir. Can you tell me what happened here?"
"My name is Captain Victor Gauthier, and what happened here is a crime."
"What exactly do you mean, sir?" I asked. One man's crime may be another man's natural exuberance.
"My men and I were ready to welcome the Allies and join the fight against the Germans. We are not among those who believe in collaborating with our enemy. When that Gardes Mobiles officer came here with his orders, we had to obey, to give him food and supplies, to house his prisoners. Orders from Headquarters," he said, almost spitting out the word.
"Signed by Captain Bessette," I added.
"Yes, how did you know?" He looked up, surprised.
"There's no shortage of crime here, Captain, in your army or mine."
"I refused to obey his orders when I saw his treatment of his prisoners," Gauthier said.
I tensed, wondering what he had seen. I watched Diana. She was seated, her expression blank.
"What treatment?" I asked.
"He is a criminal, a corrupt policeman and-contrebandier- smuggler, yes?"
I nodded. He had Villard pegged.
"Villard used some of my men, whom he took prisoner, to move supplies he has stolen to an outpost in the desert. From there, he makes contact with the Germans, or Arab caravans that buy from him and take the goods to Dakar."
"Where is this outpost?"
"That I do not know," said Gauthier, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Villard thought I did and had me beaten. Then he threw me, with my remaining men, into the basement storeroom. I think they would have killed us-left us to starve or suffocate-if you had not come."
"Thank you, Captain," I said. "Allied forces landed at the harbor in Bone this morning. We'll be glad of your support." I tried to sound like Major Harding. He was good at this diplomatic stuff.
We left Gauthier in the care of his men and walked back to see Mathenet. He was sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands.
"Take your jacket off," I told him. He looked at me dully, as if he were trying to gather his wits. Maybe that knock on the head had been too hard.
When I raised the butt of my Tommy gun as if I was going to hit him again, he wailed in a high-pitched voice. "Yes, yes, please do not strike me." He had his well-tailored jacket off in a flash. I grabbed his left arm, ripped open his shirt cuff and rolled up his sleeve. A gauze bandage covered his forearm.
"How's the shrapnel wound, Lieutenant?"
"It is healing well, why-"
I ripped off the bandage. It was as I had expected. "Ever see such nice, neat, straight shrapnel wounds?" I asked. Banville and Duxbury leaned over and stared at Mathenet's arm. Diana didn't take any notice. She sat near the desk, holding the revolver in both hands, as if in prayer. I looked at Mathenet again.
"Can't say as I 'ave, sir," Duxbury said. "Looks like a razor or knife cut to me."
"Aye," said Banville. "Shrapnel makes a nasty, jagged cut, not like these wounds."
"It was shrapnel," said Mathenet, "I was caught in the air raid-"