"Two cover stories, one just a little off the mark."
"Exactly. Nothing was said about an invasion, just to prepare for transport to either locale. We had to research local diseases, health conditions, and stock up on drugs and medications for each."
"Who is 'we' exactly?"
"I mean the hospital. I did the research and gave orders for the supplies."
"When I was in England I saw GIs issued cold weather gear for Norway, as part of a deception plan. Anything like that go on with your unit?"
"That's a laugh. No, no cloak and dagger stuff. Once I got the word, though, I couldn't leave base."
"Could you send and receive mail?"
"Sure. What, do you think I was going to send a note to Adolf?" He laughed.
"No, just curious about the security. When did you learn about the penicillin?"
"I knew the 21st had been selected for the trial run of the first batch months ago. But I didn't know when and where."
"When did you find that out?"
"Three weeks before we left. Medical Corps brass and some pharmaceutical reps paid me a visit. I had to sign the Official Secrets Act and everything, promising not to reveal that piece of information."
"And you didn't?" "No!"
"Not to a trusted colleague, or to anyone on your staff? It must have been pretty exciting for the doctors when they heard about it."
"Yeah, they were jumping up and down when I told them. Here. After we landed."
"All right, just a cop's suspicious nature."
"Anything else, officer?" Walton drew out the last word, sarcasm dripping off each syllable.
I looked around the room for a few seconds, just to irritate him. "Nooo," I said, tapping my finger against my lips, as if I were trying to come up with something but couldn't.
"Good. I have more supply requisitions here than there are hours in the day." He picked up a pen and started in on stack of papers about two inches thick. I leaned back in the chair and got comfortable. Crossed my legs, even.
"You know," I said, wagging my finger in the air, "there is just one more thing."
Then I saw it. Walton had been perfect so far. It's hard for a suspect to hide his relief when he thinks the session is over. Innocent or guilty, everyone is glad to have a cop stop asking a million irritating questions. It's even harder to hide disappointment when he starts up again. It's a flicker of resentment, from deep inside the soul of someone who is trying his damnedest to protect a lie. It takes a lot out of a guy, and I saw some of that wind go out of Walton's sails in that brief moment.
"What?" No goddamn this or that-a weary, resigned question.
"You must have taken that Official Secrets Act pretty seriously."
"Have you signed it, Boyle?"
"As a matter of fact, I have."
"Did you read it?"
"I had it explained to me."
"So you know they can string you up by the balls, throw you in a cell, and toss away the key if they even think you've violated it?"
"Well, I wasn't told those details, but I got the drift of the thing."
"So my answer is, Yes, I take it seriously."
"You must. Why else would you have kept the second shipment a secret?"
"Second shipment of what?"
"How many second shipments of things that you had to sign the Official Secrets Act over are you expecting?"
"Spit it out, Boyle! Are you talking about more penicillin coming in?"
"Yes, Colonel, I am. And I'm wondering why you didn't mention that, after the theft of the first."
"No one told me anything about more penicillin! I figured more would be coming, but I had no idea… When is it due?" He looked up at me as if the full impact of my information was just hitting him. "Who else knows about this?"
"I can't say anything more, Colonel. Are you trying to tell me you're ignorant about the second shipment?"
"Dumb-fucking-founded, boy. Ignorant as a Texas mule. You find out who was supposed to have told me about this and ask him if he did. If he says yes, he's a lying bastard! Check the paperwork! The army doesn't let you shit without filing a form! You find me a supply order with my signature on it, telling me I have another shipment of penicillin due, and I'll kiss your Irish ass!"
Walton got up and stalked around his desk toward me, leaning forward so his red face was just above my nose. He put his hands on either arm of the chair. I could smell the cigar and coffee on his breath.
"But you remember this, you worthless rear-area fuck-up! If you find that form with somebody else's name on it, I'm gonna drag you across that parade ground and you're going to kiss my ass, and smile^ while you're doing it. Now get out before I get all worked up and do something that will cause you to appreciate the quality medical care provided at the 21st General Hospital."
That last word had a fine spin of spittle on it. Walton pushed away from the chair and went back to his desk, puffing on that cigar like a locomotive building up a head of steam. I waited until I got out in the hall to wipe my face. He was hiding something, I was sure. I was also sure that he was either another Clark Gable or he had no clue at all about the penicillin coming in tonight on the 3:00 AM train from Oran. But somebody did.
I walked out of the rear entrance for some fresh air but didn't get much more than dust and a warm, stale breeze. The breeze part was nice, but the dust and heat didn't have much charm. The area between the hospital and the Medical Supply Depot had been neatened up, Army style. They had whitewashed rocks laid out to mark walkways and the roadway. It made me wish I had stock in a whitewash company. The army must buy that stuff by the truckload. The debris that had been out back had been taken away, and there were a couple of real air raid shelters with reinforced roofs instead of slit trenches. I wanted to breath in the fresh air and feel it fill my lungs, send oxygen to my brain, and help me figure all this out. Instead, a couple of deuce and a half trucks rolled through the yard slowly, tires crunching on gravel, raising a cloud of dust when they braked to a halt. I shielded my eyes against the sun and dust, then gave up. No inspiration, no flash of intuition. I kicked a stone and went back inside.
I walked down to Diana's room; the same guard was there. He waved me through. I knocked on the door and opened it slightly, afraid of interrupting some medical or personal activity. Instead, I found Diana up and dressed, sort of, in U.S. Army fatigues big enough for a couple of her. Kaz was packing hospital-issue pajamas and a robe into a small duffle bag.
"Billy," she said, surprised and a little shy, I thought.
"What's going on?" I said to Kaz, not taking my eyes off Diana. She sank onto the edge of the bed, the effort of standing too much for her.
"Doctor Perrini agreed that Diana need not stay here any longer. He prescribed bed rest and relaxation for her. She can be accommodated much more comfortably at the St. George Hotel. Major Harding agreed that we should give up our room so Diana can occupy it." He smiled and continued packing the few meager army-issue items that Diana could call her own.
I perched on the bed next to her. "How are you?" I asked.
She looked at the floor. "Better," she said, after giving it some thought. She nodded, as if she were agreeing with herself. "Better. I'm starting to think more clearly now. I believe I know what really happened and what was a dream, or a delusion."
She still wouldn't look at me.
I took her hand. "It's okay, everything will be all right," I said.
"Will it?" With that question, she gazed straight into my eyes.
I froze. I realized I shouldn't have told her everything would be okay. Everything wasn't okay. I didn't want to lie to her but I didn't want to think about the truth. I glanced around, trying to avoid her eyes. I didn't know what to do. Kaz rescued me.
"Well, not much in the way of luggage, my dear. Quite unusual for such a beautiful woman." He held the duffle bag over his good shoulder and gestured with his other arm which was still in a sling. "Billy, would you be so good as to take Diana's arm? She may need assistance and I am short a working appendage." Kaz was being clever, cheerful, and solicitous. I was being a dunce.