The Torch of Tangier (12 page)

She turned down the Rue de France, slowed down to a leisurely stroll, halting now and then at shop windows. He was still with her, still on the other side of the street, stopping when she stopped, moving when she moved.

She paused at a shop that displayed sweaters and skeins of wool, and watched the other side of the street through the reflection in the window.

The man was gone. She began walking again, and then she saw him, saw the sandy beard and the wing-tipped shoes. The kaftan and the skullcap were gone. He wore a tweed sport jacket now over his brown slacks and carried a bulky shopping bag.

She turned a corner into a side street and checked the other side of the road. He followed. She turned, reversed directions. He did the same.

She halted. The man stopped near a kiosk, stared down at the newspapers and fingered his beard, then disappeared into one of the shops.

He was gone. But the man with the icy eyes, Gergo Ferencz—the Hungarian who ran German intelligence in Tangier—stood in front of her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ferencz moved toward her, swiftly and smoothly as a snake. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her and levered it upward. The pain reached up her arm into her shoulder.

“The landing,” he said and jerked her arm. “When and where?”

The pain was more intense now, reaching across her back. She flailed at him with her free arm and tried to kick him.

Few people were in the street, a workman carrying a box on his shoulder, a woman coming out of a bakery.

Ferencz pushed her elbow higher. “Where?”

He grabbed at her other arm. She struggled, stomped on his foot with her heel, and began to scream.

“Rape!” She struggled and screamed louder. “Rape.”

The woman from the bakery stopped and then scurried around the corner. The workman dropped the box and began running in their direction. An Englishman in a dark suit, carrying a briefcase, came out of a doorway.

“I say!” He started toward them.

Ferencz loosened his grip.

She broke free and began running, turning the corner, sandals slapping the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians in the way. Ferencz ran after her.

She stumbled against tables strewn along the sidewalk outside of cafés, and tumbled over chairs that blocked the way.

Ferencz was gaining.

She collided with a woman, sent her hat flying, and kept running. She careened across the Place de France, onto the Rue de Statut.

Ferencz was still with her.

She ran up the street, through the café across the street from El Minzah, lungs burning, heart pumping.

She thought she saw Suzannah seated there, rising up to greet her. She darted across the street to El Minzah.

She glanced back from the door of the hotel and saw Suzannah and Ferencz, her arm linked in his, smiling at him, stroking his hair, murmuring in his ear.

Lily ducked into El Minzah, ran down the stairs, through the Wine Bar and out the side door.

No one was in the alley. She found a pile of clothes by the steps, ready to be picked up. She rummaged through the pile and found a heavy old brown coat that smelled of mildew, a hat no Berber woman in her right mind would wear, and a battered man’s umbrella with some broken ribs.

She put on the hat, the coat, furled the umbrella, and tied it closed with a string she found around a bundle of clothes.

She hunched over in the coat to look smaller, and using the umbrella as a cane, began walking with a limp, dragging her foot behind her, through the empty alley to the fondouk market. She jostled her way through the market bent over in the bulky coat, still leaning on the umbrella, still dragging her foot, shambled down the stepped street and hobbled across the square, glancing behind from time to time to see if she was followed.

Just before she reached the steps that led to the Legation, she came face to face with Herr Balloon.

He blocked the way, glaring at her, hands at his side, flexing his fingers.

She stepped back.

He lunged at her, thumbs forward, tried to wrap his hands around her neck. The coat collar bulged around his fingers.

He cursed and tried again.

She ducked. The hat fell to the cobbles. She kicked it away and tried to ram him with her head.

His breath smelled of rotten teeth.

He stumbled and came at her again, this time grabbing for her arm and clutched only the bulk of the coat.

There was spittle on the side of his mouth.

She slid out of the sleeve and tried to stomp on his foot, kick at him. He swung at her with the back of his hand and she staggered back.

The coat dropped to the ground. He reached for her again. She tried to sidestep, lost her balance and leaned on the umbrella to steady herself. It bent, and she fell onto the coat, the umbrella clattering to the cobbles.

He raised his left leg, ready to stomp on her. She scrambled for the umbrella, caught the handle around his right ankle and tugged.

He staggered and she yanked again.

He fell backward. His head bounced on the pavement with a hollow sound.

She stood over him, dug the point of the umbrella into his side, and leaned into it.

He grimaced and stiffened, then his arms and legs flailed wildly with rhythmic, jerking movements.

She watched for a moment, frightened, then ran through the arch and into the alley that led to the Legation.

She waved at the Marine on duty at the entrance, and hurried inside.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Adam closed the double doors of Drury’s office and turned to Lily.

“What happened to you?”

“We have to call an ambulance. We have to get a doctor.”

“You’re hurt?”

“No, no, it’s not me. It’s the German.”

“What are you talking about?”

She told him about the man with the wing-tipped shoes, about the encounter with Ferencz, about the struggle with Herr Balloon, about his convulsions.

“Let it be,” Adam said. “The German is an enemy casualty. Let them take care of their own.”

“But still, he’s hurt.”

“He tried to strangle you, just as he strangled Drury.”

“You think?”

“I think he killed Drury. He was working for Ferencz, he knew about the microphone in your room.” Adam looked over at her. “I thought you said Zaid took care of the Germans.”

“I must have misunderstood.” She sat down at her desk. “I’m worried about what Suzannah is doing.”

“What about Suzannah?”

“They know about the landing. They know about Torch. Suzannah is the leak.”

“Suzannah? That couldn’t be. Drury trusted her.”

Lily told him about Suzannah’s meeting with Ferencz, told Adam how Suzannah waited for Ferencz in the café across from El Minzah.

Adam listened. “This is bad.” He ran his hands through his hair. “They know about the landing. They’ll be monitoring all our signals. If they’re not encrypted….” He sat down in Drury’s chair. “We have to find the code book.”

“And if they have it?”

“Then the whole damned operation is in the toilet. Another Tobruk. Could be a disaster. The whole offensive is at stake. Thousands of lives. If they break the code….” He sat at Drury’s desk. His fingers drummed a nervous tattoo. “After the Germans broke the British code, Rommel overran the entire Eighth Army. A repeat of Tobruk, or worse.”

“What can we do?”

“Not much. It wasn’t in Drury’s room. I searched it thoroughly.”

“It might be somewhere in here,” she said.

“Too late to change the code, too late to call off the operation. They’re lying off the coast waiting for our signal, dammit.”

The same thing that Donovan said.

“Even if they have the box, they don’t know the code,” she said.

“It won’t take long to figure it out.”

Lily watched the dust motes dancing in the stark morning light that streamed onto her battered desk. “Bureau?” Lily traced her finger along the surface of the desk. “Bureau is also an office, a desk. It must be somewhere in here. In Drury’s desk.”

Adam leaned forward in the chair. “You think?” He tugged at the drawer. “Locked. Maybe Boyle has a spare key.”

Footsteps ticked along the tile of the hallway and stopped before the door of the office. Lily and Adam waited silently, listening for the steps to recede. Nothing.

Adam crept to the door, motioning to Lily to stand on the other side. She pressed her back against the wall.

He pulled at the door handle.

Korian stood with his hand poised to rap on the jamb. He composed a weak smile. “I came by to express my condolences.” His mud-brown eyes oozed sympathy.

I’ll bet you did, Lily thought.

“We saw you at the Petit Socco.”

“You couldn’t have.” He didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been here all morning.” His unctuous eyes arranged themselves into a sad expression as he clutched Lily’s hand in both of his. “So sorry.” He pumped her hand up and down. “You have my heartfelt commiseration.”

Annoyed, she tried to pull out of his grasp and looked down. A gauze patch covered the back of Korian’s hand. Lily recoiled, clasped her hands behind her back.

Periera’s words—
We found blood and skin under Drury’s fingernails
—rang in her head.

“Burned myself on the hotplate this morning,” Korian said. “Nothing serious. And certainly not catching.” He focused on Adam. “You’re clearing out Drury’s desk?”

“It’s locked. Have to get the key from Boyle.”

Korian reached into his pocket. “Use mine. These old desks all have simple locks. One key fits all.” He turned to Lily, dangling the key in his hand. “Identical to yours.”

Before he could advance on the desk, Lily intercepted him. She fished among the pencils and detritus of her top drawer, catching bits of broken rubber bands, smudging her hands on leaky pens, until she found the key at the back of the drawer. She pulled it out and swung it back and forth from ink-stained fingers.

“That’s it,” Korian said. “Same as every desk in the building.”

He’s waiting for us to open Drury’s desk, Lily thought. She reached for his arm with her inky hand and stained his sleeve and the gauze patch on his hand. He grimaced and tried to rub the blotch with his fingers.

With her grubby hand still grasping his sleeve, Lily led him to the door.

“I’m sure you’re busy.” She gave him a farewell push. “We won’t keep you.”

She closed the door behind him and listened to his footsteps fade down the hall before she unlocked Drury’s desk.

She pulled open the top drawer.

It was empty.

One by one, she unlocked the desk drawers and pulled them open.

All were empty.

Chapter Twenty-Four

She went down to Boyle’s office and paused in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Adam followed.

“Good news,” Boyle said. “Rommel is in full retreat. Von Sturmer’s been killed.” He gave Lily a tentative smile. “You’re looking better. Recovered from your ordeal?”

“Almost.” Adam stood beside her. She could feel his body heat, his breath on her neck.

“If you’re free,” Boyle said to her, “come into my office and sit down.” The smile was gone now. “We have to talk.”

“Someone’s been at Drury’s desk,” she said.

“I cleared it out. We packed his things to ship back to the States.” Boyle stood up. His glance took in both Lily and Adam. “Either of you know any of his relatives?” Boyle asked. “He’s married, I understand. You know how to get in touch with his wife?”

“That won’t work. His wife is a patient in a mental hospital. I’m not sure she would understand.”

“Anyone else we can get in touch with?”

“I think he has a sister in Wisconsin,” Adam said. “Can’t remember her married name off the top of my head. It’s probably in his papers. Why don’t I see if I can find her address?”

“I’ll tell my secretary to get on it.”

“I’ll go through the papers myself. Your secretary has enough work to do,” Adam said. “I’ll get a dolly and move the boxes down to Lily’s office. With her help, it won’t take long.”

“Lily and I have something to talk over while you’re gone.” Boyle signaled her to come in.

He motioned Lily to a chair. She sat facing him, watching him fiddle with his pens. He does that when something bothers him, she thought and waited.

“This news is not so good. I heard from Yuste.”

“And?”

“Periera got to him first. You’ve been expelled. Yuste declared you persona non grata, gave you just seventy-two hours to leave the Zone.”

“What about diplomatic immunity?”

“That’s the point. You lose it the minute you leave the Zone. They could pick you up, put you in a Spanish jail.”

“Why?”

“Periera insists you killed Drury.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I told him that. Periera has some cock and bull story about a lover’s quarrel between you and Drury. I told Yuste some damn Nazi killed Drury. He wouldn’t listen, insisted on his own version. I argued him down to one more day, but you still have to leave.”

I can’t leave now, Lily thought. It’s D-day minus two. “What about Torch?”

“Can’t be helped.”

Traffic in dispatches between here and Torch HQ in Gibraltar will be heavy, Lily thought, especially after the landing. Adam will have to find someone to take my place, show him what to do—someone with security clearance, maybe someone from HQ in Gibraltar.

“Three days?” Lily said. “I could take the ferry to Gibraltar.”

Boyle picked up a pen, put it down. “The British suspended operation of the ferry to Gibraltar for the next week.”

Torch again. “I can take one from Cuesta to Algeciras.”

“You can’t. Algeciras is in Spain. The minute you set foot on Spanish soil, you’ll be arrested.”

“The train to Algiers?”

“Same story. You’ll be going through Spanish territory.” Boyle paused, tapped the desk with his finger. “Your only hope is to go south into French Morocco, hope they don’t pick up on the Spanish warrant.” He stood up.

Lily turned to leave, then hesitated. “About Korian….”

“What about him? You mean the trouble Drury mentioned?”

“More than that. He’s been checked? He has security clearance?”

“He’s a career professional in the State Department. Passed the exams and went through minor questioning and background checks like the rest of us. We don’t have proof for Drury’s accusation against him. Why do you ask?”

“It’s more than that.”

“You’re suspicious of him for other reasons?”

“I’ve seen him pass an envelope and receive something in exchange three times. Once, with the German who was following me, once with a man near the harbor, and this morning at the Petit Socco, a woman with a poodle. I saw her make a similar exchange once with the German at the Wine Bar at El Minzah.”

“I’m aware of Korian’s little habit,” Boyle said.

“He denies that he was at the Petit Socco this morning. His actions could jeopardize everything. Shouldn’t he be relieved of his duties, arrested for treason in wartime?”

“That’s a little harsh. He’s a career man. His little habit might make him open to blackmail, but that’s the principal danger. I’m trying to arrange a transfer to a less sensitive area, the Congo maybe. Heroin is harder to come by there. He’ll have to fall back on whiskey.”

“Heroin?”

“I thought you knew.” He sat at the desk and fiddled with the pens again. “You thought—” He raised his hand. “No, not Korian.”

“Still,” Lily said. “Heroin. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“It’s endemic in the area.” He looked down. “Maybe it should bother me.” He shrugged and looked up again, hollow-eyed. “Maybe I’ve been here too long too.”

“What about the lady with the poodle?”

He held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “She’s a fixture here. The Guardia Civil can keep track of her clientele. Besides, if they picked her up, she would be replaced by another dealer before they got her to the Mendoubia.” He paused and looked over at Lily. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Back in her office, Adam was stacking boxes on Drury’s empty desk, an empty dolly beside him.

“You think the code box is among Drury’s things?” she asked him. “What’s his sister’s name?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Adam said. “I’m not sure he has one. It was an excuse to go through his papers.”

A young man, face ruddy as a farm boy’s, appeared in the doorway. His campaign hat tucked tight under his arm, he wore officer’s pinks and an Eisenhower jacket. His uniform carried no insignia.

“This is Warrant Officer Blufield,” Adam said to Lily. “He’ll be working out of Casablanca.”

The boy was round-cheeked and barely past acne. He transferred the cap to his left side before he turned and held out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you.” He stood at attention, his hair falling over his forehead.

“Relax, won’t you.” Adam canted back the dolly with his foot. “Be right back. Have to get the rest of Drury’s things from Boyle’s office.”

The boy watched him leave and fingered the cap under his arm.

“The Major tells me that you’re at the University of Chicago,” he said to Lily.

“I have an ABD. I haven’t finished my dissertation yet. It’s in archaeology. It’ll be a while before I can work on it. I’m here for the duration.”

“I mean….” He shuffled, moved forward and halted halfway to her desk. “You know what I mean.”

“I was at the Oriental Institute. But I’ve been working in Morocco for the past year.”

He waited an awkward moment for her to say more.

“I came here with Drury to work in the caves outside of town. But now—.” She shrugged.

She didn’t want to remember, to explain it all over again.

“I just graduated from the U of C,” he said.

“What field?”

“Linguistics. Actually, a double major, linguistics and math. Makes me an expert in crypto-analysis. That’s why I’m assigned to the CIC.”

“You work on codes?”

“Yes. Well, not really. Just send messages. But I’d like to work at Bletchley Park.”

“Benchly Park?”

“Bletchley, outside of London. Hush-hush operation. Scuttlebutt is that they worked out a German code called Enigma that encrypts signals automatically using a series of revolving drums. Cracked the ciphers. Now they can intercept messages from the German High Command, even from Hitler.” He hesitated. “That’s the rumor, anyway.”

“And you’d like to know what Hitler’s thinking?”

“It’s not that. It’s the way the thing works, using symbolic logic, Boolean algebra, decision theory. Meta-mathmatics they call it. It’s not just Alice in Wonderland anymore.”

“Alice in Wonderland?”

“Charles Dodgson was a mathematician, did some early work in symbolic logic. But he’s more famous for the books he wrote as Lewis Carroll. They say that when he was presented to Queen Victoria, she asked for a copy of his next book, so he sent her a treatise on higher mathematics.”

Blufield’s eyes fixed on an unseen horizon, the brightness in his face focused on some distant dream. “What they’re doing at Bletchley is a new way of thinking. Going to change the world.”

“Wars do that,” Lily said.

“Mister Blufield!” Adam’s voice was stern. He stood at the door balancing a dolly stacked with boxes.

“I’d like to be in on that,” Blufield said. “Work on that sort of thing after the war.”

“Mister Blufield.” Adam’s tone was colder, more threatening. “You’ve heard the saying ‘A slip of the lip can sink a ship’?”

“I was only repeating scuttlebutt.” He ducked his head and gave Adam a tentative smile. “Besides, she has security clearance. She’s one of us. Anyway, I was thinking about the future, when the war is over.” He threw up his hands in a gesture of apology. His cap fell to the floor. “It won’t happen again.” He bent over to pick up the cap.

“Damn right it won’t.”

Blufield kept his eyes down, looked at his shoes, ran the toe of his right shoe along the back of his pant leg.

“I’d better get going to Casa,” he said, his face flushed.

“Damn right you’d better.”

Blufield stood at attention, saluted, and left the room. Adam maneuvered the dolly into the office and rested it against the wall.

“Weren’t you a little harsh?” Lily asked. “He’s just a kid, fresh out of school. He said he won’t do it again.”

“That’s the point. They’re all fresh out of school. And if there’s a mistake on the beach at Casablanca, they won’t have a second chance. They won’t do
anything
again.”

He hoisted one of the boxes onto Lily’s desk. “Let’s get to work.”

Lily told Adam about Yuste’s order while they sifted through Drury’s papers.

She held a pad covered with Drury’s familiar scribble. “I miss him. Even the gruff sound of his voice, making demands, barking orders.”

“He had panache, mostly flamboyant.” Adam opened another box and stacked the contents on Drury’s desk. “In his own way, he was brave, and brilliant, a little quixotic.” He looked over at Lily. “Where will you go?”

“Back to the States, maybe.”

“You can’t cross the North Atlantic. It’s swarming with U-boats.”

“Other people are crossing. A whole invasion force.”

“That’s different. They’re soldiers.”

“Soldiers. Expendable, isn’t that what they call it?”

Expendable—like Rafi. She thought of him crossing the minefield, caught in the crossfire.

That last second, did he know?

“They’re soldiers,” Adam repeated.

“And I’m not? It’s a case of women and children first? How chivalrous!”

“You could look at it that way. I like to think of it as an adaptive strategy necessary for the survival of the species.”

“Always the anthropologist.”

He flipped through the last folder on the desk. “Can’t help it. I’m just a poor university professor.” He put the stack back into the box and reached for another.

“Not anymore. You’re an army officer.”

“An army officer.” He sat in Drury’s chair, his arms limp at his sides. “On the eve of ordering a thousand young men to their death. Just kids.” Adam’s voice rang hollow from the depths of the chair. “They could be my students. And I’m about to send the message that could blast them all to hell.”

He stood up and dumped the contents of a box onto Drury’s desk. “Only two more boxes and we’re done. Doesn’t look like the code’s here.” He wiped his forehead and raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You’ll be leaving. Where do you intend to go?”

“Boyle suggested French Morocco.”

“Straight into a war zone? Giraud intends to make a show of resistance. God knows how severe the fighting will be.”

“I’ll go south, stay away from the coast. I might do an archaeological survey.” Lily rifled through the papers on the desk and returned them to the box. “There’s a Roman site, Volubilis.”

“Where would you stay?”

“Moulay Idriss. It’s a little town near Volubilis named after the first sultan of Morocco. His tomb is there.”

“I need you here.” Adam slammed down the Manila envelope he held and leaned over Lily’s desk. “I’ll talk to Boyle, see if he can get Yuste to change his mind.”

“Not likely. Boyle’s already tried. You’ll have to find a replacement for me.”

She sorted through another stack of notes.

“I can’t find a replacement that easily.”

“No one’s indispensable.”

Adam put both hands on Lily’s desk. “That’s not it.” A pink flush suffused his face and he lowered his head. “I could assign Blufield to take over some of your duties here. But I don’t want you wandering through a war. I want to keep an eye on you. Two eyes, preferably.”

Lily looked away. “I’ll be all right. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing else I can do.”

He went back to Drury’s desk and began sorting through the rest of the papers. “I’ll miss you.” He opened a drawer and closed it again. “You’ll need transportation. I’ll talk to Boyle.” He lifted a folder from the pile, thumbed through it, tossed it aside. “I may be able to arrange a jeep.”

“I don’t need—”

“Stay in the south ’til the beachheads are secured. Then you can come up to HQ in Casablanca. But not until the fighting is over.” Adam stacked the folder he held on top of the others. “You can have my jeep. I’ll requisition a command car to go to Casa.”

He returned the stack of folders to the carton and held up an envelope. “There’s a letter here. It’s addressed to Suzannah. ‘In case of my death,’ it says. He was expecting something like this.”

“Why Suzannah?”

“He trusted her more than you do.” He put the letter in his pocket.

He reached the bottom of the carton and sank into Drury’s chair. “That’s the last of them. The code box isn’t here.”

“Maybe it’s in the villa,” Lily said. “If I’m going to do a survey, I’ll need a theodolite. There’s one at the villa, on the roof behind the radio, under the table where the boxes are.”