"Don't mention it; it was my duty. Where can I take you now? You deserve some rest."
"I think I'll stay here, to wait for the next flight."
"Don't you have a report to make?"
"Only to Major Cosgrove, and he can come get it if he wants. The army has its BARs back, the German agents are in custody or dead, and the IRA plot has been stopped. What else is there?"
"Indeed. You've done well, Lieutenant. Good luck." We shook hands, and he clasped my arm before he let go, and drove off into the night.
"So, Mac, what's your story?" the air force lieutenant asked me.
I thought about all the places I could go. A side trip to London, drop in on Kaz, spend a few nights of luxury with him at the Dorchester. It would be easy, and I could talk things over with him. Maybe even have a few laughs.
"I'm headed for Algiers," I said. It wasn't Kaz I needed to see.
"Well, Bull said, whatever you guys want. I can have you in Gibraltar by tomorrow night, Algiers the next day. We got a B-24 outbound in the morning, ferrying VIPs to Gib for when the president and General Marshall stop there on the way back from meeting Stalin. Room for one more if you don't mind being squeezed in with admirals, generals, and journalists."
"That's fine, I like newspapermen."
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
It took four days, two of them grounded in Gibraltar due to a storm in the Atlantic. The generals and admirals complained, the reporters played cards. I stuck with them, and ended up with a fistful of pound notes, a sign that my luck was improving. We landed at Maison Blanche airfield, east of Algiers, and I hitched a ride into the city as far as the docks, then trudged up Rue Marguerite, sweating in my woolen uniform, hoping somebody I knew at headquarters would be on duty. Halfway up, I stopped to catch my breath and turned to see how far I'd walked. It was a dizzying view, so intense it almost didn't seem real, palm trees and blazing sunshine reflecting off whitewashed stone. Minarets pointing the way to heaven, and church bells echoing against the drab, brown hills. Turquoise blue water, sparkling in the distance. A long way from Ireland.
The rest of the walk was cooler, in the shade of the giant palm trees in the Hotel St. George gardens. I walked along the drive, dodging jeeps and staff cars as they went about their important rear-area business. Allied Forces HQ had grown from a few hundred officers and enlisted men after the invasion to thousands, a bloated, bureaucratic beast that had taken over seven other buildings at last count. I was nothing but a drop in that bucket, and the sentry at the main entrance didn't recognize me and didn't want to risk his PFC's stripe by letting me stink up the lobby.
"Call Ike's office, see if Kay Summersby or Mattie Pinette are in," I told him. "They know me."
"Why are you wearing that uniform, sir?" he asked, taking in the sweat-stained, dirty wool. Four days in the same clothes hadn't helped my appearance, and I sensed his suspicion that I was a Kraut spy dumb enough to wear a winter uniform in the North African sun.
"Because it's cold in Northern Ireland. Now telephone the office, that's an order."
Five minutes later Kay had me by the arm, pulling me along to Ike's office, filling me in on what had happened since I left, her words coming out in a breathless jumble.
"The president and his party are returning from Tehran. The general is going to meet them in Tunis, and everyone says Roosevelt is going to appoint General Marshall to command the invasion of Europe, and that Ike is going to go back to Washington. What's going to happen to all of us, Billy?"
She sat at her desk while I collapsed in a chair, waving to Mattie and the other familiar faces in the office. Kay took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, glancing at the other WACs. I wondered what they knew about her and Uncle Ike. I wondered if I could forget it.
"I don't know, Kay, maybe we'll all go home with the general." As soon as I said it, I realized that wasn't what Kay wanted to hear. Home meant Mamie Eisenhower.
"I'm not an American citizen, Billy. They'll split us all up, after everything we've been through. I can't bear the thought of it."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Kay. From what I hear, the president thinks General Marshall is too important to let him leave Washington. And the boss is already over here. You never know."
"I'm sorry, Billy, I suppose I'm overreacting. There's a new rumor every day, and it's gotten to me, that's all. Tell me, how was your assignment in Ireland? You look dreadful, if you don't mind me saying." She dabbed her eyes one more time and put away the handkerchief.
"It was resolved," I said. "But I've been traveling for four days, and I need clothes, chow, a bath, and a bed, not necessarily in that order. Can you fix me up?"
"Sure, Billy. I think we can get you into a room here, at least for a couple of nights. We've got VIPs and VGDIPs coming in every day but I can take care of it. I'll get someone to get your gear together too."
"Thanks. What's a VGDIP?"
"Very Goddamn Important Person," she whispered. "At least in their own eyes." She laughed, and her face lit up with that mischievous look that made a beautiful woman even more attractive.
"Have you heard anything from Kaz? When's he coming back?"
"No, nothing," she said. "And the Poles in London aren't talking. The general had me contact them but all they said was that Lieutenant Kazimierz had been recalled indefinitely. Something is damned odd there."
"It's a damned odd war. Is the general around?"
"Yes, but he's leaving shortly. Do you want to see him now? The way you look?"
"I'll be dead asleep on my feet in ten minutes. Now or never."
"Is there anyone else you want to see?" Kay said, with a coy smile.
"Is Diana here?"
"Yes, she came back from her briefing yesterday; she's on a forty-eight-hour leave."
"You mean her SOE briefing," I said in a low voice.
"Yes. You should see her, Billy." She stared at me, her expression hardening. She couldn't fully have the man she loved, and here I was, throwing away a good chance at love through stubbornness and pride. I didn't blame her for the dagger look.
"I want to," I said, and she led me to Uncle Ike's office and knocked.
"William," he said, getting up from his desk and shaking my hand. "I hadn't heard you were back. Just got in, by the looks of you. How are you? How was Ireland?"
"I'm fine, sir. That situation in Northern Ireland was resolved, nothing to worry about."
"Excellent! Here, have a seat," Uncle Ike said, gesturing to a pair of chairs opposite his desk. "Was Major Cosgrove pleased with the outcome? And what was her name, Miss O'Brien?"
"Subaltern Slaine O'Brien. She's dead, sir."
"My God, that's terrible. As a result of this business?"
"Yes, sir. Several others too. British, Irish, Americans. More than I'd like but we put a stop to it, so I guess it was worth it."
Uncle Ike nodded as he lit a cigarette. Less than a year ago, I wouldn't ever have said such a thing. Now I could, and I saw the strain on Uncle Ike's face, as he dealt in numbers that would dwarf mine, the deaths I could count on my fingers with a few to spare.
"You did well, William, and I'm sorry about the losses. Tell me, did you enjoy seeing Ireland?"
Perhaps someday I'd look back and remember what I'd seen and recall some of it fondly. The smell of the peat burning, the green fields after a rain, the sound of Irish voices everywhere. Not yet, though. And it was part of Great Britain I'd seen, not the free Republic. But Uncle Ike was a man with enough worries of his own, and I never felt like saying anything that might burden him.
"It was grand," I said, feeling that was not quite a lie. Grand, magnificent, terrible. "Can I ask about the rumors? Are you going to get General Marshall's job?"