Tommy felt a rush of excited satisfaction, though one lingering question plagued him, and dampened his enthusiasm: Why would Trader Vic have stepped into that particular darkness?
What had drawn him to that spot, where a man with a stiletto was waiting for him to turn his back?
Something had beckoned Vincent Bedford to the juncture of the two huts.
Something he thought was safe. Or profitable.
Either was a possibility with Trader Vic. But it was death that had waited there for him.
Tommy slowly turned, staring at the huts around him. He dropped to one knee, feeling the clumps of dirt of the garden.
And why would he have to be moved after he was killed? It would be far less of a risk for the killer to simply leave Bedford's body where the killing took place. Unless there was something nearby that he did not want to draw attention to.
"What do you think?" Scott whispered.
"This the place?
Sure seems like about the best place to do someone real quiet like, "I think I'll make a point to come back in the daylight," Tommy replied, as he nodded his head.
"See what I can see. But I'd say this spot's a good candidate for the murder location."
"Then let's get the hell out of here."
Tommy rose.
"All right," he said. But as he took a step forward, Scott suddenly grabbed his arm.
Both men froze.
"What?" Tommy whispered.
"I heard something. Quiet."
"What?"
"I said' Quiet Both men slipped back to the wall of the hut, squeezing hard against it. Tommy held his breath, trying to erase from the night even the noise of his own wind. And into this silence, he heard a thudding sound. Unmistakable but quick, and he couldn't make out where it came from. He slowly exhaled, and heard a second noise, almost a scraping or rustling sound. He bit down hard on his lip.
Scott tugged at Tommy's sleeve. He held a finger over Tommy's mouth to signal silence, then gestured for Tommy to stay close. The black airman then started to move, catlike, graceful, but with an undeniable urgency, through the darkness of the alleyway. Tommy thought Scott seemed to be well educated in the ability to move silently. He tried to keep pace, stepping forward as softly as he could manage, hoping his footsteps would be muffled against the surrounding night.
But every motion he made seemed to him to be a racket.
He could feel his pulse racing, and he pivoted his head, searching the darkness for the source of the sounds that trailed them. Every shadow seemed to move, every slice of nighttime held some form that eluded distinction. Each drop of blackness seemed to mask a gesture that threatened them.
Tommy thought he could hear breathing, then he thought he could hear boots tramping in the nearby exercise yard, then he realized he could hear nothing for real, save the nasty fear-noise of his own heart pounding away within his chest.
They reached the crawl space and Tommy's hands started to shake. Acid bile filled his dry throat and he wasn't certain that he could speak.
Scott paused, bending toward Tommy, cupping his hand around his ear and whispering.
"I'm pretty damn sure someone's back there following us. If it's a Kraut, we can't show him the passageway beneath the hut. They figure out that kriegies are using the crawl space and they'll dump concrete in there tomorrow. Can't do that. We're gonna have to try to make it around the front. Dodge the searchlight."
Tommy nodded, an odd wave of relief coursing through him as he recognized he wouldn't have to traverse the passageway again. And with that relief came the understanding that Scott's observation was correct. Tommy thought that at least Scott was still thinking like a soldier. But at that moment, he didn't know what frightened him more: being forced to crawl beneath Hut 102 or trying to elude the searchlight or waiting for whoever was following them through the darkness to emerge. They all seemed equally evil.
"But maybe it's one of our guys," Scott whispered.
"And maybe that's worse…" He let his words trail off into the slippery cool air.
With a single glance backward into the void behind them, Scott crept forward to the front edge of Hut 102. Tommy followed on his heels, tossing his own gaze backward once or twice, imagining forms darting through the black night behind them. At the front of the hut, Scott bent down and peered around the edge.
Almost immediately, the black flier pivoted toward Tommy.
"The light's pointing away!" he said, his voice still barely above a whisper but with the demands of a shout.
"We go, now!"
Without hesitating, Scott burst around the corner, dodging the stairs to Hut 102, arms pumping, flat out sprinting for the door to Hut 101, like a halfback who spots a hole in the line.
Tommy had launched himself directly behind Scott, moving rapidly, although not quite able to keep pace with the black flier. He saw the searchlight's beam cutting through the night away from them, blessing them with the same darkness that had seemed a moment earlier to be filled with terrors. Then he saw Scott take the steps up to their barracks in a single leap, grabbing at the door handle and jerking the door open.
As the searchlight abruptly changed direction, and began to race across the dirt ground and wooden huts toward him, Tommy pushed himself forward, flying the last few feet through the air a step ahead of the light, tumbling through the open door. Scott dragged the door closed as he fell to the floor inside the hut, next to Tommy. There was an instant halo of light that passed over the exterior of Hut 101, then proceeded on, oblivious to their presence inside the door.
Both men were quiet, their breath coming in rapid, spasmodic bursts.
After close to a minute, Scott lifted himself up on one elbow. At the same time, Tommy felt around for the candle he'd left behind, then found a match in his shirt pocket. The match flickered as he struck it against the wall and the candle threw weak light on the black airman's grin.
"Any more adventures planned for this evening. Hart?"
Tommy shook his head.
"Enough for tonight."
Scott nodded, still grinning.
"Well, then, I'll see you in the morning, counselor."
He laughed. His teeth flashed as they reflected the candlelight.
"I wonder who it was that was out there with us? A Kraut?
Or maybe someone else?" Scott snorted.
"Kinda makes one wonder, don't it?" Then he shrugged, rose to his feet so that he loomed up over Tommy and, slipping out of his flight boots, padded off down the corridor without speaking another word.
Tommy reached down to pull his own boots off, wondering the same thing.
Friend or foe? And which was which? As he tried to unlace the shoes, he discovered his hands were still quivering, and he had to take a minute to get them under control.