Fleming came apart. He began to sob great, tearing, gasping sobs as he broke under Ann's complete spotlighting of his weaknesses. When he could get his breath, he tried to speak.
"God, I'm sorry! Can you forgive me? Any of you?"
"I forgive you Daddy," said Darla, crying herself at the emotions which tore through her.
"Sure, Dad," said Tommy, shakily. "Like Mom says, we all were forced to learn all too much about ourselves. I sure couldn't cast the first stone, the second, or the third."
It was quiet for a minutes then Fleming dared to ask the question. "Ann?"
He waited, and as he waited, he thought. Then he knew he hadn't said enough.
"Ann, I know that I have to ask your forgiveness especially. You gave me the two finest kids there are, anywhere, and I've not only let them down, but I've caused them unnecessary misery. And by implying that Darla had gone wrong, and that it angered me, I intimated that it was her mother who was at fault."
"God! I don't know what came over me! Here I am, taking out my mad and my helplessness, as Uncle Curt used to say, on the very ones who should be applauded. Most kids would be in shock from having to go through all this, but my whole damn family except me is riding out the storm beautifully. I'm not too sure I want to get out of this alive, myself. As long as I can get the rest of you free. I'm not sure I'll be able to live with myself after this."
"Chuck," Ann's voice came softly to him, and he got up the courage to look over at her for the first time since she'd scalded him with her words. "You've been carrying the load for all of us. Sure, each one of us suffers from all this. But who is it that the other three have been looking to for a way out? Who's been straining his brain to figure out how to protect the people he's always been responsible for? With all you've had on your mind, it took the very worst straw to break the camel's back. I think you've done pretty well. How about it, kids?" In unison, Darla and Tommy answered her.
"You'd better believe it!" Everyone chuckled at their simultaneous use of the same words. Then, as the laughing died down, Fleming spoke.
"We'd better make use of whatever time we have left. I think I'm supposed to be dropped off somewhere in Marseilles in the morning. I'm supposed to get the money, then be brought back here. By the way – the price has doubled. But that's nothing. I hope you all know that it wasn't the money that made me refuse before." They all assured him that they knew that.
"Holy cow!" said Tommy, "I've seen you give bigger checks to the USO than what they asked to release Darla!"
"Well," replied Fleming, "just so you understand that I did what I did because I thought it was the sensible thing to do, based on my own observations of past kidnappings throughout history."
"Daddy! Since you know where we are, from my description, you can bring the police back here, can't you?" Darla asked.
"I'm going to have to play it pretty cagey," said Fleming. "I can't be sure what they might have up their sleeve. I know for one thing, Yvette has eyes for Tommy, and that Gerault has half-promised her she could have him for a playmate once I start for Marseilles. We've got to think of some way to stop that. Can you imagine that filthy, smelly woman getting that close to you?"
"Yukh-h-h-h!" said Tommy, feeling his insides squirm sickeningly. "She made a pitch earlier, when I was washing up in the bathroom. I almost tossed my cookies when she exposed herself to me. Why would anyone want to be so stinking dirty?"
"We'll probably never know, thank God!" said Ann. "But we've got to think about how to keep her from contacting any of us. Heaven knows what kind of diseases she's liable to carry."
"I'm going to refuse to bring back the money unless she goes along to Marseilles," said Fleming. "I'll insist on her accompanying me when they drive me to wherever they're going to let me off. That's the only way I can think of to derail whatever train of thought she has about Tommy."
"Where could the Moroccan be, I wonder," mused Tommy. "I haven't seen him since be was down here earlier, just before Mom and I were taken upstairs."
"I don't think that Le Boeuf really likes Gerault, although he takes orders from him," said Darla. "Le Boeuf seems to have a little conscience, and I think he hates the way Gerault enjoys being sadistic with us."
"Maybe so," replied Fleming. "But he also could be out somewhere laying some kind of groundwork for tomorrow. After all, they have to plan pretty carefully before they turn me out some place in the city, and they'll probably have me followed while I go to get the money."
"I'm curious about how you're going to contact them after you get it," Tommy said. "They must have something pretty sneaky figured out – after all, you might be suspected of having yourself followed by the police or something."
"I imagine they'll contact me. Probably have me return to the area where they let me off and wait until they're sure I wasn't followed before they reveal themselves."
"However it's done, you can be sure they'll take plenty of precautions to protect themselves," said Ann. "Be careful every minute, Chuck! Don't take chances!"
"I won't," Fleming promised. "If I did something stupid, and they decided to kill me, you might all be left here to rot in this Godforsaken dungeon. You can bet I'll be plenty careful!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the Citroen carried him on his blindfolded way to Marseilles, Fleming was concentrating on the routes and distances. Yvette was driving, and he was seated beside Gerault in the back. He knew that the dim interior of the car would not permit any perception of his blindfold by those outside the vehicle. Darla had told him about the tinted glass.
He began orienting himself as soon as the car started down the lane of the farm, and tried to guess at distances and speeds as they proceeded. By the time he began to smell the sea smells that announced their approach to Marseilles, he was fairly certain that he knew the entire route he'd traveled.
In late 1945, he'd been a young artilleryman with the 66th Infantry Division, and he'd logged a lot of time on the roads between the big port city and the towns and villages of the Camarguc the back country of Provence.
He'd had a lot of adventures in the short months spent here, and much of it was refreshed in his memory as he sniffed the unchanged atmosphere of the filthy harbor district.
Somewhere around here was the surprisingly clean little cafe – if it still stood – where he and several of his buddies used to come late at night to get sandwiches. They were nothing more than tomato and onion slices on the dark "black" bread which was the only staple bakery product available in the area. But those sandwiches had tasted great with the beer they smuggled into the billets.
And somewhere not too far away was the spot where he and Fabrini had almost been caught by the MP's. They'd been out on the town, having a few drinks and trying to find a couple of young, pretty girls who might also be clean by the soldiers' standards.
Fleming had just finished buying a black market Beretta pistol from a Senegalese soldier, with whom he'd bargained for almost a half-hour before arriving at an agreed price. Fabrini had been forced to interpret for them, though he'd been leery of Fleming's having the pistol on him while they were on pass. It could go hard with anyone – a GI at least – caught carrying a weapon on pass there.
Just as Fleming had wrapped the tiny pistol in his handkerchief and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his "Ike" jacket, Fabrini had spotted the patrol moving toward them from the other side of the street almost a block away.