"I can't understand why he didn't shoot me."
It had to have been the tenth time Carter had said that, all in the space of the five minutes since the weary, out-of-breath prisoners had made it to the tree stump and down the ladder inside to the safety of their own tunnel.
"It had to have been a set-up," Kinch stated firmly. "No question. That's why we didn't see them when we got there. They wanted us to move in close."
"But why didn't he shoot me?" Carter asked again. "I mean, I'm just surprised, that's all… I'd have expected him to at least try and shoot me when I took off… why do you think he didn't?"
"So much for the railroad tunnel," LeBeau muttered in disgust. "Still there, and still letting munitions trains get through."
"And with the charges still under the track," Newkirk added.
"Maybe they won't find them."
"Do you honestly think this is our lucky night or somethin'? Of course they're gonna find 'em."
Carter shook his head yet again, still in complete disbelief. "I mean, he had me, dead to rights… why didn't he shoot me?"
"I might do in a minute, if you don't clam up!"
"I'm just surprised, is all…"
"Knock it off!" Hogan broke in. If he'd had any patience left at all earlier, it was gone for good now. Another mission gone bust, that rail tunnel still in operation, London was telling him he had a traitor on his hands, and tonight Carter had gotten away scot-free when there was absolutely no reason for that sentry not to have at least tried to take him down when he made a run for it. Hogan, as a results man, found himself pretty damn edgy when nothing had gone right for way too long.
And there had still been no word about Tiger.
He needed to get to the bottom of this, and fast.
oo 0 oo
Carter took one more long look at the contents of the large envelope that had arrived for him at mail call, then stuffed it under his thin mattress, stealing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching. Boy, he sure wouldn't want anybody seeing this. It was way too important, and these guys… well, they just wouldn't understand. There was no way he could explain it, and he wasn't even going to try.
Maybe… just one more quick peek.
It was for real, all right. He still could hardly believed this had arrived, and he'd waited all afternoon until he'd finally found himself safely alone in the barracks to open it. This had been one of the longest days of his life. Knowing this was here, and being afraid someone would find it. Boy howdy.
He took the one more extra-long look that he wanted… no telling when he'd be able to take this out again, and he wanted to commit every detail to memory… then he replaced it very carefully under the mattress, finding the rip in the worn-out ticking and stuffing it way in, as far as it would go, into the straw. He had considered stashing it in the tunnel, but no. It was way too important. He wanted to keep it close at hand.
One more glance at the empty barracks, and then Carter stepped out the door into the compound, from where the sound of a spirited volleyball game was coming.
On the count of three, Hogan opened his office door, satisfied that Carter was really gone. What could be such a big secret that Carter, normally the most open and forthcoming of his crew, would feel the need to be so secretive to stash it not only under, but actually inside his mattress? That wasn't like Carter at all. What was so all-fired important? Did it have anything to do with why that guard in the woods hadn't shot him when he'd had the chance?
Feeling half embarrassed, half downright traitorous, Hogan knelt beside Carter's bunk and slipped his hand under the mattress, feeling around for the rip in the worn-out ticking. He was elbow-deep in straw by the time his fingers finally reached the envelope deep inside; he grasped it carefully and pulled it out slowly, careful not to damage its obviously valuable contents. Didn't look like much, just a plain manila envelope, about eight by ten inches, stiffened by either cardboard or the bulk of whatever was inside. Interesting… the postmark was California, not Indiana or North Dakota, where most of Carter's correspondence came from. Typewritten label and everything. Sure looked important. He had a pretty good idea how foolish he would have felt if all he'd unearthed had been a simple letter from Carter's mother in Muncie. No, this had to be something else.
He unfastened the metal clasp on the end, reached inside, and extracted the enclosed document, then peeled back the sturdy cardboard sleeve that kept it from bending. This was the kind of envelope battle plans could be shipped in. Maps. Coded documents. Top-secret chemical formulas.
Cheesecake photographs of Betty Grable.
A glossy eight-by-ten of Miss Grable in all her long-legged glory, flashing a big white movie-star smile over her shoulder directly at the camera. And on the bottom of the photo was a flamboyant signature in thick black ink.
To Andrew, thanks for being a fan. Yours, Betty Grable.
If Hogan had had a hand free, he would have been tempted to slap himself silly.
Sheepishly, he carefully replaced the precious photo in its envelope and slipped it back into its safekeeping spot inside the mattress. Just as he'd been thinking that nothing would ever make sense again, he'd been proven wrong. This made perfect sense. Carter wasn't in the mood for the needling he'd get if the boys found out about it, that was all, and he was keeping it under wraps. The men had the right to some privacy, and it was darn hard to come by in this place. Andrew Carter was no traitor. He was one hundred percent faithful to the United States of America, apple pie, and Betty Grable… not necessarily in that order.
"Sorry, Carter…" he mumbled as he carefully put the bunk back in order. "Sorry, Betty."
Hogan was now forced to consider the possibility that the real traitor around here might be himself. If this was all the trust he had in Carter, after all these years, the problem might not so much be the possibility of a traitor in the ranks as it was Hogan's own snap judgments and ridiculous suspicions. How could he even think it? He didn't know.
oo 0 oo
He didn't know. And yet, the very next day he found himself doing exactly the same thing again, only this time to Kinch.
He had to be sure, was what he kept telling himself… as if that were any kind of a real excuse for this incredible lack of trust he was displaying in his own men, men who had saved his life more than once during the course of their missions, men that before this he would never have suspected of being anything less than totally and completely loyal, not only to him but to one another. But Black Sheep's message couldn't be dismissed out of hand, not if he had any intention of protecting this unit and the men in it. If one had gone bad, he couldn't risk the lives of all the others. He would be negligent in his duty as a commanding officer if he did anything less than investigate Black Sheep's intelligence and then decide for himself what was really going on here.
He found Kinch in the radio room. No surprises there. The surprise was what happened next.
"Oh… hi, Colonel," Kinch greeted him, obviously a little startled. He had a small book in his hand that he immediately slid into the narrow gap underneath the radio; it only just fit.
So what's that… and why doesn't Kinch want me to see it? Okay, Hogan had satisfied himself that the reported traitor in their midst wasn't Carter… but could it be Kinch? "How's it going?" he replied in an even tone.
"I was just about to go topside… this message just came in." He passed his clipboard over to the colonel. "Just got this from Black Sheep; he's transmitting again."
Yeah, it had to be from Black Sheep, all right… the next keyword in the series was included in the first line; meaningless to anyone who wasn't aware of the eyes-only code procedure. Hogan took the clipboard from the sergeant's hand. "Thanks, Kinch. Hey, we're having a problem with the amplifier in the coffeepot up in my office; I'd like you to check it out."
"Uh… now?"
The colonel nodded, pretending to scan the message and trying to show no particular interest in getting the sergeant out of the radio room. "Yeah; Klink's been getting some reports from the guards outside the wire that we need to hear, but the speaker's out of whack. Lots of static."
"I didn't know it wasn't working right."
"Just started up. I'm sure you'll have it fixed in no time."
"Okay; I'll go up and have a look at it."
"Thanks."
The minute the sergeant was up the ladder, Hogan put the clipboard aside and went for the radio desk. Skulking around like this, spying on his own men, was starting to make him feel like a third Hardy Boy… a good-for-nothing one that nobody ever talked about. He'd devoured the series of books as a kid; his favorite had been The Great Airport Mystery. As anxious as Hogan was to see how The Great POW Camp Mystery ended, he was willing to bet it would never become any twelve-year-old boy's favorite. Right now, he hated it as much as he'd ever hated anything he'd had to do in this war. It was turning him into someone he didn't want to be.
But what choice did he have? The safety of everyone in this operation depended on him identifying and neutralizing the bad apple in this barrel. If indeed there was one.
The pamphlet he extracted from the tight space underneath the radio could have turned out to be anything… a code book, a list of known Allied agents in the area and their exact locations, a record of recent sabotage incidents and those responsible for the destruction, a map of the secret escape routes out of Germany.
It was a college catalogue from Howard University in Washington, DC, obviously well-thumbed, with several pages dog-eared and notes in the margins. Well, that figured… Kinch, with his exceptional intelligence and ability, was already looking ahead to after the war, and good for him if college figured into his plans; he was definitely college material, probably more than anybody else currently marking time in this dump.
Once again, mortified at the trust and privacy he had just violated, maybe even more so than when he'd discovered Carter's hidden 'secret', Hogan replaced the pamphlet where Kinch had concealed it. If there was any way he could help make this happen after the war, he would… not that Kinch would need his help, but he wanted to somehow try and make this up to him.
Hogan took advantage of the fact that he was alone to remove the concealed paper from the hidden compartment in the heel of his shoe and decode the message Kinch had just handed off to him. It didn't take long; this time there were only four words between the key word and the signature: Any progress identifying traitor?
"Don't you think I'd tell you if there was?" Hogan mumbled half to himself. This still didn't make any sense. Black Sheep sounded so certain, and yet…
… how could it be?
