Two Crosses (30 page)

“Hold on, Gabby. Just who is Jean-Claude?”

“He’s the man I met in the Tower of Constance at Aigues-Mortes. I ran into him again in Montpellier the other day with Ophélie—the new orphan. I think I told you about her?”

David nodded.

“He used to know her mother, and he said he could help us find her, and I was supposed to call him back. When I did, he wanted to meet today, but I told him I couldn’t because I would be in Les Baux.”

David was wrinkling his brow, thinking. “You told him you were coming here?”

Gabriella blushed. “Yes. I did. I know I talk too much.”

“Never mind that now. Tell me what this Jean-Claude looks like.”

“He’s maybe five foot ten, thick brownish hair. Quite handsome, really. And green eyes. I … I notice eyes. Their color, I mean.” Her face reddened again.

“He’s the man who followed you at Aix too.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Because I knocked him over the head with a wine bottle.”

“You what?”

“Believe me, it was to protect you. I didn’t see what good it would do to tell you afterwards.”

“David, you think Jean-Claude is trying to hurt me? That he was somehow here today? But why in the world?”

“I think he is indeed after you. But he should be after me. It’s a case of mistaken identity.” David sighed deeply and turned his piercing eyes on Gabriella. “I can’t tell you everything, Gabby. It’s a long story. A story of war and innocent victims. You don’t need to know all the details. But it was the bread, as you have guessed, that got you into trouble in Aix.” He reached behind him and placed the knapsack in Gabriella’s lap. “Go ahead. Take out the bread.”

She did so hesitantly.

“Break it in two and pull out the center part.”

Gabriella obeyed. As she broke the loaf, a small piece of paper wrapped in plastic fell into her hands. Gabriella stared at him, bewildered.

“It is
this
that I find in the bread. My instructions. Do you understand?”

She nodded, trembling. “I see … I see.”

He reached for her hand. “Gabby, please. Hear me out.”

“You’re frightening me, David. Perhaps I shouldn’t know. You mean when I went to get the bread, this man was watching me? And you knew it?”

“No, of course I didn’t know. I’m afraid someone has talked. It’s too complicated to explain it all now. But you deserve to know, because I’m sure you’re in danger. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

“David, my heart is still racing from the fall. And now what do I do? Walk back out into the wind and wait for some sadist to kill me? Now I’ll be looking over my shoulder until I leave France.”

“No, Gabby. No. You’ll be safe in Castelnau. The next time he’ll come after me. I’ll make sure of it.”

She didn’t reply but placed the plastic-covered paper on the dashboard.

“You must say nothing about this, Gabby. Can I trust you?”

Her eyes were sad, void of any blue sparkle. “Who would I tell, David? Who in the world would I tell?”

20

Ali sat in his room, impatient and brooding. He had no time to finish his little work with the FLN on his back, sure of victory in the near future. He too wanted victory for Algeria. But first he wanted revenge.

His office in the Casbah was a tiny cubicle with a single window overlooking a polluted alley. Lined across his desk were old framed photographs: In one he was a child, standing beside a man in military uniform and a young woman with long, thick black hair. In others he was older, posed with first one, then two, and eventually six other siblings. The young mother smiled in each picture, seemingly pleased with her growing family.

Finally there was a larger framed photograph of Ali as a young man in military dress, standing tall and proud beside the older man he so closely resembled. Ali let his eyes fall on this picture and smiled briefly. “Father,” he whispered.

He stood up and walked to the cement block wall, running his fingers over the cool stones. Taped to a dingy whitewashed wall was a yellowed newspaper clipping with a picture of a group of soldiers. Ali’s father stood in the back row, looking confident. Around his head a bright-blue circle had been drawn. A dozen other men’s heads were circled in red, and several of these circles had a red X drawn through the middle. The caption below the photograph read:

P
ARIS
, F
RANCE
. The Scout Platoon of the Thirteenth Battalion of the North African Army has made a name for itself in several major battles of 1943. This platoon, made up primarily of Algerians and pied-noirs, has been decorated for its bravery. The platoon is led by Lieut. Mohammed Boudani under battalion leader Capt. Maxime Duchemin.

Ali spat. “Captain Duchemin! You traitor. I’ll find your daughter and granddaughter, and then I can draw the line through your family. No one will remember them. My father will be avenged.”

Another clipping was taped next to the picture of the soldiers, and one paragraph underlined:

In what has been called one of the ironic tragedies of this war, French forces, on the brink of victory, raided a German campsite in the middle of the night April 5. Thirty-seven men of the Scout Platoon of the Thirteenth Battalion of the North African Army, made up primarily of pied-noirs and Algerians, inflicted heavy casualties on the German battalion. The platoon suffered only one casualty: the body of Lieut. Mohammed Boudani was found hanging from the rafters of a dilapidated barn, with evidence of extreme torture.

Beside the newspaper clipping Ali had posted a piece of paper with numbers from 1 to 37. He had written names by the first twenty-two spaces. Four of these, including his father’s, were crossed out with the words
died in war
written beside them. A red line was drawn through the names of eleven others: men who, along with their families, had been killed to avenge his father’s death.

Ali would find the names of the rest. And make them suffer.

Anne-Marie unfolded a crumpled sheet of paper. “It’s no use, Moustafa. I can’t remember everyone. You have warned these families?” She pointed to a half-dozen names scratched on the paper.

“They are warned, the ones who are in Algiers. The
Capitaine
will sail to Marseille tomorrow night with four children. Ali will not murder any more innocent young ones.”

Anne-Marie rubbed her forehead and sighed. “It’s all my fault. Oh how I hate this life. It’s as if I reached out a gun and shot them myself.”

Moustafa took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You were forced to talk! No one judges you! Certainly not I. We’re here now because I too was weak. Every night I wonder if the other children escaped to France or if they were found because I talked. Bachir—is he safe in France? And Hakim?” He closed his eyes briefly, remembering Ali’s cruel laughter as Moustafa had writhed in pain. “I’m only glad I didn’t know more. Only dates and cities.” He stroked her face. “And where you were. It’s my fault that you’re here. I’m so sorry.”

Anne-Marie placed a finger over his lips and shook her head. “Don’t, Moustafa … don’t think of it now. You couldn’t help it.”

His eyes flashed. “If I let them, these thoughts will smother me in hopelessness. But we must not give in to self-pity. You have forgiven me, Anne-Marie, for my weakness?”

“Of course, Moustafa. You know I have.” Her eyes were liquid and sad as she answered him. “But can I forgive myself? For the families I betrayed to Jean-Claude? For my own daughter, who is living another nightmare because of me?”

He grabbed Anne-Marie’s shoulders, his voice a passionate whisper. “We’re in a war of madness, and we’re dealing with a madman. Don’t live in guilt. We can help.” He looked at her lovingly. “Do you wish to leave now, Anne-Marie? There’s room on the boat for you.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll stay with you here. If they have brought Ophélie to Ali, she’s somewhere in this town. We’ll keep searching.”

She reached out for his hand, and he pulled her against his chest.

“Moustafa,” she whispered, coughing. “How can Ali believe that our fathers left his father to die? It was a casualty of war. He is pure evil.”

Moustafa waited a moment to speak. “Anne-Marie, my love. I’ve been thinking how it grows more dangerous daily for all the children trapped in this war. We have to keep using this operation, even after Ophélie and the others Ali seeks are safe. Algeria is going to explode in a final clash of power and blood. Marcus tells me what the OAS plots. I have to stay and help. Tell me you’ll stay too.”

She was still holding on to him. “Moustafa, our love too is madness. There’s no place in the world for a harki and a pied-noir who are in love.”

“Then stay with me here, Anne-Marie. For now no one says a thing. For now we’re alone in the eye of the storm. Stay with me here.” He cradled her face in his hands. “You are so beautiful, my love.”

He kissed her carefully, as if to bring a spark of life back into her eyes. He kissed her again and again, until she answered back hungrily. Until for a moment they forgot how impossible indeed was their love.

Gabriella left her room as the doorbell to Mme Leclerc’s apartment sounded. She pulled on her coat and looped a green scarf around her neck.

“A date on Sunday night?” Caroline teased, stepping out of her room. “Don’t stay out too late, Gab. Remember there’s school tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” Gabriella replied, forcing a smile.

Mme Leclerc had opened the door and was chatting politely with David.

The smile still plastered on her face, Gabriella kissed the landlady softly on the cheek. “I won’t be late. But don’t wait up. I have my key.”

“
Ooh là là, ma chérie!
I will long since be asleep. You just have fun.” She winked at her boarder.

David took Gabriella’s arm and escorted her out the door. “I’ll take good care of her, Mme Leclerc,” he said.

They walked casually down the steps and out into the deserted street. The moon was full. The air smelled of smoke as all around town the black vapor wisped and twirled out of chimneys.

Gabriella could see her breath. “Where shall we go?”

“Do you have the phone number?”

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of paper.

“Good.” He looked over at her. “Are you okay?”

“Scared stiff,” she replied.

David put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a playful hug. “You’ll do great, my dear.”

She broke away from him, walking ahead. “I get the feeling this is all a little game to you, David. Cat and mouse, is that it? I’m not laughing, I hope you notice. I’m not a spy. My training is in literature and art, you may recall. I’ve studied under a very distinguished professor.”

He caught up to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. “Listen to me, Gabby. You have every right to be angry. But what’s done is done. You said Jean-Claude expects your call. This is our chance. Shake him up a little. It’s the only way to get the heat off you and onto me.”

Gabriella looked at the ground. “David, for all we know, he thinks I’m lying dead at the bottom of Les Baux. Why prove to him that I’m alive and well? Besides …” She turned her blue eyes up toward his. “I don’t want you to take the heat either.”