D-Notice Bill Walker (online e book reading txt) 📖

Winded and feeling the cold, they reached the camp under the light of the full moon. Fitzhugh and the others greeted them like long lost brothers and feted them with hot lamb stew and a fresh bottle of Scotch someone had brought along contrary to regulations.

After he and Brady had eaten, Fitzhugh asked them what had happened. Thorley told him what he’d heard, and Fitzhugh listened intently.

“I think you’re onto something, Major,” he said when Thorley had finished recounting their mission. “General Auchinleck will be pleased. Good work.”

The whisky hit them all hard and everyone turned in soon after. The next morning the trucks retraced their route to Siwa. They arrived back at Rest House a little after dawn the next day. Michael was called upon to debrief for Prendergast, who seemed a little less than enthusiastic at his findings. By now, Thorley knew that Prendergast’s lack of emotion was not a reflection either on him or his information, simply a part of the man. But Thorley knew he’d scored a coup by the twinkle in the man’s eyes when he shook his hand.

“I spoke with General Auchinleck this morning,” Prendergast said. “He wants you in Cairo day after tomorrow to brief him personally on your mission. You and Brady will leave on the outgoing supply truck. You also have three day’s leave, by the way. Good show, Thorley.”

After his debriefing with Prendergast, Thorley took a much-needed bath and changed into a fresh uniform, taking time to shave off the four days growth that stubbled his chin. He’d noticed some gray hairs in his beard and for some reason it bothered him. It was as if the war and his recent experiences were taking an inevitable toll—the theft of his youth, his innocence long since gone.

Outside Rest House, Thorley found Brady waiting for him next to the idling supply truck, which ran back and forth from Cairo every other day to bring petrol and travel rations for the patrols. Usually, the drivers would then take outgoing mail or passengers bound for Cairo.

Brady clapped him on the shoulders. “When you and me hit the big “C,” boyo, we’re going to have us a grand old time. You just leave it to Corwin.” He winked and climbed up on the back of the truck and Thorley joined him. The driver, a nervous sort, glanced at his watch and shook his head. “One more minute and you blokes would have been left behind, General or no General.” He then climbed into the cab, started the engine, threw it into gear and they were off.

Unlike their journey to Siwa, the return to Cairo seemed far shorter. Thorley reasoned that the supply truck drivers knew the best and fastest routes, and knew where to avoid the sinkholes and other pitfalls so common in the desert. They reached Cairo and the hospitality of Shepheard’s by nightfall. Brady made several phone calls. When he got off, he clapped his hands and laughed.

“I just got the poop. There’s a little spot on the other side of town where the girls are easy, and the liquor is cheap. What do you say, we paint this town a new color?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on that one. I’ve got to see Auchinleck at 0700, and I’d rather not be nursing a hangover. “

“Come on, Mikey. We’re in Cairo, for Christ’s sake. You’ve just been given three days to put the war and the dirt behind you. Besides, I’ll not have me friend mopin’ about on his night of glory.”

“What glory, we just listened to the radio.”

“It was a lot more than that, and you know it. I’m standin’ you drinks, boyo, and the least you can do is come along, drink up and enjoy yourself. If you’re not wantin’ female companionship, that’s okay by me.”

Thorley sighed. There was no getting out of this one. “All right, boyo,” he said, putting on a fake Irish accent that made Brady wince. “Let’s be going then.”

The “little spot” Brady mentioned was the Kit Kat Club, a splashy nightspot on the opposite side of Cairo from the hotel. Decorated in a cross between Art Deco and Egyptian motifs, it boasted a seventeen-piece band up on its own stage, and two full bars with enough exotic concoctions to melt the brains of several armies. It was packed when they walked in, smoke hanging thickly about the dimly lit room. Pools of light dotted the floor in between tables covered in crisp white linen. To Thorley it all looked like something out of a Hollywood B-movie.

Wading through the smartly dressed crowd, Brady found them an empty table near one of the bars just vacated by an amorous couple heading for the door. A young Egyptian busboy came by, scooped up all the empty glasses, replaced the linen and the table lamp, and scurried away. Thorley took his seat and let his eyes run over the crowd, already regretting his decision to come. The club was too dark, the band too loud, and the smoke made his eyes water. Moments after they’d taken their seats, a white-coated waiter came up to them and took their drink order: two scotches, neat.

When the drinks came, Thorley took a generous sip and let the fiery liquor flow down his throat, feeling it warm his stomach. It felt good. And he was beginning to think that it was just what he needed. He realized Brady was talking to him and leaned forward to hear over the band’s rendition of “Little Brown Jug.”

Brady was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and pointing toward the bar. Thorley followed his gaze and noticed two women