Free The First Wave by James R. Benn

couldn’t shoot me with my own gun.
    Thinking about Georgie just got me mad, and then thinking about Diana, somewhere out there with Villard, got me madder. Good. That took care of the sweats.When I got mad about somebody who did me wrong, I forgot to worry about the consequences. It wasn’t my best character trait, or even one I’d recommend, but I hoped it might help keep Diana alive.
    I let out some slack and slid to the edge of the roof. I knew there was a balcony right below this skylight, at the end of the east wing. I aimed myself toward the side of the balcony. I didn’t want to come down smack in the middle of it, in case someone who couldn’t sleep was looking out at the moonlight. At the edge of the roof, I let out a few feet of rope and eased over, lowering myself a couple of inches at a time. My arm muscles started to shake and I really wanted to slide down that rope before I fell. But I didn’t. This was a dangerous spot to be in, a dark figure moving against a white wall. I had to go slowly, so slowly that even if somebody looked up for a second they wouldn’t notice movement.
    Finally, I was at the edge of the balcony. I swung one leg over the railing and pulled myself onto it, then squatted in the corner and let my breathing settle down.When it did, I listened, as hard as I could. I pressed my ear against the wall. It was quiet. I uncoiled the rest of the rope and tied up the slack in a loose knot. When I came out I could throw it over and climb down to the ground if I needed to, but that would only be if trouble were following me, since it would leave the rope hanging there for all to see. Otherwise I’d climb back onto the roof and pull the rope up after me. Much more desirable, since that meant Vichy guards weren’t chasing me.
    I peered over the balcony railing and saw a sentry below, standing at ease and looking bored. His head swiveled right as I picked up the sound of footsteps coming toward him. I froze, waiting for the other guy to show up, hopefully only a change of the guard. Instead, a French Army officer appeared out of the darkness. I couldn’t make out his rank, but he seemed to be right for a captain or major, not an HQ desk jockey. His uniform was dirty and worn. He had been out in the field. Fighting us? Or rounding up rebels? I wondered which.
    The sentry snapped to attention and the officer asked him something. Even if I understood French I wouldn’t have picked it all up, but I did hear “Capitaine Bessette” toward the end.
    “Oui, mon Capitaine,” the sentry answered. At which point his captain breezed past him and went inside. I heard a door open and slam shut. Now I had trouble. A guy inside, looking for Bessette, the officer who had issued the orders for the convoy and who knew the password. Great. It meant I either had to retreat to the roof and give up, or get inside quick.
    The way I figured it, if I could stay out of this guy’s way, he might do me a favor and lead me to Bessette’s office. I could hide out until he left. I didn’t have time to think it through, so I went ahead. I pressed my face against the glass in the door leading inside from the balcony. I could see it was some sort of sitting room. No one was inside. I tried the door handle. It opened with a slight creak. I went in, made for a corner, and stood still, getting my bearings.
    It was a small room, with a couple of couches facing each other and a long coffee table between them. On the wall to my right a door led to another room. I moved along the wall toward the door, listening. It was quiet, that dead of night quiet when the blood pounding through your veins sounds like a rushing river. Suddenly, a telephone rang; the shock nearly knocked me over. Looking around I saw the phone on the coffee table. I was ready to bolt out onto the balcony when it cut off in mid-ring. I heard a short, one-sided conversation in the next room, so I knew there was a bedroom extension. I ducked behind the couch when