Free Gibraltar Passage by T. Davis Bunn

to passage into the Mediterranean, you see, and way had to be made for the incoming soldiers.
    â€œFirst we went to French Morocco, but we were there scarcely a month before France fell. We were then shipped to England. It was only this past winter that we were permitted to return.” She looked out over the swirling, sparkling crowd and smiled at the memory. “When the ship neared the strait and we first caught sight of the Rock, the feeling was indescribable. It was a dream come true. I had been so afraid that I would not live to see the day.”
    â€œFrom what I have seen of the place,” Jake said, “your home is beautiful.”
    â€œYes, it is. We are dominated by the sea and the mountain and the military. Either you love such an atmosphere or you leave.”
    â€œYou certainly look at home here.” Jake drifted into polite conversation. No matter how charming Lady Haskins might be, she did not appear to be the kind of person with connections to the local underworld.
    Shrewd eyes showed awareness of his wandering attention. “Have you wondered, Colonel, why a member of the French Underground would seek to flee to territory firmly in British hands?”
    Jake looked back down at the tiny woman and reflected that perhaps Admiral Bingham had been right in bringing them together after all. “No, I hadn’t.”
    â€œI find that most intriguing.” She thought a moment, then said, “Traitor. You are sure he used that word?”
    â€œIt’s what the girl reported to us. She was absolutely positive about the message.”
    â€œThen hard as it may be for your French friend to accept,” Millicent Haskins said, turning her bright gaze back toward Jake, “I think it would be wise to consider that the traitor is one of his own countrymen.”
    ----
    â€œThere is much truth in what the old woman has said to you,” Pierre said as they made their way back to naval quarters.
    â€œYeah, Millie Haskins is some lady,” Commander Teaves said. “She’s got the vision of an eagle. Sees right to the heart of an issue.”
    â€œYou know her well?” Jake asked.
    â€œEveryone knows Millie. She makes it a point of making everybody’s business her own. Sort of considers all who live here as part of her extended family. The locals call her the Matron of Gibraltar.”
    â€œI have been troubled by Patrique’s travel to Gibraltarwithout knowing why,” Pierre went on. “Now I can see no other reason for it but this one.”
    Teaves skirted around a pair of quarreling curs. “Any idea who this traitor fellow might be?”
    â€œNone.” Pierre hesitated, then said, “Perhaps it is because I do not wish to think too deeply.”
    â€œMay be your only way of finding out who was behind your brother’s disappearance,” Teaves pointed out.
    Jake was beginning to realize that the commander’s easygoing voice was a velvet glove cloaking a steel-keen mind. “That makes very good sense.”
    â€œJust conjecture, but maybe the way to find your brother, or at least find out what happened to him, is to hunt down the hunters.”
    â€œIf it was indeed a traitor,” Pierre said to the night, “it would have to be someone who has something to hide now .”
    â€œI get you,” Jake said. “Not something from the war. Nobody is going to chase across the Mediterranean to settle a wartime grudge. Not now.”
    â€œSomebody with something to hide,” Teaves said. “Something big.”
    â€œOr somebody in a big position,” Pierre mused.
    â€œA turncoat,” Jake suggested. “Played both sides of the fence during the war, and now he wants his secrets to stay good and buried.”
    From the far side of the road came the faintest of sounds, a gentle snicker of well-oiled metal upon metal. Yet for Jake the almost inaudible noise shouted loud across the years. Without an