Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Read Online Free Page B

States
Army. This is what we do. I trust Sergeant Gregson when he says we’re being
followed.” He tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Don’t lose them yet, but be ready
when I tell you. As far as they know, we’re out for a nice evening ride.”
    He stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Back to your question,
Wade. We have certain assets that we like to use in order to keep Uncle Sam’s
name off the ledger. Some of those names help us because they’re on our
payroll. Others help out from a sense of duty. You do know the war’s coming
here, right?”
    I squinted at him through my cigarette smoke. It’s the kind of truth you
don’t like to admit even when you know it’s right. War meant a lot of things,
mainly death, to a lot of guys. I liked the fact that Roosevelt had kept us out
of the conflict. So far. I was two for two in voting for him and he hadn’t let
me down yet.
    But now agents of his own military were whisking civilians off the streets
and we were being followed. This didn’t ring right to me. It wasn’t the way
things were supposed to happen.
    “What’s Rosenblatt got that everyone’s hot under the collar to get their
hands on?”
    Sitting half-turned to me, Donnelly considered his answer. “He learned
important things that could shape how and when we enter the war. He wrote it
all down and was to deliver it to us here in Houston.”
    “Why here?”
    “Because it’s not Washington. Our enemies expect us to make these kinds
of exchanges in Washington or New York or Philly. Maybe even New Orleans, but
not in Houston. You’ve got a nice little town here, Wade. Let’s hope it stays
that way.”
    This “little” town had nearly 400,000 folks living in it. I questioned
his definition of “little.” Then, a piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
“Except now, the Nazis know about Houston. It’s why the ship stopped in
Galveston.”
    Donnelly nodded. “That’s my assumption. Rosenblatt was a good reporter.
He had picked up some skills in stealth during his time overseas. He sent us a
coded message to waylay the ship in Galveston, but he didn’t tell us where he
would be disembarking. He slipped through our net, and he also slipped through
theirs.”
    Gregson the driver spoke up. “Sir, there might be two vehicles now.”
    Donnelly turned his head sharply. “Radio Lawson and tell him to merge
up.” He turned to me and grinned. “We have a few chase cars that follow us to
watch for anyone who might be tailing us. Here’s where the fun begins.”
    I bit my lower lip, pondering the implication that Rosenblatt or someone
else had the clout to stop the ocean liner at an unscheduled port and then
somehow slip away. “So, what we’re looking for is Rosenblatt’s written report?”
    Donnelly nodded.
    “You searched the liner when it docked here in Houston?”
    “Top to bottom. No trace.”
    “So he kept it with him when he got off in Galveston.”
    “Apparently so.” Donnelly fished out his own cigarette and put fire to
it.
    “But it wasn’t on Rosenblatt when the shooter cornered him. That’s why
the Nazi had to return to Miss Saxton’s hotel room.” I gazed blankly out the
window at the passing store fronts. “That means he hid it so well that we don’t
know where it is. Neither do the Nazis.”
    Donnelly exhaled his smoke in a ring. “That’s the big question: where’s
the report? Where’s the evidence?”
    I stared out the window, thinking. The storefronts blurred by, creating a
mosaic of light and words. People milled about on the downtown streets, having
only the normal cares of normal people. I, on the other hand, was stuck in this
car with US Army officials being chased by Nazis in an American city. An image
flashed in my head: a normal neighborhood, children playing in the yard, the
sun beaming down, fathers mowing lawns, mothers tending gardens, the mailman
being chased by a dog, the ice cream truck trundling down the street. It was
normal. It was where I