Gibraltar Passage Read Online Free PDF Page B

French soldier to fight alongside his brothers.” Pierre grinned. “After that, our brigade saw more of the general than any other. Not to mention being the first to receive scarce supplies.”
    â€œYou do me great honor, mon Capitaine.”
    â€œNone but what you deserve.” Pierre rose to his feet and raised his glass. “A toast.”
    â€œTo a free France,” Roncard shouted.
    â€œVive la France!” cried the room with one great voice.
    Jake raised his glass with the others and silently blessed the fate that had brought him here.
    ----
    A steaming bowl of bouillabaisse was followed by partridge stuffed with mushrooms and cooked in fresh spices, cream, and white wine. Every few minutes Roncard popped backthrough the kitchen doors to make sure that everything was satisfactory and to apologize for the paltry meal. Dégoulas , he moaned, dragging the word out like a chant. How was he to run a first-class restaurant when everything had to be purchased either with coupons or on the black market? When Jake assured the little chef that the meal was the best he had eaten in ages, Roncard puffed up like a pink balloon.
    When they had finished, chairs from other tables were drawn closer, and the air soon thickened with the scents of Gauloisie cigarettes and syrupy coffee. Pierre switched to French and began telling his story once more.
    Jake stood. “Think maybe I’ll get a breath of air.”
    â€œDon’t stray where there are no lights,” Pierre warned. “Marseille is still Marseille.”
    Then Roncard was at his elbow, leading him toward the door. When they were away from the group of locals, he said quietly, “You are a good friend, Colonel Burnes.”
    â€œI try to be.”
    â€œGo,” he said softly. “She awaits.”
    That stopped him. “You know about Jasmyn?”
    â€œAll know,” Roncard said simply. “All know, all approve, all hope against hope.”
    â€œI don’t understand,” Jake replied. “All know about what?”
    The little man opened the door and permitted in a breath of fresh night air. “A good friend,” he repeated and ushered Jake into the darkness.
    The cafe was as crowded as the restaurant, but the atmosphere was more subdued. Jake pushed open the glass portal and squinted to see through the smoke. There in the center was a table made noticeable by its isolation. A woman sat alone, her back to the door, her long dark hair gathered and brought over one slender shoulder. Hers was the only table occupied by one person. The card playing and smoky companionship swirled around her, yet left her untouched.
    Jasmyn looked up at Jake’s approach. When he stoppedbefore her table, she said quietly, “Thank you for coming, Colonel Burnes.”
    â€œI don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
    â€œSit down. Please.” Her voice was as softly sad as her gaze. As Jake slid into a seat, the barkeeper came around the counter and stopped before their table. His eyes flickered over Jake, then turned to Jasmyn. She asked, “What will you have?”
    â€œCoffee, I guess.”
    â€œCafé, s’il vous plait,” she said. The bartender gave her a respectful bow and returned to behind the counter.
    Jake felt eyes turning his way. He glanced around, saw people at every nearby table watching him speculatively. “What is this all about?”
    Jasmyn seemed uncertain as to how to proceed. She fiddled with her spoon, asked, “They say you are a hero.”
    â€œI was in the war. I survived. That’s true for a lot of people.”
    â€œThey say your brother died on the beaches at Normandy.”
    The sudden piercing ache hardened his voice. “It’s not my brother we’re here to talk about.”
    A warning appeared in the eyes of those patrons close enough to have heard the change in his voice. Jake held their gaze and had a sudden realization that it