The Wilson Deception Read Online Free PDF Page B

minute to head to the bottom of the ocean, courtesy of a German U-boat or maybe the simple disintegration of the ship. This Christmas promised to be worse.
    He shivered once as he waited in the tent used for visits. His greatcoat was heavy, but there wasn’t much heat in the camp, certainly not in the tent he shared with seven other prisoners. A guard stood on either side of the tent’s entrance, facing him.
    A dark-skinned man came through the tent flap. Grinning, he tossed over a pack of Camels. Joshua caught it. As a Christmas gift, it wasn’t the worst he’d ever received.
    â€œNow I know you want those,” said Carr, “but I got more than that.” He pointed to a chair on the other side of the tent and one of the guards shrugged. Carr dragged it over next to Joshua, lit his cigarette, then one for himself. “Colonel Hayward sent me.”
    â€œHave you and I met?”
    â€œI’d be surprised. I’ve been playing in Captain Europe’s band, setting these Frenchies on fire. They can’t get enough of us. I’m on cornet.”
    â€œI heard you guys. Back in Spartanburg.”
    â€œSpartanburg.” Carr shook his head. “I guess those people back there weren’t all bad.”
    â€œYes, they were.”
    Carr burst out laughing, the kind of snuffling, eyes-crinkled-up laugh it was hard not to join. He smiled at the tent roof after taking a long drag on his smoke. “Yeah, they were.”
    â€œPlaying in the band. That’s good duty.”
    â€œDamn right it is.” They smoked for a minute, then Carr put his cigarette out on his boot sole. “So, Colonel Hayward sent me here with your medal. D’you hear about the medals?”
    â€œCome on. I’m a deserter.”
    â€œThat’s bushwa. Everyone says so. I’m not talking about any American medals. These are from the Frenchies. The Croix de Guerre!” He savored the French words, gargling the r ’s. He grinned again. He reached into his pocket. “They passed them out to the whole damned division, the entire Ninety-third! Nothing the US Army could do but grumble in its beer.”
    Joshua took the medal, still in a box, lying on a black felt bed. It was a bronze Maltese cross intersected by two swords, suspended from a green ribbon with vertical red stripes. The dates 1914 and 1918 had been inscribed at the center. He stared at it in his hand. It looked small. Suddenly he couldn’t speak. He wasn’t ready for the emotions. Finally he said, “Thanks.”
    â€œThank Colonel Hayward. You know, he’s all right.” Carr began to stand up. “Hey, I’ll tell you a rich one. They just started training us for combat. Sent us to the front last spring without even target practice. Now the war’s over, so they decide it’s a good time to train us. Rich, ain’t it?” He pulled his cap on. “Also, to make up for the medals, they cancelled our holiday rations. Just the Negro troops. Merry damned Christmas.”
    Joshua tore his eyes from the medal and looked up at Carr. “I won’t say I wasn’t tempted that day.” He shook his head. “I won’t say I wasn’t tempted once I got dry socks and ate some warm food, let someone else die instead of me. But we weren’t running. We knew the boys were thirsty, near crazy with hunger. We got the food and water. It was for them. I didn’t linger. I didn’t.”
    â€œâ€™Course you didn’t. You got the medal that says so.”

Chapter 4
    Saturday, January 18, 1919
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    T he difference was the tapestries on the walls. To Dulles’ eye, the tapestries, their colors still vibrant after centuries on display, gave the Quai d’Orsay its distinction. Europe had plenty of barny old palaces stuffed with friezes, ceiling frescoes, and echoing marble corridors. Most of those drafty warehouses of history and pride bristled with lush scarlet