Frederick's American Café

Chapter 9

Croft helped Harville and Frederick to their feet as the square erupted into pandemonium. “Come quickly now,” the Englishman hurried them. "We need to get out of here."


Croft pulled them back into the Nazi office and bolted the door. Even those few yards were a battle as the native population, having decided now to rise up, viewed every white face as a target. Frederick found himself attacked by men who, if they did not call themselves his friends, had at least never had reason to think of him as an enemy before.


Once locked inside, the three quickly realized they were still in danger. Natives beat upon the door and it was only a matter of time before someone broke a window or set the building ablaze.


"We need to get back to the hotel," said Harville as they moved to the back of the building. "Marie will be worried about me."


The employees and guests of The American could no doubt use their figurehead at a time like this. Charlie knew how to defuse bar fights and Mrs. Harville was not a woman to lose her head. They would have locked and barricaded the doors by now, and rounded up everyone to a safe place like the pantry. Nonetheless, they would appreciate Frederick and Harville being there.


"How did you even get out of your cell?" Croft asked, suddenly realizing the discontinuity.


"Mrs. Wilkes gave me the keys," supplied Harville.


The Englishman looked like he was going to have a medical fit. "Impossible! That woman won't be happy until we're all in German crosshairs!"


Harville stuttered a question. He had too much to live for to feel incurious.


"Before noonday, half the people rioting outside will be shot dead by German soldiers, but that won't be the end of it," answered Croft. "They'll interrogate the survivors and if they find out you got the keys from a known spy, you'll be lucky to live long enough to be shipped off to one of their camps. No, Mrs. Wilkes never gave you the keys; you never saw her today."


Harville gaped for a moment, trying to take it all in. "But nobody said anything about her being a spy. It's Mr. Elliot that Mr. Hemmert suspected."


"I think, given the situation, prudence dictates we assume they are all involved." Frederick thought, given what he had just seen in the square, that Croft knew far more than he was ever willing to admit. And it was probably a good idea not to press him for details.


Harville looked at Frederick for leadership  "Boss, what do we do?"


Frederick found he had no voice, or at least no inclination to speak.


After a moment, Croft spoke instead. "Did anyone actually see her give you the keys?"


Harville thought back with a shake of his head. "No. Just her sister and Miss Lulu."


"Then it just might work" muttered the Englishman. "No one saw anything. She never gave you the keys. You found them sitting on the desk when you came to deliver Wentworth's breakfast. And you let him out after the shooting started."


Harville nodded in agreement, committing the story to memory, leaving it for Frederick to point out the flaw.


"But that won't work," he said. "Too many people saw me outside when the gun went off."


Croft glared at him for being so unhelpful, but Harville's fretting was painful to watch. Frederick took pity on him. "Let's tell them that Hemmert left his keys on his desk and I talked you into letting me out. The rest of Croft's story fits the way it is."


Harville's relief was palpable, lasting as long as it took to notice the shouts and other sounds coming from outside. The story was not good enough to bring them back from the dead if the native throng got hold of them.


"Let us split up," suggested Croft as Harville opened a back window and checked the alley. "Harville, you go to the right. Wentworth and I shall go to the left. Stick to the alleys and avoid everyone. If the mob intercepts one of us, perhaps the other will still get through."


It was a good plan and Harville put it into execution as quickly as he could. Croft tried to exit through the window but it was difficult for the Englishman to hoist himself up and through the opening, even with Frederick's assistance. After a few failed attempts, he stopped.


"Wentworth, I must speak with you," he said, panting slightly.    

 

"Not now, Croft!" Frederick had already heard the sound of glass breaking and the noise of the rioters was louder, less muffled.


"No, Wentworth. Now!" The older man was adamant. "I know what you're thinking. It's written all over your face. She's not there."


"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was almost gritty with denial. Frederick didn't want to think of what was waiting for him back at The American. Whether Anne was barely alive or recently dead when he reached her didn't change the outcome.


"Mrs. Wilkes, man!" Croft had not been deceived about his regard, not from the very beginning.


Frederick could have continued to dissemble but Croft saw through him. Besides, it hardly mattered anymore. "You saw her get shot," Frederick pointed out. "Even if the other three escaped the riot, they'd be fools to take her with them. She'd only slow them down and be dead before the hour is up."


"That wasn't Mrs. Wilkes," said Croft as if it pained him to be so open. "That was Miss Lulu. The women had arranged it amongst themselves that Lulu Argile would swap places with Anne Wilkes. It was an incredibly foolish and risky plan, but Miss Elliot had already brought Lulu into her confidence. It's only blind chance that Hemmert was such a bad shot."


Frederick's jaw dropped open. Lulu had warned him in her fashion last night, and Anne had said that she wanted to return to Avamposto Calce one day. Had she known then what was going to happen?


He immediately cast that question aside. There were more important things to know. "Where is Anne?" If she was alive and unharmed, it changed everything.


"First, realize I'm only telling you this to keep you from betraying yourself back at the hotel. Once Hemmert's reinforcements arrive and start imposing order, it's going to be every man for himself. If you show up at the hotel ready to embarrass yourself, someone is going to notice, and they're going to drop the wrong words in the wrong ears."


"Where is she?" He needed to find her, at once.


Croft glared in exasperation. "I am not telling you these things so you can insist upon some long, drawn out goodbye until you both end up in German custody. I am telling you this so that you will not make the sort of scene that encourages Nazis to ask nosy questions that will get more people in trouble than just yourself. There are more lives at stake than just your own."


The two men were ready to stare it out, but a commotion in the front room distracted them and drew their attention back to the more immediate peril. There would be nothing to fear from being sent to a German prison camp if they were already murdered by the mob. Despite his earlier difficulty, Croft scampered through the window before Frederick had a chance to help him.


Frederick swiftly followed through the opening, then stood in the alley watching Croft run away. If Frederick continued to follow him, Croft would absolutely ensure that he didn't see Anne one last time. Likewise, once he made it back to The American, the needs of his guests and employees would prevent him from going out again in search of her.


He took off down the alley, running away from Croft, trying to figure out where he ought to go. His responsibility to The American required him to return to it and to protect his employees and guests. The Harvilles, Charlie, and the rest of the staff depended on him, whether it made sense for them to do so or not. On the other hand, Anne didn’t need him now; if she was depending on him in any way, it was to stay out of trouble and they had already said their goodbyes two nights ago. But he couldn’t shake the image he had seen in the square of Anne getting shot. Hearing Croft tell him that it had been Lulu in disguise had solaced him, but now he was beginning to doubt. Croft was full of surprises today; was he trustworthy?


The Elliots and Wilkes were obviously at the airstrip or at least headed way, which was in the exact opposite direction of the hotel. The riot would slow them down but he got the feeling that all four had been in tight spots before and would've planned or improvised accordingly. He needed to think faster than he ran, and to figure out where he wanted to be before he had to choose his path.


Fate dealt him a good hand. As he approached the last intersection that would determine his direction, he heard an engine approach. He stopped and waited, hiding until he knew if it was a friend or foe. The vehicle came into view: it was the truck used by The American to transport weekly supplies from the airstrip, but it was not being driven by one of Frederick's employees. Russell Elliot had stolen it and, along with the rest of his group, was making his escape.


Frederick instinctively called out a greeting and stepped into view. When Anne recognized him, she leapt out of the cab while it was still moving and ran to him. Russell had little choice but to slam on the brake and wait for her.


“Freddy, you’re unharmed,” she told him as she hugged him fiercely.


“And you’re still alive,” he answered in relief, content to let her crush him just as long as she was well. To feel her alive and unhurt was indescribable. His throat tightened.


She stepped back, enough to look him in the eye. “I’m so very sorry about what happened to Miss Lulu,” she began, speaking quickly. “It wasn’t meant to happen like that. She never should have gone out the front door.”


"I understand," he said. “Croft explained a bit to me. I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”


“Come on, Anne.” Her sister had left the truck by now and interrupted the scene. “We have a plane to catch. We need to get out of here while we still can.”


Anne looked at the idling truck, then back at Frederick, clearly struggling with the decision of what to do now. If Croft was right, and now Frederick was inclined to believe him, Anne had tried to stay here. Lulu’s death ruined that plan but she appeared unwilling to abandon it.


Had Hemmert lived past the morning, still he could not have lived long with Anne remaining behind. It would have been too dangerous for her, impossible for her to evade detection indefinitely. Even if she could hide from the Nazi contingent come to collect her, Hemmert would recognize her when she appeared in public again be she ever so clever and her appearance so elastic. No, to stay was to court detection and death. And while Anne might be willing to shorten her life considerably for the sake of being near him, it was simply not worth it to Frederick who was yet recovering from the sight of seeing her fall in front of his hotel.


He saw the indecision and reluctance dance across her features, but as much as it broke his heart, he knew she couldn’t stay. “Go and get on the plane, Anne,” he said quietly.


"What?" She turned to him in shock.


"I want you to live, Annie. Go. Get on the plane."


She looked at him as her eyes filled with tears. To find him again, to be forced to give him up one more time and in the middle of such danger, was more than she could bear. “I don’t think I can lose you again.”


“You’re not. This is just temporary,” he assured her. He couldn’t expect her to return after this. Travelling again would be too dangerous for her. No. If they were to be reunited, Frederick would be the one to move mountains. “When things calm down, I’ll come for you but only if I can find you. Go back to England. Go home to Kellynch and be safe. Would you do that for me? Would you stay out of harm’s way until I can find you again?”


“Would I!” was all her answer, but the accent was decisive enough.


Frederick gave her one last kiss. It would need to last them throughout their separation of months or years, and together they made the most of it.


“Anne, now!” shouted her sister finally. “We have to go now! Get back in the truck before I shoot you myself!” Elizabeth tugged at her arm to pull her back to the vehicle where the men were waiting with increasing anxiety.


The women bundled themselves into the cab, which set into motion again even before the door was shut.


That was it. She was gone.


He stood bereft and unmoving in the alley, counting off seconds then minutes in his head, imagining the truck as it travelled the narrow and rutted road to the waiting plane. They would need to tread carefully to avoid the Germans looking for them, but Frederick had overheard Russell quizzing Charlie on how to drive that stretch, and now understood why.


Once at the hangar, they'd have to disable any guard the Germans left behind, which wouldn't be more than two men, and secure the plane and possibly the pilot. Anne had not told him where they were going, but they couldn't fly back to Marrakech or even Tripoli. Morocco, Algeria, Tunis and even Libya were too hot right now. If they could reach past the battlefront now deep in Egypt, they could find a safe passage back to England if their paperwork was in order and they had enough cash.


He stood there until the sound of automatic machine gun fire in the square spurred him into action. He raced the remaining distance to The American’s back entrance and pounded on the door until Charlie let him in.


Everyone else was cowering in the pantry, huddled and hushed as angry roars of gunfire occasionally broke out. Seeing him calmed the staff, which rippled through the few guests, although the relief was short lived before the next round of shots were fired. They stayed in there for an hour after it grew silent. Then Frederick went out to survey the damage and subjugate himself as necessary to the Germans.

---

When the foursome had found themselves on the wrong side of the battle line, it had been Russell’s original plan to regroup at Avamposto Calce where England had placed another agent long ago, someone they could call upon for aid should the situation warrant it, and to leave as discreetly as possible. That formula, however, proved untenable when Hemmert convinced Benny to break into Guillaume Wilkes’ hotel room and steal his passport and any papers that might be incriminating. Benny had his own idea and decided to steal from the sisters instead; their room had more trinkets worth stealing and besides, Benny couldn’t read. Anne’s passport had not been enough in and of itself to prove anything, but the dates and locations, along with the surname “Elliot,” had allowed the German authorities to piece together the prize waiting for them in the Tunisian backwater. From that point on, they had to draft a new plan and they had far more experience at this game, and recognized they had far more at stake, than Herr Hemmert.


Russell Elliot had secretly cut the telegraph line from Hemmert’s office the night before their escape, and they had destroyed the other device at the hangar before they took off, leaving the area incommunicado until the lines could be restored. Once the foursome flew out on the plane, there was no way for anyone remaining in Avamposto Calce to contact other German forces except by following the rail line to the next station and sending word from there of what had happened. By then, it was too late. They had successfully fled.


The area remained under strict control for weeks in retaliation. Between Hemmert’s murder and the escape of four allied spies, the Nazis showed no leniency in dealing with the residents of the outpost. A large number of rioters had been shot on sight. Between the mob’s initial violence and the Nazis’ countering response, no business was left whole. Windows were broken, doors battered in, signs ripped down, merchandise absconded, employees and customers killed.


No one could come or go without a thorough search and seizure. Frederick was questioned, roughly and repeatedly starting on the second day, but he betrayed nothing. Even Harville kept mum despite his treatment. Never having seen Frederick directly give aid to Anne and the others, and having witnessed some of Frederick’s more negative reactions to the spies, his testimony could not prove anything damning. The Germans released them both after a week or so, and they spent another week recuperating under the care of Mrs. Harville before returning to their desks. Even at their lowest point, they were grateful to have avoided the camps, so that was something.


Business at The American was effectively ruined. With almost nothing and no one allowed into the area, there was no alcohol at the bar, and there were no guests in the rooms beyond some senior German officers who were exempt from paying their bills. With Lulu dead, the small band was not half as entertaining. The quality of the kitchen slowly declined as the stores of rare ingredients withered away. Wednesday night card games were also ended, perhaps permanently.


The natives were more cowed now than ever in the wake of their uprising. Those who could, left. Even Charlie packed his bags in anticipation of being allowed to leave. The Crofts planned to stay but they were seldom seen; Mr. Croft has been spotted near the fountain shortly before Hemmert was shot and, as a result, had been questioned as well. He had endured much.


Throughout it all, Frederick took comfort in the fact that it was neither better nor worse than it was. Had Anne and the others been captured, he could imagine the Germans would have relaxed considerably, unless one of them had revealed that Frederick had helped them in some way. In that case, he’d be dead already.


Slowly, the Germans began to pull out of the area, reducing their presence until it was only a handful of troops.


Then came the news of the fall of Bizerte. Frederick felt for all the lives lost in the African campaign, but it meant that the end was closer than ever before.  And if he could live to see that, certainly he could live to see Anne again.


~ The End ~