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Or is he just that damn dense?
Jesus!
“Well, then, we have our first place to go,” Canidy said in a somewhat-sarcastic tone.
He felt the flash paper in his pocket.
“After we take care of something,” Canidy added. “You need to see this, Frank. Come with me upstairs.”
Nola spoke to Andrea and she started to stand.
I don’t want her seeing the radio, Canidy thought.
“She waits here, dammit!” he flared.
Andrea did not need that translated. She immediately sat back down.
Canidy noticed that her eyes were questioning, but it appeared that his outburst neither upset nor offended her.
Tough girl…or a not very bright one?
“Grazie,” Canidy said, hoping that his thanks sounded sincere despite his lack of a smile.
“Tell her we’ll be right back,” Canidy said and began walking out of the kitchen. He heard Nola translating, as he reached the foot of the stairs.
[THREE]
OSS Whitbey House Station Kent, England 1145 4 April 1943
Private Peter Ustinov was at the wheel of the dark green British Humber light ambulance as it rolled to a stop at a service entrance at the rear of Whitbey House. The ambulance’s bold red cross on the large white square painted on its side panel and rear doors was bright against the gloom of the rainy day.
First Lieutenant Robert Jamison stood waiting beside the service entrance’s pair of heavy wooden doors.
Ustinov ground the stubborn transmission into its reverse gear and let out on the clutch. The truck zigzagged as it slowly moved backward, the front wheels cutting hard left, then hard right. Then Ustinov hit the brakes hard.
Jamison stepped over so get a better view of the cab. He found the befuddled face of Ustinov, having difficulty seeing anything behind him, staring into the rain mist on the glass of the rearview mirror.
“C’mon back!” Jamison coaxed.
He held up his hands and began making signals to guide him.
Ustinov revved the engine, and the truck again began to slowly roll toward the doors.
“A little right,” Jamison called. “C’mon, that’s it…. Now straight…. C’mon back straight two meters…one meter…. And whoa!”
The ambulance jerked to a stop and its engine died.
Ustinov had dumped the clutch.
Ustinov climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.
“Nice work,” Jamison said.
“Maybe for a blind man,” Ustinov said, smiling. “My thanks for your aid.”
He looked around.
“Have you seen the motor transport chaps?” Ustinov went on. “I said I wasn’t going to lift that Major Martin in his casing by myself.”
