Domino~~Razzia

Part I Change of Plan 1 February 1940 Everything worked well in Henry William Sharp’s romantic con game with a parade of affluent Hollywood females until he turned 44 on February 2. That was the date when a sort of fear overtook him; a kind of fear he had never experienced, not even with the Royal Marines in France. So, Henry decided he’d better alter his program: find a woman, and only one, who he would stick with; one who had plenty of money that he would access and, of course, one he could manipulate as he had been doing consistently in the past. Henry’s decision was supported by a chance encounter one afternoon during the last week in March when he saw a striking, expensively dressed woman at Hal’s on Highland Avenue. (Hal’s was where the jukebox had a collection of Henry’s favorite records.) She was dressed in white: shark-skin slacks, a silk blouse stretched tightly across her ample bosom, white-rimmed sunglasses and a small sports-style visor cap from which her attractive auburn hair flowed onto her shoulders. With the sunglasses and cap worn low on her forehead, she was able to watch people without being obvious. She was seated at a window table, the sun behind her. Henry stubbed out his Domino cigarette, went over to her table, and said, “Haven’t I seen you before? I’m Henry Sharp.” The record on the jukebox was Claude Thornhill, piano and Orchestra, playing an instrumental favorite, I Guess I’ll Have to Change My Plan. “Not very original, but yes, maybe, because I think I saw you at Murdoch’s Drug Store a couple of months ago,” she said. “That’s probably true. I was replacing some of the old wiring at the soda fountain.” “That must be it. I’d stopped in to get one of Giant Malt George’s tuna sandwiches and a malt, but found out he was gone; something about a crime there.” “Yes, the crime is still under investigation. Do you live in Manhattan Beach?” “Yes. Nearby.” “Where?” “I don’t give my address to some local electrician.” “That’s fine. So why not visit, talk some. What’s your name? You can at least share that? Mind if I smoke?” “Muriel, I’d prefer that you didn’t smoke. I don’t.” Razzia Prologue The freighter L’Etoile Soutenue, nearly two days out of Marseille, lay early in the morning off the breakwater at Oran waiting for a tug and a pilot; there were two small cargo ships in line ahead of her. Lieutenant Henri de Querbrac paced and waited impatiently outside the port side forward hatchway to the freighter’s four passenger cabins while he fidgeted over the docking delay. Lieutenant de Querbrac was anxious to go ashore, quickly complete his unusual new assignment and return to his regular Ordnance duties. Henri was an exceptional career French Army officer; achieved recognition and specialized ordnance training at Sainte-Cyr and its British equivalent Sandhurst. He was of medium build and height, the only extremely handsome male in his family and obviously the pride and joy of his father an Army veteran. Many, however, considered de Querbrac arrogant; an officer who made both peer and senior officer enemies---not only because of his record, demeanor, family connection, stubborn belief in his precision and intelligence, but because he seemed destined for rapid promotion to senior rank. Henri was a target to be brought down. De Querbrac continued to glance at the bulkhead where a Beaufort Scale Meter was mounted. Its indicator arrow pointed at the number two but was slowly edging upward. Looking intently far out to sea, Henri saw only small ripples---no swells or whitecaps. It was still quite early but already getting hotter as there was no on-shore breeze toward the African coast. “Good morning,” the Second Officer said as he approached. “Why so hot?” Henri said. “It’s due to a high-pressure system which causes an extreme heat buildup to blanket the entire area.” “How big is the entire area?” “It extends from far south of us here, moves across North Africa and the Mediterranean to southern Europe.” “It just happens now and then out of the blue?” “No, this condition usually happens regularly in early spring. Arabs call it ghibli, the poisonous wind; it blows over the Sahara, picking up heat. Generally, the ghibli occur more to the east, over Libya, but even though it is now mid-May, we definitely have one starting today, and it is now blowing over Oran and to the north.” “How long do the ghibli last?” “Anywhere from many hours to several days, and so far, we haven’t seen the full force of the wind or the real heat. Often the ghibli cause severe dust and sand storms---especially on the Sahara desert,” he said. Henri hoped this ghibli would stop, blow itself out long before he had to venture south in a couple of days out of Alger into central Algerie on the way to his new assignment. De Querbrac gave up waiting and went to breakfast. The tug with a ship’s pilot came alongside shortly before mid-morning, by then the wind had increased and the Beaufort Scale Meter was registering six. It was noon before L’Etoile---as the ship’s crew simply referred to her---finally berthed and was tied up near the far western end of Oran’s main docks, beyond the Ferry Terminal, close to the small fishing vessel harbor.