D-Notice by Bill Walker (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

acknowledgment, then turned to Reggie, who appeared to have forgotten what they’d been talking about. “Sorry, Reggie, but Mikey and I must be on our way.”

“Oh, do stay for one more round, old boy,” he said, belching between words. From Thorley’s perspective, the man looked as if he might keel over at any moment. Without answering, he and Brady left the man to his own devices and headed out into the night.

In prewar days, it was said that Cairo at night was a sight that would dazzle the eye of the uninitiated. Now, with blackout regulations in force, it was all one could do to navigate in near pitch-blackness. He caught Brady as he was about to jump into a cab. “What the hell was all that about?”

Brady grinned. “Just having a little fun.”

“You call encouraging a man to betray his comrades a little fun?”

“Oh, come now, Mikey, it wasn’t all that bad. The man was the talkative type. If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else, perhaps someone less than trustworthy.”

“That’s still no excuse—”

“Mikey,” Brady said, his voice mildly scolding, “relax for God’s sake. We’ve got one last night of freedom. Let’s make the best of it.”

Right then, Thorley decided that he’d had more than enough of Brady for one evening. “You go, I’m completely knackered. I’m going to get some rest.”

A look passed over the Irishman’s features that in the deepening gloom Thorley could have sworn was the hot flash of anger. And then it was gone, replaced by the devilish gleam that was pure Brady. “Have it your way, Mikey,” he said, patting Thorley on the shoulder. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

And then he was gone, the cab roaring off in a blue cloud of oily exhaust. Thorley returned to their suite and stripped off his uniform, glad that he’d decided to stay behind. If he knew Brady at all, before the night was through, he would have made every attempt to pair Thorley off with some woman of less than sterling repute, encouraging him to dip his wick.

He preferred not to think of that. It reminded him of his last hours with Lillian. Even though they had reconciled, there were still those nagging tendrils of doubt in his mind. Had she given the man up, as she’d promised? There was no way to know, of course, now that he was thousands of miles from home. He would have to trust her; and he could never do so if he himself were unfaithful.

Driving all of these thoughts from his mind, he pulled out the letter he’d started on the ship and reread what he’d written. It was good, it said most of the things he wanted to say, including the instructions to follow in case of his death, but something was missing. He spent the next two hours attempting to form these vague feelings into words, but the words, as obstinate as Sergeant Bell, refused to come. Frustrated, he put the letter away, doused the lights, and went to the windows. When he raised the blackout shades, cool night air blew in off the Western desert.

A sliver of moon shone high in the sky and the blanket of stars overhead shone like a bright pinpoint tapestry. Cairo stretched out before him, a dark gray mass creeping over the landscape, every window dark as his own. It made him feel as if he were in a mausoleum.

Looking off to the west once more, he tried to imagine what it would be like living out there day after day on patrol with the L.R.D.G., sleeping out under that vast canvas of light, the air crisp and clean, and silent as the grave. A part of him realized that he was scared, and yet he was also more excited than he could ever remember. Shivering, he turned from the window, padded to the bed and climbed in, careful to replace the mosquito netting so that none of the pesky little blighters could dive-bomb him as he slept. Sleep, however, came hard. His mind raced with all manner of thoughts, and in spite of the cool breeze, his body felt tense, causing him to toss and turn for what must have been hours. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the sound of Brady stumbling in sometime before dawn, accompanied by the soft titter of feminine laughter.

Chapter Twenty

Thorley awoke, his mind in a fog of vague nightmares. The light in the room told him it was well after dawn, and a squinty-eyed glance at his watch confirmed it.

6:13.

Their orders were to report to a Lieutenant David Lloyd Owen at Abbassia Barracks at precisely seven. That left precious little time to dawdle. Shaking the last vestiges of sleep from his brain, Thorley staggered to his feet and made his way over to the door that separated his room from Brady’s. It lay ajar, and he could see that the blackout shades were still drawn. From the light coming through the door of his own room, he saw Brady sprawled across the bed, his arm around a dusky Egyptian woman with coal-black hair and the ample proportions of a belly dancer.

Good old Brady, true to form. He would have been disappointed to have discovered his wild and wayward friend any other way. Remembering the time, he suppressed a grin and walked into the room, throwing open the blackout shades as he went. Light flooded the room and Brady groaned, trying to bury his face in a pillow. His companion reacted differently, springing awake in an instant, her dark sloe-eyed face filled with fear. She spotted Thorley and her expression turned wanton, mocking. She didn’t bother to cover herself, either, letting her