Sniper's Justice (Caje Cole Book 9) by David Healey (best classic books txt) 📗

Cole’s dark sense of humor over the years. “Do I have to give you my extra key?”

“What, are you worried I might walk in while you are entertaining some cute young Fräulein?”

Danny’s face turned the shade of a mountain sunset. “No, that’s not—”

“You hang onto your keys,” Cole said. “C’mon, let’s go down.”

Danny looked him up and down. “You look kind of nice, Pa Cole. You’re wearing your sports coat again.”

“I reckon it’s best to look nice when you’re going to meet a ghost from the past.”

They took the elevator to the lobby, not saying much. Like a kid, Danny kept wanting to press all the buttons, making stops at each floor. Cole told him he could ride the elevator on his own time. There was that fluttery feeling in his belly again, which Cole was quick to blame on the elevator ride.

In the lobby, Colonel Mulholland was already waiting. Cole had wondered if they would even recognize each other after all these years. Cole still saw himself as a young man, but knew that the mirror said otherwise. To his surprise, Mulholland hadn’t changed all that much. He was still tall and lean, except for a bit of a paunch that hinted at good living. He wore eyeglasses with a bluish tint. Mulholland’s back was straight as a ramrod. In fact, from his posture to his close-cropped haircut, Mulholland looked very much like what he was, which was a retired Army officer.

“Caje Cole, as I live and breathe,” his old officer said, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll be damned if it’s not my favorite hillbilly.”

“Colonel Mulholland,” Cole said, gripping the man’s hand.

Mulholland laughed. “I’m just Jim these days.” He turned his attention to Danny. “This must be your grandson that you said was coming with you.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Danny said politely.

They spent some time catching up. It turned out that there was a Mrs. Mulholland, who would not be accompanying them today.

“She has heard enough about the museum,” Mulholland said with a laugh. “Of course, she will be coming to the museum opening. It’s going to be quite a party.”

For Mulholland, there were children and grandchildren, too. They all lived back in the U.S.

It was funny what you remembered about someone, Cole thought. The Mulholland that he remembered had been a decent officer, both courageous and fair, even if he and Cole hadn’t always agreed on how to fight the war. As a very young man, he had led Cole’s squad across much of Europe.

The one time that he and Mulholland had really clashed had been over a French Resistance fighter named Jolie Molyneux. The young lieutenant had set his sights on Jolie, flirting with her in his polite manner and his high school French, seeming to think that she would naturally gravitate toward him as an officer who was superior to a mere enlisted man, but it had been Cole who caught her eye.

There never had been anything polite about Cole. A brief and fiery wartime romance resulted. That affair prompted some tension between the two men until Jolie had been wounded during Cole’s fight with the sniper known as Das Gespenst and she been forced out of the picture.

Of course, that had been a lifetime ago. Cole wondered if Mulholland had ever told his wife about his infatuation with a lusty French Resistance fighter. He sure as hell had never said a word to Norma Jean. A smart man didn’t reminisce about old girlfriends and flings in front of his wife. Cole liked his head just fine without it being flattened by an iron skillet.

Mulholland turned his attention back to Danny. “I’m glad you’re here representing the next generation, although I’m sure you are sick and tired of hearing your grandfather’s war stories.”

“He’s never said much of anything to me.”

For the first time, a troubled look crossed Mulholland’s face. Both he and Cole knew that there were some war stories better left untold. He forced a smile. “Well, over the next few days, we’ll see if we can share the ones that matter,” he said diplomatically. “If you’re all set, let’s head over to the museum. It’s not open to the public yet, but considering that you are one of our VIPs for the grand opening, we can give you a preview.”

To Cole’s surprise, Mulholland was driving himself around Munich in a silver BMW. He explained that he had been stationed for so long in Germany that he had gotten a driver’s license, a car, and even an apartment where he lived except for trips back to the U.S. to visit relatives.

“At least we’re on the right side of the road over here,” Mulholland said. “Driving in England is a whole different story, believe me.”

“At least there aren’t any landmines this time around.”

Mulholland laughed. “You’ve got that right.”

Looking out the car window was a strange experience. Cole kept expecting to see bomb-damaged buildings and German POWs marching past with their hands in the air. However, the scars of war had long since healed. He could not think of a small city that looked more prosperous than Munich. By far, the broad streets and well-kept buildings put any grungy American city to shame.

At the wheel, Mulholland seemed to sense Cole’s bewilderment as the old soldier synced his memories with the modern Germany presenting itself beyond the windshield. “Now you see why some people joke that the Germans won the war, after all. Impressive, isn’t it? However, if you’re looking for monuments or historical markers, you’ll be disappointed,” he said. “The Germans have done all that they can to minimize recognition of the war.”

“Back home, there’s at least one monument to some war in every courthouse square and you don’t have to go far to find a historical marker on the side of the road. I think there’s one for every skirmish from the War Between the States. There might even be some markers for where the Yankees stole some chickens.”

“Yankees? The War Between the