“Archie, you can’t take the truck,” I said, trying to sound reasonable.
“Oh no?” he said, waving the bayonet in a circle in front of my face. “I say I can do what I please. No man has stopped me, and yet many have tried. Why, in tires and engine parts alone, this vehicle is worth as much as the cargo. Now be glad you have your lives for one more day, and never come back to Shoreditch. And if you send coppers from the Met, there’s no one down below who will ever admit to seeing you. You know that’s the truth, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling the complete fool. Archie had clearly been listening to my conversation with Topper, and snuck out just before we left, taking Stanley and Clive to hunt for the truck. There had to be a side passage from his room at the rear of the siding. “I do.”
“And do you want to know why?” Archie whispered, leaning in close to my face, the tip of his bayonet lifting my chin until I had to look him in the eye. He lifted the blade and placed it flat against my lips, the point sharp against my nose. His voice rose with each line, echoing off the dark, black walls surrounding us. To these I turn, in these I trust- Brother Lead and Sister Steel. To his blind power I make appeal, I guard her beauty clean from rust.
He spins and burns and loves the air, And splits a skull to win my praise; But up the nobly marching days She glitters naked, cold and fair.
Sweet Sister, grant your soldier this: That in good fury he may feel The body where he sets his heel Quail from your downward darting kiss.
Keeping the blade on my lips, he leaned in closer, and kissed the cold steel. I felt the razor sharpness against my lips along with the unwelcome warmth of his, and someone’s blood seeping between my teeth.
“‘The Kiss,’ by Siegfried Sassoon,” Archie said, stepping back, as if at a formal recital. He bowed gracefully and pointed down the ruined road, back to the center of London. “Go.”
“I didn’t lie to you about the Russian,” Topper said as we passed him by. “And I warned you not to come back, didn’t I?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I thick, heavy splats of rain hitting the windows. For a couple of seconds I didn’t remember what had happened last night, or realize that those two seconds were going to be the best part of my day.
The rain was murderously fierce, driving sideways against the glass, the dark, leaden London sky giving promise of a cold soaking and another postponed bombing run. Wordlessly, I joined Kaz in morning exercises, doing deep knee bends and stretches, trying to think of the next boneheaded move I could make. I’d told Kaz the whole story the night before, about how they’d sent Stanley out to stumble in front of the truck, as if he’d been mugged. Big Mike, being a public servant at heart, had gone to help, and ended up on the wrong end of a sawed-off. Then I showed up, we had the poetry reading, the Chapman gang drove off in our truck, and Big Mike and I hoofed it until we found a taxi, thankful that at least they hadn’t taken the coins from our pockets. During the cab ride, I got angry with my dad for never telling me how he had handled the gangsters who were threatening Nuno. A few tips on dealing with the underworld would have come in handy.
I got out of the way as Kaz used a jump rope. I had to admit, I was pretty impressed with how he’d built himself up. He’d always had stamina but it had been that of the soul. Now his body was ready to keep up with his spirit and his intellect. Unfortunately, as smart as he was, he hadn’t come up with an answer to my problems. I did knee curls with the weights, thinking through the list of my troubles with each slow repetition.
One, I was nowhere in terms of the Egorov case. I had no clue who killed him, or why. I had the word of honor from a guy who robbed me that he had nothing to do with it. Swell. Plus, the whole idea of a Russian officer working with the Chapman bunch didn’t add up. No one in the Soviet Union was allowed to get rich, so what was he going to do with his loot?
Two, I’d stirred up a hornet’s nest out at High Wycombe asking about Russians at the Eighth Air Force HQ. Something top secret was going on, based on those red strings from Bull’s map, the squad of MPs who had been after me, and Estelle’s sudden transfer after she talked with us. What it was, I had no idea, only a promise from Bull that he’d try to get in touch.
Three, there was no love lost between Kaz, his Polish buddies, and the Russians. I’d uncovered an informer, but that likely had nothing to do with the case. I still wasn’t totally sure Kaz was innocent, and as I thought through the little I’d come up with, I realized he looked good for it. In the absence of any solid leads, my dad always said, go with what you got, no matter how slim. It at least gave the illusion of forward movement, and more often than not there was some truth embedded in your suspicions. Was that true of Kaz? I knew he could be ruthless, far more ruthless than his studious appearance would suggest. But Nuno was a hard case, too, and Dad hadn’t given him up to the authorities or the Mob.
Four, I’d gotten myself in big trouble with the quartermaster corps, the military police, and, worst of all, Colonel Sam Harding. They’d be looking everywhere for that truck, and it wouldn’t take anyone at Norfolk House with an ounce of sense to figure out who the fast-talking lieutenant and the giant corporal were. If I’d solved the case at the cost of a truck and goods, Harding might’ve backed me up. But to come up empty all around, no way.
Five. I needed a five. I kept up the reps, switching from one arm to the other, generating perspiration but no inspiration.
“What will you do, Billy?” Kaz said, rubbing his head with a towel.
“I’m not sure. I’d like to get in touch with Bull, but that might only set the dogs on me again. I guess I’ll see if Inspector Scutt can help, then go fess up to Harding.”
“Good luck. No matter how stern his visage, Sam Harding was always fair.”
“Not so with your new boss, Major Horak?”
“No, sadly,” Kaz said. “While he is my superior, he leaves much in the hands of Captain Radecki, who is far too impatient. A good soldier, but not a diplomat. Perhaps because he lives with pain every day.”
“Is he still being hard on Tadeusz?”
“Yes, and I think it caused him to retreat into his mind forever. Radecki had threatened to turn him over to the Russians if he didn’t speak. He meant to force the issue, but he has little understanding of the human mind. Now Tadeusz shows no response at all. The doctor says he needs to be sent to a hospital, where he can receive full-time care. He no longer speaks, barely eats, and spends most of his time sleeping.”
“So the one surviving eyewitness to Katyn has everything locked up in his head, unable to get it out.”
“It would have been merciful if the Russians had shot him that day, I regret to say. We’ve changed the story we are feeding the Russians through Eddie Miller. Since Tadeusz will now be safely out of the way, we are saying we have a witness, using much of his story as he told it.”
“In hopes the Russians might do what?”
“We have no hopes for the Russians. It’s the Americans and the British we need to influence. Hearing we have a witness may help open some minds. And perhaps Tadeusz will come out of his trance once he’s had rest and quiet.”
“Kaz, is there any possibility in your mind that someone from the Polish Army could have shot Egorov? Maybe someone who’s heard Tadeusz tell his story? Hell, I know I’d be hard-pressed not to take some revenge if that happened to my own people.”
“I know you have to ask, Billy, but no, there isn’t. As for revenge, I have thought about it. I agree, it is difficult not to. But if I wished to take violent revenge against the Russians, why would I kill just one, way out in Shoreditch? It’s not much of a statement.”
“But there’s the twine, and the execution just like at Katyn.”