It was a good thing he was the one on the hill. Otherwise I’m not sure I could have gone through with it.
I took a breath, moved in as close as I dared, then looked beyond Claude at the river below.
And discovered that my plan had a hole in it.
I couldn’t have anticipated the flaw. It was necessary to stand in that spot to know what was wrong, and I’d ruled out an afternoon reconnaissance mission as too risky and time-consuming. But now I was right there at Point X and I could see that the script wouldn’t play as written.
I had intended to stay behind Claude until the target ship came into view. Then, as it approached the right spot, I would rush him. If possible I’d club him over the head with my pistol and fire the three signal shots with his rifle. If I couldn’t get to him in time, I’d still fire three shots, but I’d use the pistol to do it, and at least one of the bullets would wind up in Claude. Hopefully.
It seemed like a hell of a fine idea at the time. But what I hadn’t known was that I couldn’t see enough of the river from where I stood. The target ship could cruise right on by without my even knowing it. And if I tried to get any closer, Claude would smell me.
Don’t sweat, I told myself. Or the putty will run-
The pang of conscience returned, supported now by a basis of logic. Call it fate, I thought. This is the way things were meant to be. Go home and contemplate your navel-
No. They wanted to strike a blow for Free Quebec and they had that right. They wanted to commit the grand act. They wanted to die as martyrs. So be it.
But how? I could rush him as planned, and if I got to him in time to knock him bowlegged, it would be all right. But if I didn’t – and I couldn’t expect to – then I would have to shoot him. And if I fired a shot before the ship was in place, everything would come unglued.
And if I didn’t get him clubbed senseless before he turned on me, and if I didn’t shoot him either but tried to take him without shooting, I knew what would happen.
He would beat the living crap out of me.
I took one more step toward him, and looked at my watch, and took a breath, and gripped the automatic by the barrel.
I said, “Claude, you fool!”
He whirled to face me, dropping first the binoculars and then the rifle. “But who… oh, it is you… but what are you doing… but…”
I strode toward him, fury in my face, scorn in my voice. “Fool, dolt, pig! Have you no eyes? Do you sleep at such a moment?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The royal barge, you ass! While true patriots man their posts, you allow it to sail on past us all! You fail to fire the signal shots!”
I was right beside him now. He towered over me, but when my words sank in, his jaw dropped almost to the level of mine. “But it cannot be,” he stammered. “Never did I cease to watch the river. I swear it! On the grave of my aunt I-”
“Use your eyes, fool! There!”
“I cannot-”
“Then, pick up the field glasses, oaf. Look and see for yourself!”
He bent down to pick up the glasses, and I squeezed that gun by the barrel and hit him harder than I had ever hit anything before in my life. I put everything into the blow, and if it hadn’t done the job, I could have jumped right into the river. The gun bounced off his head and out of my hand, and I felt the force of the impact clear up my arm to the shoulder. He went down like the Titanic.
Then for a moment or two I was frozen, quite immobile. I managed ultimately to retrieve my pistol and stuff it into my belt. I rolled Claude aside and positioned myself in his vantage point, rifle across my knees, binoculars to my eyes. I scanned the river, wondering if the barge could already have passed us.
My watch said 7:33. I couldn’t believe that only nine minutes had gone by since I looked at it last, and I checked it to make sure it hadn’t stopped. It was still running. Ticking like a watch. Talking like a witch. Walking like –
My mind was still playing games with me. I got hold of myself and concentrated on the river. I had recovered from my bout with lunacy while Arlette was visiting the Expo site, and I had managed to stay on top of things since then. I couldn’t let go now.
I kept taking quick glances at my watch. Time seemed to rush by and creep along all at once. It took forever for a minute to go by, but every time one passed without the appearance of the barge, we came closer and closer to failure.
How long could I count on Seth and Randy’s delaying action? By now the royal barge had almost certainly entered the narrows. If they had begun their demonstration, how long could they keep it up before the police hauled them all off to jail? I had asked for a minimum of fifteen minutes and a cushion of half an hour, and it was conceivable that fifteen minutes was too much to expect, and it was equally conceivable that the barge would be running a bit ahead of schedule when they tried to block its passage.
Which meant that it might reach Point X by eight o’clock, or even a few minutes before. I could do nothing, trusting in Emile and the Bertons to wait for Claude’s shot. But suppose they spotted the barge themselves? Suppose one of them came to check on Claude? And in any case, what was Arlette going to do? And what of the grand act, the justification of everybody’s martyrdom?
If the target ship didn’t come into sight by ten minutes of eight, I decided I was going to have to forget about it. It might have passed us already, it might have been delayed, it could even get caught in the Modonoland demonstration along with Mrs. Battenberg.
If the target ship didn’t show by then, I would wing three shots at the first goddam boat that came along, whatever the hell it was. A cabin cruiser, an ocean liner, a kayak, anything.
It was getting darker. I took off my sunglasses, then raised the binoculars once more. One hand on them, one on the rifle butt.
Time rushed and crawled.
There was no mistaking the target ship. It came into view at 7:43, seven minutes short of my chosen zero hour. It was long and broad and flat, with a Canadian flag at the bow and flags of all the provinces spaced out along either side. I had trouble believing that anything could move that slowly. I put down the glasses and raised the rifle, tucking the butt into my shoulder. It was hell holding off, but I waited until it drew up past me and reached the designated spot, halfway between me and the Bertons and directly opposite from Emile.
Then I squeezed the trigger three times.
I’m pretty sure I missed. Almost immediately upon the report of my third shot came the chatter of the Berton machine gun off to the left, and I saw bullets churn the water in front of the ship and plow into the bow and port side. I kept firing, too. I didn’t bother aiming. I just wanted to make enough of a racket so that Emile couldn’t help get the point.
Now, now-
He got a late start. I suppose he had already seen the barge and discounted it as other than the one he was waiting for. So he probably didn’t have his engine ready when our shots rang out. I got as close to the edge of the cliff as I could and looked down, but I couldn’t see him at all. I listened for the sound of his engines. All I could hear was the machine gun. I looked at the barge – it had not stopped but was pressing forward on its course.
I emptied my rifle at it.
And then I saw him in the stern of his little boat, bent over the engine, running dead on target at full speed. He was magnificent. For a moment I thought he was going to pass them on his port side, but he saw the error himself and corrected it in plenty of time. I watched him, and I listened to the machine gun, and I saw him turn from the engine to check his fuses and timers. At the very last moment, just a second or two before impact, he stood up in the boat like Washington crossing the Delaware. He turned toward the bank and took off his hat and hurled it into the air.