The same woman greeted him as before. “Changed your mind?”
“Yes, Madam, I have. If you can’t trust the Royal Mail, the world is in worse condition than I care to imagine.”
After Herman paid the required postage, she wrote in large block letters on the wrapper while Herman pretended to count his change while noting the new address.
He turned and as he began his journey to Soho, started humming a tune without thinking. A passing Frenchman smiled however, when he recognized an old favorite, “Le Temps des Cerises.”
Soho never truly sleeps, and that evening Herman could find no dark corner within sight of the entrance to the new address. This would be difficult. The rifle was accurate and quiet but clumsy to handle. He would not be able to fire off a snap shot with any degree of accuracy, and the sensitive trigger made it likely it would discharge before he was ready. He would need time to get an accurate bead on his target and sufficient cover to prevent someone from noticing. Also, his funds were running low. He needed to make more lamps to buy food.
He smelled sausages from a nearby pushcart, and as he lathered mustard on his food, an idea came to him. The fat vendor looked to be about fifty, with a prominent handlebar mustache favored by Bavarians. Herman asked in German, “Are you from Munich?”
“Ja, ich bin. Why?”
“Could you do a countryman from Berlin a favor? I’d make it worth your while.”
After ten pounds (half of Herman’s remaining funds) exchanged hands, Herman found himself the proud proprietor of the food cart for the rest of that day and the day to follow. Herman had also been required to hand over his father’s pocket watch as security, and he was careful to remove the picture of Astrid holding little Immanuel before doing so, placing the photo carefully in his vest pocket.
The Bavarian walked away happy for the unexpected paid holiday. They’d agreed Herman was to surrender the cart and half the proceeds on the evening of the following day. I should make enough money to pay for my meals for the next two days, or eat sausages, Herman thought.
Business was brisk until eight, and it was difficult to keep watch on the entrance at times. Finally, as the late spring evening arrived, passersby thinned out and the few remaining were intent on getting home. He was packing the cart up and preparing to take it to the pub where it would be stored overnight, when he saw a slender woman leave the building. Herman took a deep breath and mentally compared her to the image in the books he’d studied at the bookstore. His shoulders tensed as he confirmed it was her.
She seemed carefree, despite Astrid’s blood on her hands. Herman had to restrain himself from rushing forward and grasping her throat with his large and furious hands.
This was the first time Herman had seen Miss Harkness in daylight, and he was surprised to see a man and young woman with her. Staying with friends? he asked himself. That meant something had alarmed her. I must have been observed. He shook his head. That wouldn’t stop him.
Befreier was stowed underneath the cart, just a case holding any number of possible items. It was getting dark, and the young lady with them meant they would not be out late. Herman pulled the cart into an alley across the street, and carefully cleaned and recleaned the grill, waiting for his chance. As the shadows deepened, he drew the rifle out and assembled it on the ground behind the cart. Satisfied it was as ready as he could make it, he covered it over with a tarpaulin and left it at his feet, ready to seize when the moment arrived.
His patience was soon rewarded as the trio walked back, each holding an ice cream cone and laughing at some comment the young girl had made. There was a streetlight ten feet to the right of the entrance to the apartment building, which was fortunate. It would light up the space where they would halt for keys, while casting him in shadow.
Herman lowered the top of the grill. The fire had been out some time now, so it was cool enough to serve as a rest for the rifle. As the three of them passed him on the far side of the street about forty feet away, Herman laid Befreier on top of the grill and assumed the proper position. The telescopic scope drew in the dim light, making it easier to see his target in the evening shadows. The three stopped when the man reached for his keys. Herman let his breath out slowly and let the crosshairs drift down until Margaret’s head filled the sights. A life, for a life, he thought. He put the slightest pressure on the trigger, and the rifle coughed.
20
Sunday, June 13, cont.
I was teasing James for the serious expression he wore while he ate his ice cream. “Really, James, most people smile when they enjoy an ice. Why do you scowl so?”
“I’m not scowling, I’m thinking about my ice cream.”
“I never considered it a meditation. You must become quite philosophical with chocolate.”
James fumbled with his keys, trying to keep the melting confection from dripping onto his vest.
“Here,” I said, leaning forward to take his cone. I heard a hollow thunk and the brick beside my head exploded into fragments, showering us with debris.
“Get down!” James shouted, drawing his revolver, while I shoved a stunned Elizabeth to the ground before pulling out my derringer, my heart racing.
I saw a man across the street resting a rifle over a cart just as James fired, lighting up the street like a bolt of lightning. My first instinct was to fire at the man with the rifle, though it would be pointless at that range. But I would not go down without a fight. “Get inside, Elizabeth!” I shouted as I rushed forward to the right to flank him.
The flame from the revolver startled Herman. He’d never been fired upon before and flinched, causing his next shot to go high, knocking off the man’s derby. Herman felt the cart shudder as the heavy bullet from the Webley’s second shot smashed into it. He was reloading to finish the man with the pistol when another gun fired to his left and he instinctively ducked.
Windows were thrown open and shouts rose all around, and Herman knew his chance was gone. He grabbed the case, but as he turned, he tripped on the strap and fell face-forward. He felt the flask in the butt snap, and the bark of escaping air caused James to throw himself onto the street, thinking it was a bomb.
Herman cursed while jumping up, grabbed the case, and ran into the darkness. James leapt up and charged after him, running from shadow to shadow, ignorant that his enemy was now toothless.
Herman sped down an alley and into a secluded courtyard before stopping to catch his breath. His chest heaving, he listened for the sounds of pursuit. There was much shouting, followed by police whistles, but he seemed safe for the moment. He quickly disassembled and stored the remnants of the rifle. Then he shouldered the case and did his best to look like a tradesman making his way home as he trudged toward the nearest Underground at the Marble Arch.
I had no illusions that I could hit the man with my derringer at that range and in the dark, but I was pleased to see him duck down when I fired, at least buying us some time. I was about to fire again when there was an explosion, and I crouched down beside a building. James was up and after the assassin before I had a chance to rise. He ran to the corner we’d seen the sniper dart around, then disappeared in hot pursuit.
Running was no longer in my repertoire but I hurried with a will after James, my weapon held high. After rounding the corner, I saw him about eighty yards away standing in the middle of a street showing his badge to two police constables, who had apparently accosted him for running down the street with a drawn revolver. After a brief conversation they blew their whistles and the three of them set off in blind pursuit of the rifleman.
There was a time when I’d have gone after them, but that time was past. My chest was tight and with the danger past, I felt light-headed. I sat down on the street curb and tried to slow my breathing.
It wasn’t long before I saw James returning, empty-handed, with the constables.
“What’s all this about, then?” one asked as James led them back toward me and the scene of the attack.
“Someone
fired at us from behind a vendor’s cart,” James pointed up the street in my general direction. I walked back around the corner ahead of him and looked closely at the sausage wagon, when something on the ground caught my eye and I picked it up. Some sort of brass flask, the neck ruptured, its shattered top looking like the petals of an opening flower.
My back was turned and I must have been shrouded in the shadows as I heard James continue his conversation with the bobbies as he rounded the corner.
“I’ll go off with you in a moment to make a report. Just let me see to my family first.”
Family? I thought. He’d said it without thinking. Still...
“He’s gone,” James said as he came up to me, still wheezing from the exertion of the chase. He looked at his revolver. “I’ve been an inspector for almost sixteen years, and this is the first time I’ve ever discharged a weapon anywhere but at a firing range, and never at night. It does make a light, doesn’t it?”
Then he pointed to my derringer, which I still had in my hand. “Though you certainly made a contribution to the fireworks. I didn’t know you were armed, but I’m glad you were. I think your shot from the side drove him off. Well played!”
Elizabeth came out of the building James’s hat in her hands as though holding a wounded pet. “Your hat, Father. Your favorite hat. I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth stuck her finger through the hole in the front of James’s wounded derby. “It missed your head by only a couple of inches.”
James chuckled. “And to think of all the times you blocked it for me. The hat, I mean,” and our fright was released in a burst of laughter that brought tears to our eyes.
James hugged Elizabeth then, to my surprise, me. He looked at me, then nodded toward his daughter. “Thank you for seeing to her safety.”
I said nothing in response. There was no need. We’d faced danger together, like a family, just as James said.
Our laughter faded as we realized how fortunate we were to be unharmed, and James became businesslike when I showed him what I’d found on the ground.
“This was behind the cart, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”
James peered at it closely. “I think this made the sound we mistook for a bomb. I’ll take it along to headquarters and see what they can deduce.”
He gestured to the apartment building. “Let’s get you ladies inside, then I’ll accompany these constables to their station to make a report that my superiors can disregard with their morning tea.” He rubbed his chin. “Though being fired upon may convince them there was something to my concern after all. I doubt our sniper will return, but do not use any lights, please, and for goodness’ sake don’t stand by the windows! I’ll be back before daylight, if only to bathe and change my clothes.”
I was (and still am) unused to taking orders, but these were sensible, and for the moment my major concern was making sure Elizabeth recovered from the fright. The quiet confidence in James’s voice after the attempt on our lives was reassuring, and I liked the character of the man who stood before me—and between his “family” and danger.
“Right you are . . . Inspector. We’ll be good girls until you return. Now go do what you have to do.”
My stress on the title “Inspector” gave James pause, as I’d intended. It was a mild rebuke that I was not his to command. He tipped his wounded hat and followed the two constables into the night.
21
The antiquities shop, Sunday, June 13, to Monday, June 14
Herman used the key Luigi had given him to enter the shop and drag the case to his workbench. He brought out the damaged weapon and stared at it. He was furious, but admitted the weapon had not failed him nearly as much as he had himself. He had been fired at and flinched. The woman still lived and would now be more difficult to kill. Luck had not totally deserted him, however, as they didn’t get a good look at his face in the shadows; but they now knew he was in London and armed—or he would be, once he repaired his weapon.
He studied the wounded rifle. Sure enough, the Achilles’ heel of the weapon was the air flask. The fragile neck of the brass air reservoir had snapped where it threaded into the firing chamber. Until he could remove the remnants of the damaged one, he was carrying a twenty-pound doorstop. Fortunately, he had two flasks left.
He reached into his waistcoat to check the time and sighed. His pocket watch was now irretrievable. The license on the side of the cart would lead the police to its owner. Either the cart owner would be used as bait or would be sure to notify the police if Herman returned. A costly mistake. I’m sorry, Andrei. Our family heirloom deserved a better fate.
Herman worked early into Monday morning at Luigi’s shop, repairing the rifle and making lamps. He allowed himself two hours’ sleep but was back before opening. He could now wire a lamp in little more than an hour and had five ready by the time Luigi arrived. The Italian marveled at the quality of Herman’s work and was able to sell them nearly as quickly as they were made. Herman was low on funds, so the ten-pound advance Luigi paid him was welcome.
There was a knock at the entrance thirty minutes before opening time. Luigi went to shoo the visitor away, but he let out a cry of recognition and opened the door, locking it quickly after. He and his visitor came to the back office as Herman was starting on another lamp. He was deep in concentration threading a wire through a freshly drilled hole when he heard a voice behind him.
“Guten Tag, Herman. I hope you’re happy to see me.”
Startled, Herman turned toward a familiar if unwelcome face: his former employer, Grüber.
“What are you doing here?” he said, baring his teeth. “Haven’t you caused me enough pain?”
“Herman, I came here to make what amends I could. The authorities have ceased their hunt for you in Berlin, though it will never be safe for you to return. After a difficult questioning, I was released from custody as I was able to convince the police you acted without my knowledge. Fortunately, I have influential friends who spoke on my behalf. I believe the chief of the Secret Police still suspects me, but lacking clear evidence, was forced to let me go.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. You told me how you were able to come here. Not why.”
Grüber glanced at Luigi. “This is difficult for me, Herman. Please, may we speak alone?”
Herman shrugged. “As you wish. What more can you do to me?”
Grüber flinched at this but said nothing. Turning to Parmeggiani he said, “Thank you for taking Herman in. I consider your debt paid in full.”
“Prego, Signore. It is nothing. His skill as an electrician has already proven profitable. You may send as many such as him as you like.” Bowing, Luigi finished by saying, “I have some work to do in front to prepare for opening. I will let you gentlemen talk in peace. Scusi.”
Once they were alone, Grüber pulled out his wallet and counted two hundred pounds onto the workbench. “You have suffered much for our cause and at my request. I know you hadn’t time to prepare, and I hadn’t the time to help you as you deserved. This money will not bring your family back, but it can help you establish yourself here.”
Herman stared at the money and thought of the loss it represented. No, it would not replace what he lost. That was impossible, but perhaps it could be put to good use, nonetheless. He frowned but took the money.
“What will you do now, Herman?”
“I have the air rifle. With this money, I can take my revenge on those who robbed me of my family.”
Grüber paled. “Like me?”
Herman shook his head. “No. I blame myself more than you. I knew what I was getting into, or I should have. I blame Fraülein Harkness. This was none of her affair. Astrid adored her books and felt betrayed that this woman would be an instrument of the aristocracy. She will pay. Then, if I can, I will seek this Professor Bell. After that, well . . . I don’t know. What else is there?”
Grüber placed his hand on Herman’s shoulder. He felt like an angler about to tempt
a trout with his fly. “Have you considered that you are striking out at the symptom of your pain and not the cause?”
“What do you mean?”
“Harkness and Bell were acting as mercenaries. They were mere agents. If you want to strike a blow against those who cause the death of innocents, you should attack their employers.”
“You said yourself I cannot return to Germany, though killing Herr Adler would give me great pleasure.”
“No, Herman, I don’t mean the functionaries of those in power. I mean the aristocracy, those who employ others to do their dirty work.”
“You want me to wait for the Kaiser to visit his grandmother the queen?”
“No, my friend, but the ruling class are all related. A blow against one frightens and weakens them all.”
“And?”
“If you want to prevent other innocents from dying for the decadent on their golden thrones, you can do so here in London.”
Herman felt a thrill move down his spine and felt more alive than he had since hearing of Astrid’s death. “The queen herself?”
“Yes, Herman. Kill the queen, the mother and grandmother of half of European royalty, and you will strike at the head of the serpent.”
“How will the death of this old woman make a difference? She may not even live until the ceremony.”
“You miss Astrid, and killing Victoria will not fill the loss of her death. But I can help you rejoin your son if you do this.”
Herman clenched his large fists, and Grüber took a step back, unsure what Herman would do next. “You are offering to trade my son for the Queen of England?”
Grüber swallowed. “I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, my friend, but in essence you are correct. Kill her during the Diamond Jubilee, with the entire world watching, and not a single crowned head will feel safe again. Their sense of invulnerability will be shattered forever. Do that, and I will get your son to you.”
Queen's Gambit Page 11