by Alisa Smith
Byron, you are a fool.
Man’s finer points of loyalty and bravery were also his undoing. I was just an accountant underneath it all. I’d never shot at anyone, unlike the others in the Clockwork Gang. Damn it, why had I not at least gone on that grizzly hunt last year with the Sequim locals when they invited me? I had shingled my roof instead. I had no place in all this.
I wished Bill was here. We had always followed his lead when we stormed into a bank, but I should not linger over the past. All I needed to think of was tonight, and how I would protect Lena.
I ran over the backup plan in my mind. Earlier this afternoon, Dass had tied up a boat on the Chao Phraya River. If Hughes did not kill von Roth outside the palace, I would head for the boat. Hughes and Lena would run for the Talad canal, which paralleled Ratchini Road, a thousand feet from the palace walls. They would swim across the canal and break into the ancient tunnel, then hunt von Roth from within the grounds. After the shooting, they would flee in one of the palace boats that were supposed to be inside the tunnel, always ready for the king’s use in a time of emergency. For this we had to depend on faith, since the guard had never actually been inside. The last barrier they would face on the way out would be the lock between the Talad canal and the Chao Phraya River. Bill had arranged through his contacts to drug the lock-keeper and replace him with one of his own. The dead time trapped in the lock would be agonizing, waiting for it to fill and the gate to open, but once Lena and Hughes made it onto the river, I would be waiting to race them back to the palazzo in an unmarked boat. I wished I could do more, but everyone agreed on my limitations. It was kind of humiliating.
In the darkness, I focused on every shape around me as I moved through the park. There were two deformed trees ahead, which I took to be Hughes’ and Lena’s bodies pressed against the trunks, to use them as concealment and shields against stray bullets. I dashed from tree to tree until I was close enough that I could see Lena’s nod. I pulled the Mauser Karabiner, a light infantry rifle, across my chest and readied my finger near the trigger. Sweat pooled on my forehead and threatened to run into my eyes. At least the darkness was perfect, and I was surely invisible. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, and I could make out the pits and craters on its dark side. I told myself to quit gandering at it, and to keep my eyes on the road and the gatehouse for von Roth.
Last night, when Bill revealed he would not be joining us on the operation at all, it had thrown me. Could Hughes handle this without Bill? Hughes had a queer dependence on him, and he was definitely not right in the head. I suppose some things could be done by willpower alone—he was fixed on killing this Nazi to clear his conscience in some way that only he could understand. Hughes looked brave, and Bill a coward now. I agreed with Lena on that. If Bill really wanted Lena back he should have come on this job, no matter what Miss Maggie said. At this thought I smiled a little, inwardly. He still did not deserve her, and she knew it for certain now.
The strangling branches of the banyan dug into my back. I ignored the discomfort as I scanned the palace wall, back and forth. I could hear myself breathing. I wondered if it was loud, or was everything else just quiet?
In the distance there was a faint growling that soon resolved into the sound of car engines. Headlights illuminated Sanam Chai Road as they approached, and I pressed myself tighter against the banyan. The cars pulled over, idling at the gatehouse, and a group of foreigners poured out, talking loudly and laughing. Americans and Englishmen, from the sounds of it. Servants hefted cases from the trunks. Among the group was a taller blond man, evidently von Roth. What the hell? We had expected him to sneak over the wall alone like a commando, not waltz in through the door with a party. I raised the Karabiner. Tracked, tracked. For a second I had a clear line on him. I made myself forget I’d shared drinks with the man at Bill’s club. I could pull the trigger. I could kill him. Couldn’t I? This was not duck hunting; I did not have scattershot and I needed my aim to be true. There was only one chance at this. If I botched it, von Roth would shoot back. He might kill Lena. My hand faltered, and a mustachioed old man took his place in my sights. I lowered the gun.
Lena said a silenced weapon was no louder than a door slamming. I heard no door, so the other two must also have their aim blocked by an innocent bystander. Well, I wasn’t sure Hughes would care who else might die if he had the shot. I squinted at the tree where he was standing with his sniper rifle ready, but he did not move, and I turned my gaze back to the party. The foreigners piled through the gatehouse with their gear, von Roth still protected in the middle of the group while they chatted with the guards. In a moment they were through, the gate shutting behind them as the cars pulled away.
Von Roth had given us the slip.
So it would be Plan B. Hughes needed to travel fast and light inside the palace walls, so he would only take a pistol. I approached Hughes to relieve him of the beastly Sturmgewehr 44. Only he had the training to use the assault rifle, which had the obliterating power of a machine gun combined with greater portability and control. It was the latest in German engineering, yet ancient as death, with its weird curved magazine that reminded me of an Arab scimitar. The scumbag Bill bought these weapons from said it was a shame the Germans lost the war when their inventions showed such genius. I’d handed him the envelope of American dollars grudgingly, wishing I didn’t have to support his living.
I slung the heavy gun crosswise to mine, on the other shoulder, as Link ran off toward the canal. I adjusted the uncomfortable weight as I readied myself to head back to the car. Without waiting for me to take her gun, Lena threw down the Karabiner and ran after Hughes. I had an impulse to call out, but that would be foolish. I could only watch her disappear into the trees, toward the Talad canal where Link was headed. More than anything, I wanted to follow, but I’d be a hindrance not a help. It would be my bumbling presence that would rouse the guards inside the palace and get them shot. Hughes had served behind enemy lines and Lena had her espionage training. Me, I could only claim a basic knowledge of building cocktails. I’d spent my war years rather differently from those two.
I tried to tell myself that Lena could take care of herself, and the only thing I could do now was my assigned part: drive the getaway boat. As I headed back toward the park to retrieve Lena’s gun, I felt my face wet with tears. It was unmanly, but I didn’t care. There was no one to see me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE TUNNEL
VON ROTH WAS inside the palace walls and everything was a shambles. He had been surrounded by an entourage, and Link never got a clear shot. Now we had to go with Plan B. When Byron relieved Link of the German assault rifle, Link started running through the park toward the canal. I followed, and it seemed to be just the two of us. I had feared that Byron would trail me, trying to help after all, though he was not supposed to. I had to trust he would stick with the plan. Meanwhile, Link didn’t look back. He seemed completely indifferent to my existence.
Suddenly I felt unreal. Were these feet my feet? Was this body my body? I ran faster, panting, the humid air smothering my lungs. It felt like drowning by degrees. This wasn’t panic, was it? I’d never felt like this before.
Calm down, Lena. This is it.
I focused on the pounding of my feet on the packed earth, like a drumbeat, like a call to war.
Link looked strong as he ran. He’d regained his strength once the drugs were out of his system, but I was worried about his mental state. Byron let slip that Link had been in a straightjacket in the hospital. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he had fixated on this mission as the only thing worth doing with his life. And Bill had gone along, a selfish bastard as always, because it fulfilled his orders from Miss Maggie. Link had already been punished enough by Miss Maggie, so he shouldn’t have to die for her now. I would do everything I could to keep him safe.
Reaching the edge of the Talad canal, I could not see anything under the inky black surface, which was about ten feet below street level. The tunn
el entrance Bill had seen was about fifty feet west. Thick trees and vines blocked the shore from further foot travel, so we would have to swim now. Just ahead of me, Link set down his pack to pull out his goggles and fins, which he needed to set the limpet bomb underwater. This task was assigned to him by Miss Maggie, Bill said. Of course, since it was the most dangerous. As I finished putting on my own fins, Link dived in, cutting smoothly through the surface. He did not wait for me. I hurried to secure my gun in the rubberized invasion bag, and, fumbling, tightened the shoulder straps. Link was swimming a precise crawl, the distance between us increasing. At least he had not been lying about his abilities. He had claimed to be a strong swimmer, having crossed the lake at his family’s cottage in Ontario every summer since he was twelve. I wished we could have met then. We could have pushed each other playfully into the lake, sunned on the dock, and had our first sweet kiss. Those things don’t last, but they don’t need to. It would be enough to have something pure to remember.
I jumped into the canal, sputtering as I came up. At least the water was warm, and I followed the shining wake that Link left behind him in the water.
Swimming alongside the wall, Link felt underneath the hanging shrubs and vines foot by foot until he found what he was looking for. A metal grille barred the tunnel entrance. Inside, we had been told, there was enough space between the water level and the curved ceiling for a small boat to pass. As we had expected, Link couldn’t squeeze through the bars, so he dove underwater to place the bomb. I started swimming away from the blast area, which was supposed to extend less than thirty feet. He was using a short three-minute timer, so I waited anxiously until Link reappeared at the surface and started to move away.
There was a dull whump and the surface boiled. Ripples splashed my face and the water lifted me up, but it soon subsided. Link was about fifteen feet to my right. We each swam back toward the tunnel, though I slowed as my arms grew tired. We had no cottage when I was a girl. I grabbed the gate to rest a second. A gap had opened between it and the wall, and Link had already slipped through. I moved through after him. In the darkness, my hand found a ledge inside the tunnel, and I hauled myself out of the water to sit on it.
Link busied himself taking his gun and flashlight from his frogman’s pack, still paying me no attention. I wanted to hiss, Link, but that would be foolish. I took my own gun from the waterproof invasion bag, shoved my fins away, and wedged my feet into shoes. Link’s beam revealed a low ceiling, and the ledge continued parallel to the waterway as far as I could make out. We crouched down to hurry along the ledge as best we could. The low ceiling prevented running, but it still was faster than swimming. The curved roof was discoloured with green and rust streaks, and stale water dripped onto my head, tepid and unpleasant.
It took about fifteen minutes to reach the end of the tunnel, where three boats were at the ready. So what the guard said was true. Circling them I saw that, while they were old, they had been motorized, which would speed our escape. Link walked over to a metal ladder bolted to the wall, which led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. He checked his naval issue watch. Bill’s informant had said the guards passed the temple above us every half hour. Each time they paused a moment, reverently, at the door of the temple that housed the Emerald Buddha. Link climbed the ladder and pushed on the trapdoor, but it didn’t budge. It was locked.
Link took out a pouch of small tools. Though we had rehearsed this many times, he stared vacantly at the metal pick as though he’d never seen it before. This was not the time for him to lose it. Climbing up to his level, I grabbed the tools from him. He did not protest as I motioned him down and started on the task of picking the lock. I had always found it peaceful. It required a total focus that blocked all other thoughts and feelings, including fear. I turned the tension wrench left, right, until I found the spot where there was less give. I kept it in place while I inserted the pick to fiddle with each pin in turn, at the same time finessing the pressure on the wrench. Okay, one, two. Two more to go.
“So you were a bank robber?” Link asked from below. His words echoed in the underground room.
My hands froze. I was terrified that he had spoken, but also, in the next instant, I was outraged that he knew. There were only two people who could have told him, and not for a second did I think Byron would do it. Only Bill had holed up for hours on end with Link when he was coming off the drugs, Byron told me that much. Calming myself, I returned to picking the lock. I didn’t have time to rage or defend my past to Link. I had to get this done now.
Three, four, then the satisfying release of turning the tension wrench further, just like a key.
Link drew his weapon and gestured at me to come down. It seemed threatening somehow, and I wondered uneasily if Link could still hate me so much that he’d kill me tonight as well as von Roth. Well, there was nothing to do but carry on at this point. I’d just have to watch out for myself. I climbed down, and Link hurried up the ladder to push the trapdoor open. The warmer air struck my face as it spilled down the hole while Link vanished upward into the temple. Though he had not bothered with caution up to that point, he shut the trapdoor softly behind him. I was left behind in total darkness. Feeling my way up the ladder, I peeked through the crack of the door and sensed only the deep silence of emptiness—or so I would have to hope. I flipped the door open fully and climbed up into the temple, scanning a full circle around me with the Walther before I spotted Link heading toward an altar screen. I followed him. Candles flickered everywhere, casting long shadows. Beside us was a tiered gold throne, and on its highest platform sat the Emerald Buddha, covered in a gold mail robe. The way it shone, it had to be real gold, as were the four statues flanking the icon’s base. The richness was incredible, but I was no robber here.
As I reached Link’s shoulder, we peered around the altar screen into the vast bare rectangle of the temple proper. Staying close to the wall, ducking to avoid windows, we ran past continuous murals of armies and strange beasts until we reached the exit. I pressed my ear against the door. Link rushed past me, leaving me standing in surprise while he ran into the courtyard, completely exposed. I was scared and angry at his recklessness. I waited for the gunshots, but there was nothing.
As I followed Link with silent footfalls, I was alarmed to notice dark prints behind me on the temple stairs. My clothes were already drying in the warm air, so I prayed these markers of our damp passage would soon evaporate.
In the courtyard, I froze at the sight of men holding spears—but it only took a second to realize they were moving even less than I was. There were statues everywhere. A gang of false men laboured to hold up the base of a stupa. Everything had a sense of pressure. Nearby a dark tower rose from a pagoda like a missile, as though threatening to bust the sacred building to pieces. The silhouette of the temple roof was littered with curved ornaments like scythes, poised to cut down the stars. Would I be able to detect a real person among all these garbled forms? At least this visual confusion would camouflage us, as well. We made our way around corners and through zigzag passages toward the palace. It was strange to think I had arrived once as an invited guest through the main portal, and now we were here to commit murder through the back door.
Did I have to think the word murder? Could I not think justice, when von Roth was a war criminal? But I had never killed a person. Even at second hand, I had felt sick when I read the part in Byron’s journal where Bill murdered an old man in the cabin they wanted to use as a hideout. I reminded myself that was a vicious death by bludgeoning. I hoped that a bullet would feel clean.
We pressed ourselves against the wall that separated the temple precinct from the palace grounds. We were close to the heart of things now. At any time, we might see von Roth—if he didn’t see us first. Link looked calm and purposeful. I didn’t like that. Fear would offer him more protection, more caution. Don’t die tonight. Please. We’re not done yet, you and me.
Link removed some rope from his rucksack and untied the alpine coil, w
hich had a weighted pouch on one end for momentum. Staring at a finial on the wall’s pitched roof, he made the throw. The rope didn’t catch and the weight thumped to the ground. Nervously, I scanned the area, but there was no sign of any guards. He gathered up the rope and bent his knees to make the throw again, and this time the rope snagged the finial. Link wrapped the rope around his hip in a mountaineer’s belay and flicked his chin at me, to go up. Not friendly, but at least he wasn’t abandoning me. He leaned back to brace himself while I climbed the twenty-foot wall, my palms burning as I gripped the rope. I wanted to stop but couldn’t, as Link kept taking in the rope, almost hauling me up against my will. I started to feel dizzy, and could hardly make myself take my hands off the stones in the wall to pull myself higher. My hands were sweating. Two-thirds of the way up, I made the mistake of looking down. I clung to the rope. I was paralyzed, but the rope yanked relentlessly against my waist. I had to keep going. I made myself grab another stone in the wall. Upward. Finally reaching the top, I pressed myself against the peaked roof, as far from the edge as I could be, panting with fear. I anchored my feet in the tile gutter as I wound some rope around the finial and held it tight, so Link could follow. Once he was safely crouched beside me, he hauled up the rope and stuffed it into his pack.
Cautiously, we raised our heads above the peaked roofline of the temple wall. A wave of laughter and shouts met our ears. What was going on? Below us was only darkness and silence. From the map I knew the French-style chateau just south of us was the Borom Phiman mansion, where the king sometimes slept for a change from his newer Dusit Palace. To the southwest I could see the larger Chakri hall where the charity reception had been held. From that night, I remembered its three extravagant towers, Asian wedding cakes grafted atop a severe European box. A large, formal garden to the southeast featured rows of trees, each pruned into balls at the end of every branch, like lollipops gathered in a child’s hand. These strange topiaries loomed over a shrubbery maze. I thought of Alice in Wonderland and felt that I was through the looking-glass now.
