by Bodie Thoene
Elisa rang up the TENS number once again. Still no answer. Where was Harvey? Twenty rings and no reply. “I can send the wire,” Elisa said lightly.
Lori agreed reluctantly. At that instant, baby Katie wailed a hungry protest.
The two women exchanged glances. This was one thing Lori could not attend to.
“I can go,” Lori said with a grin. “I can run faster than you, anyway.”
Katie woke baby Alfie. His lusty cry filled the room as Elisa printed out a message for Harvey Terrill to transmit to Warsaw.
“Harvey can’t have gone far,” Elisa said. “Not on a night like tonight. Wait for him at the office. Tell him I tried to reach him by telephone and that this message needs to be sent to Orde immediately in Warsaw.”
Lori opened the paper.
Orde:
Murphy due to arrive 4:30 pm Warsaw Airfield Tomorrow.
Be there with…
The names followed as though there were nothing unusual about such a message at all. Would Harvey be curious about the required immigration papers for Alfie and Jacob?
“If he asks, tell him you think it’s all straightened out,” Elisa answered. “He’s just nosy. Don’t let him intimidate you.” Elisa always got along with Harvey Terrill. Lori preferred to give the sullen man a wide berth.
What else was there to do? The airline would sell the tickets to someone else if Jacob and the rest were not there to claim them! That thought was more terrifying than the blackout!
It was simple for Lori to slip out of her room and down the hall; she trembled at the thought that it might also be simple for someone to enter the Savoy Hotel and make his way up to the suite. Elisa talked to the kind and patronizing agents who assured her that everything was quite under control.
At the far end of the hall, Lori sneaked into the stairwell and disappeared. Round little Hildy Frutschy at the bottom of the stairs at the Red Lion House had made a far better watchdog than these two fellows. Lori thought. They droned on about the closeness of air-raid shelters and the vigilance of the anti-aircraft crews who even now watched the skies above England.
Lori did not have any sense of danger from German planes tonight. She remembered too clearly that the explosion that had taken Doc’s life did not come from a Nazi bomber.
***
Lori made her quickly through the blue-lit lobby of the Savoy Hotel. A strange, confused atmosphere pervaded London. Among some small cliques of citizens, the voices were low and serious as the reality of the crisis was discussed. Among others, the laughter and the conversation was especially loud and bright. Those Londoners are whistling in the dark, Lori thought, pushing her way through the revolving doors into the still night air.
Thin slits of light from covered headlights were all that was visible of the automobiles that crept up the street. There had already been a number of traffic accidents, Lori had heard.
Passing groups of people along the way, she listened to snatches of conversation.
“Parachutists . . . that’s most likely what the Nazis will do. They’ll send in parachutists first and saboteurs to blow the bridges, and . . .”
“They’ve set up thousands more beds at the hospitals. They’re digging an underground passage from the railway to the hospital.”
“What good are sandbags gonna do, I ask you, if a bomb fails on your house?”
Words had just come over the BBC that a million and a half children were being evacuated from London.
Lori was relieved that the younger children were already safely tucked into bed in a farmhouse in western England. After everything that had gone before, what would scenes of mass evacuation have done to the emotions of the boys?
Lori tried to read her wristwatch by the starlight. Surely Murphy’s plane would have taken off again by now. She looked skyward and prayed for him as she rounded the corner and half jogged down the alley to the side entrance of the TENS building. She prayed for Jacob! She prayed that she would be able to reach Sam Orde in Warsaw, to warn him to be at the airport with Jacob and Alfie in plenty of time!
The glass of the transom window was covered with black paper. Lori could hear muffled voices within. She heaved a sigh of relief! So Harvey Terrill was there! Probably overwhelmed with business, she reasoned as she slipped Elisa’s key into the lock. Maybe in a meeting or on the phone? It would be best to simply send the message to Warsaw and slip out without interrupting him. The harried night editor was seldom pleasant these days. She did not want to get underfoot on a night like tonight.
Conscious that she must not let interior light spill out, she squeezed quickly through the door into the coffee room of the TENS office. Terrill’s voice in the adjoining office was tense, almost angry. Lori stood for a moment, not wanting to interrupt what was obviously an important conference.
“He’s gone to Warsaw, I tell you. Out of the way.”
Lori was indignant at Terrill’s obvious pleasure over Murphy’s absence! She stiffened and stood silently in the anteroom as her eyes adjusted to the scene through the door in front of her.
The newly installed blackout curtains were pulled tightly across the windows. A single bank of lights was burning, creating a pool of dim illumination in the center of the room while leaving the corners in shadow.
Underneath the light and bent over the conference table were the figures of Harvey Terrill to one side and a short, thin man with his back to Lori. Some sort of blueprint was unrolled on the tabletop and weighted in place at the corners with two dictionaries and two telephone books.
The night editor jabbed his finger toward the plans. “You can drop the dome with just eight charges?”
What was he saying? Lori backed up a step deeper into the shadow. Drop what dome? What is he talking about? Her heart hung in her throat, and cold fear welled up in her.
The man across from Harvey answered in a youthful, excited rush. “See now, this is the way it works. Not the whole dome. We don’t need the whole dome, you see? The lantern tower is plenty.” He sounded pleased, like a little boy showing off some grand scheme. “The lantern tower is eighty-five feet tall. Seven hundred tons.”
Lantern tower? The tower of St. Paul’s? She tried to silence her breathing, which suddenly seemed unnaturally loud.
Harvey peered at the plans. “You’ve put the charges in the light wells?”
“Right. You see here.” The small man slid his finger in a tight circle. “Wells through the roof to catch the light at the top of the Golden Gallery. The lantern tower rests right there on the top of the inner cone. Nothing but brick supporting seven hundred tons! When we blow that, the lantern will drop through the dome three hundred feet to the pavement of the church! It won’t stop there. It will carry the floor of the rotunda and everyone right down with it into the crypt.”
There was a heart-stopping silence as Harvey Terrill digested everything that was before him. Lori felt the ground sway beneath her in one terrible moment of realization. This was what Doc Grogan had been trying to tell them!
Paul Golden. Light wells.
Not a name! It was a place! St. Paul’s! The Golden Gallery! The light wells at the base of the lantern tower were set with explosives!
The young man paused in blissful contemplation as Harvey Terrill smiled grimly with understanding. “Your mother would be proud of you, boy,” he said softly in appreciation. “Blowing up the parish church of the British Empire.”
A pleased chuckle sounded. “If we time this right, old Nelson and all the moldering British corpses will have a host of new neighbors joining them. Including Winston Churchill.”
“You’re sure these little satchels will do the job?”
“The eight ‘little satchels,’ as you call them, are sitting right on the brick. They’ll all go at once when I send the radio signal. I’ll be in the bell tower at the front of the west facade with the transmitter. When Churchill climbs the pulpit and begins to speak, you walk out of the building. That will be all the signal I need to press the
button. And—”
Enough! Lori stood with her back pressed hard against the counter. She inched her way back toward the door. Paul . . . Golden . . . light wells . . . Churchill . . . Papa!
All of this had been planned for the special service at St. Paul’s for her father and the other pastors. But why? Why had Harvey Terrill done this?
Her hand dripped with perspiration as she groped for the doorknob. The slippery metal resisted her grasp. She whirled like an animal trapped in a corner, and Elisa’s message fluttered away. Her elbow caught a coffee cup and sent it crashing to the floor!
A cry of alarm pursued her as she threw the door back. In only an instant she would have been free, but the strong grasp of angry hands slammed against her, pulling her back from those few steps into the alley!
A vise-like ring of arms clamped around her, wrestling her through the open door, then slammed her down hard against the counter and onto the floor.
Lori tried to cry out, but a hand pressed down over her mouth.
Terrill swore angrily. “It’s Lori Ibsen!” He grabbed her hair and held her head close to his scowling face. “Little snoop. How much did you hear?” His eyes were blazing even in the dim light.
The other man sat squarely on her. “However much she heard, it’s too much, Harvey. She knows too much.”
***
Karl Ibsen was the last to receive the injection. By then there were vacant stares on some of the faces of the men who had preceded him, and he knew what was being done. In a few moments several of the others were completely unconscious and passed out on the floor, including the man dressed as a Polish officer who had not come with the prisoners from Nameless camp.
Karl looked knowingly into the eyes of the doctor as he received his shot. “We were told that we might win our freedom today.”
The doctor looked away uncomfortably.
“I am sorry for the prison that you are in,” Karl said.
“I am not a prisoner,” remarked the doctor in a startled tone.
***
“There is no answer at that number,” said the Savoy Hotel operator impatiently.
“Please,” Elisa argued. “Let it ring. I know someone is there.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Murphy. We cannot keep the lines tied up. If you would like to ring the number later—”
Elisa had already telephoned the TENS office six times in the last hour. Why did Harvey not pick up the receiver? Where was Lori?
Elisa paced the room nervously. She stopped to lean against the rail of the crib where Katie and Alfie lay peacefully sleeping at opposite ends. Her heart throbbed. She regretted that she had let Lori go alone on a night like this. Murphy had warned her to be careful of going out during the blackout. People would be running down pedestrians like chickens crossing a highway, he said. Headlamps were all but blacked out. Streetlights were out entirely. Pickpockets were no doubt out in droves!
Lori had only two blocks to walk to the office. Where had she gone? Why did she not telephone Elisa at the hotel? Had she been hit by a car? Or thumped over the head by some backstreet Artful Dodger taking advantage of the new blackout regulations? Elisa felt as though she had been hit on the head. Her temples throbbed. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The noise of traffic emanated up from the dark canyons of the streets stretching out from the Savoy. Far across the city, Elisa could hear the howl of a siren. She could easily spot the black mountain of St. Paul’s Cathedral silhouetted against the starlit sky.
***
It was dark, and so Allan Farrell did not bother to conceal the pistol. His right arm held Lori’s shoulders as they walked from Fleet Street to Ludgate Hill, directly toward the dark hulk of St. Paul’s. He held the barrel of the weapon in her left side. “I will blow your heart out,” he explained, “if you make one wrong move. You understand?”
She answered with a nod. She could not speak.
Impatient with her, he jabbed her harder with the pistol. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” he whispered in her ear as they passed the dark forms of a group of people standing on the corner of New Bridge Street and Ludgate.
“It’s saboteurs they’re worried about, luv. They’ve put extra men patrolling every bridge across the Thames . . .”
Lori heard the soft, knowing chuckle of her captor as the nervous conversation of men and women mingled with laughter and jokes. No faces. Just shadow with voices.
The shadow that held her whispered, “No one would even see you fall if I shot. Just the sound of a gun and there you would be, with your guts hanging out all over the sidewalk. I would just walk away.”
Lori was trembling all over. Her legs felt as though they would not support her. She believed this man. She was certain he would do what he threatened, and so she stumbled on beside him up the gentle slope toward the cathedral.
Framed against the starry sky were the two bell towers flanking the entrance. The dark mound of the dome loomed from the center.
Lori lifted her eyes to the pinnacle of the lantern tower high atop the dome. She tried to make out the cross that crowned the lightless lanterns. Always before it had been easily discernible, but not now. The hour of darkness had enveloped even that one fragment of hope and comfort.
She phrased her question carefully. “Where are we going?”
He did not reply. A harsh squeeze to her shoulder warned her that she must not speak. She knew the answer anyway. He was taking her to St. Paul’s, which would soon enough be one vast crypt. Lori had no doubt that he intended her to be entombed there as well.
Should she scream and try to break away? Get it over with? Oh, God! Life was so precious that she clung tenaciously even to these few terrifying minutes! Her thoughts flew to Jacob and to Papa! She prayed for courage and prayed somehow to survive! She fought the urge to beg this man to let her go. But if she spoke, if she begged or wept, he would simply shoot her and be done with it!
Why doesn’t he shoot? she wondered as they passed the statue of Queen Anne in front of the cathedral. She looked up at the edifice of St. Paul’s. Soon it would be tons of rubble. It would collapse in upon itself by the will of this man, and Lori would vanish with it in a roar of light!
Involuntarily she croaked, “Why?”
She winced, expecting the utterance to be answered with a rough jerk or a painful jab of the pistol in her ribs. Instead he stopped and craned his head upward. A quiet, almost inaudible whisper rasped in her ear. “This war is very old.” The voice was strangely detached, inhuman, escaping like steam from his throat. “Like the tide, it rises and recedes, but always it is here. Millions drown. Millions more will die before we are finished.” He tightened his grip on her flesh. “You are nothing compared to that. We cannot let you live to fight us. You know too much for us to ignore you. You know enough to stop us.” And then, a shove forward and a calm, patronizing voice, “You see?”
At that, he prodded her on through the gate of the churchyard on the south side of the structure. There were workmen everywhere, filling sandbags, stacking them against the outside of the church for protection against bombs. They could not guess that the devastation was already planted within the structure. They did not see that the fire waited within the walls to collapse the great cathedral inward and take them with it into the crypt!
No one looked up as Allan Farrell led his captive through the wide open doors. No one stopped them as they passed or challenged their purpose there. By the pale glow of candles, some prayed silently at the altar for peace, for salvation, for the tide of darkness to be turned! But it was too late! Too late they were shoring up the walls of their church. Too late the workers climbed their ladders and built frames to protect the windows!
Eight little satchels had been placed in the light wells. One man would walk out and raise his hand in signal, and all the prayers, all the fortifications, all the work would come crashing down on the heads of the Christians in this place!
The destruction comes from within! Look among
you! Lori wanted to shout as they walked easily past a group of parishioners who had come to help.
They walked past the baptismal font and then past Lord Nelson’s monument. Along the wall, Lori could see two men carefully removing the painting of Christ holding His lantern and knocking on the door.
Tor Auf! her heart cried. Open the gate! Open your eyes!
Allan nudged her toward the door that led to the honeycomb of stairs within walls. “To the top,” he whispered. “Climb.”
Twice on the spiral stairs they met men coming down. They talked and laughed over their shoulders. They nodded greetings to Allan and Lori as if to say they were grateful they had come to help. Allan seemed undisturbed by the presence of people on his killing grounds. He was certain of himself. Certain of his purpose.
From the dim glow of a blue lantern, Lori could see the expression on his face. He gloried in the fact that even in these final hours people worked to shore up what he, one man, would soon destroy!
Allan was right. She was nothing compared to this, and yet she was everything because she knew enough to stop it! But how?
He forced her to the top of the edifice, to the Golden Gallery at the base of the lantern tower. No one else was there. Buckets of sand and water had been carried up by workers as protection against incendiary bombs, but the platform was deserted. The others had descended to bring up more little buckets. Over the edge of the parapet, Lori could see the dark wells in the roof that were meant to catch the sunlight and channel it into the interior of the dome.
Allan twisted her arm and dragged her to the door that led into the forbidden interior of the lantern tower. Deftly he manipulated the ancient iron lock and pushed the door back on its groaning hinges. Then he forced her up an almost vertical set of steps and into a tiny sealed room in the interior of the tower.
Once there, he gagged her and tied her to a large winch-like machine in the center of the space. She lay in dust that had been undisturbed for years.
