5

Oblivious of the death of his first substantial supporter, oblivious indeed of everything but the urgency of his conclusive grapple with Reedly, Rud paced the air photography rooms at Stockholm which were Bellacourt's Headquarters.

Bellacourt was already over Norway on his way to them. He couldn't be more than ten minutes away.

Thirp sat crouched and angular with his arms folded, waiting an hour to the minute so to speak; Olders subdued himself to patience by staring out of the windows. They had all come in the smaller, swifter machine from Amsterdam. They had not waited even to learn what had happened to the bombed machine. The others, they knew, were scouting southwards towards Antwerp—except the one that would wait for Bodisham if Bodisham had to bolt.

These Sloten machines carried no bombs or guns, but they were to report any movement of troops to Dreed and Steen–hold. Rud had refused to hear any reports from them. He wanted to concentrate upon Reedly. All the rest was detail and it was becoming his habit now to leave detail to others. He paced the long room of the air maps, not looking at them, brooding on what was before him and whistling in his incompetent, small–boy way between his teeth. And presently Bellacourt arrived.

He came straight to Rud, still wearing his wadded coat, and he stripped it off as he greated Rud.

"I got your radio," he said. "What has happened?"

"Everything—suddenly. A full month before our calculation. I was right about the facts as I told you them when last we talked. Where are the bombs and the bombers?"

"Twenty close now. Following me. Not half an hour behind. Twenty more from Reykjavik. Fifty in reserve, starting from Battle Harbour in an hour. In all this I'm guided by you."

"Then we can be in Poland with that load—your twenty—when?"

"Well before sundown."

"You have plenty of other planes here but no bombs for them?"

"Several hundred without bombs."

"We could take men in those?"

Thirp intervened. "I've got a detachment of my men here who've been trained for that. They can drop. Mostly they're Russians. Lovely youngsters. I just took them over. They've always been good at the parachute game."

"Good," said Rud. "Now the next thing is to locate Mr. Reedly exactly."

"We've got all the positions in Poland photographed from a thousand feet," said Bellacourt. "I haven't worked with Crawford for nothing. We've been doing that for weeks now. I doubt if Reedly understands that. If you'll come into the Long Gallery, where the boys are working, I can show you—his G.H.Q. and everything. Fresh and nearly up to date."

"Bellacourt, you hate bombing, I know," said Rud, "but this time you will bomb in a good cause. Just let me tell exactly why we have to blow the World Marshal to bits, now."

And as they went towards the Long Gallery, where Bella–court's photograph readers were working at their daily examination of Reedly's movements, Rud, with elucidatory remarks from Thirp, explained the urgency of the situation to Bellacourt.

Bellacourt led the way to the long table devoted to the photographic examinations. There, arranged for comparison, were the long strips for yesterday and the day before and the day before that. An assistant stood by with lenses while Bellacourt explained the reading of the photographs. "There's his dug–out. Pretty big and deep. That heap of earth came out of it. It casts quite a shadow, you see. That's the shadow, that black mark. That gives us the height of the heap. There's the Officer's Mess. There are the kitchens. You see the tracks made by the orderlies going to and fro? Those pale streaks. Pretty work reading these photographs! You see that shadow there; that's cast by the photographer's own plane. Its size and its distortion gives its height and the angular measure for all the other shadows."

"You could bomb all that—this afternoon?"

"I can blow it to rags—all this area—before sundown to–night. We've got quite enough stuff for that. But how can we be sure he will be there—and not somewhere else, or down in that dug–out? Impossible to get him if he's in the dug–out."

"He'll be there all right," said Rud. "I'll arrange that with him."

Olders was called away for a moment to take a radio message.

"You'll arrange it—with him!" said Bellacourt, puzzled. "With him—by telephone. Why not?"

"You mean he'll tell you—himself! Where to bomb him?"

"He'll tell me all right and then we shoot. This is a very simultaneous world. You can't shoot a man unless you know where he is, can you? But if you know exactly where he is you can shoot him half–way round the world."

"But—!"

"Perfectly simple," said Rud. "I've been talking to him already—from Sloten. And when we are clear about these maps…You might bring a strip of that with you while I telephone again."

Olders came with a message. "I think you might know we've just got this: 'Troop train from Antwerp derailed near Dordrecht. No further trouble here. Wilson.'"

"Who's Wilson?" asked Rud. "I wonder why Steenhold didn't sign that. He ought to have signed it."

He wondered only momentarily. Then he turned his mind to the business in hand again.

They went to the room with the radio apparatus and Thirp sat down to get the World Marshal. When he did he handed the instrument to Rud. Bellacourt sat beside him with the air photograph of Reedly's Headquarters on the table.

"That you, World Marshal?" said Rud…

"Quite all right…

"No, nothing has happened. What did you expect to happen? I have been thinking over our last talk. I still think you may be too precipitate…Of course if Grossberg has surrendered, you must treat him decently. But what about his army? What state are they in?…"

Lengthy reply. Thirp listened to anything he could catch and Rud winked at him suddenly.

"But don't you think that before you communicate with the Allied Governments, you ought to come to Sloten again and consult us? After all, you are a member of the Group. Or aren't you?…

"You have a double responsibility you say. Even then you ought to keep in touch with us. You could be in Sloten before sundown…

"You have Grossberg and his staff on your hands…Naturally—every courtesy…Yes, yes, as one soldier to another and all that. Naturally you'll dine with him. We civilians are apt to forget that professional brotherliness. Would you like me to join you?…

"To–morrow more convenient. And you will be entertaining the defeated this evening. I should be in the way. Yes? Seven, I suppose. About then?"

Rud gestured noiselessly and triumphantly to Bellacourt and Bellacourt stuck a pin in the Officers' Mess. "Can I ring you up later? You'll be at the Officers' Mess, if I want to get you…After seven for certain. Wait a moment…

"You don't think there's much more to say? Maybe you are right. But I warn you the Group may feel a little out of it if you insist on carrying on negotiations without them…

"Bellacourt? I told you he was in America. Getting munitions specially for you…

"Oh, we'll settle something, trust me. Maybe the Group has overrated itself…You think so. I've always been a bit afraid of you, Reedly. I've always felt you had that idea of us…Still, things are in your hands. You have said it. Bon appetit."'

He put down the instrument. "That's that," he said. "Wonderful," said Thirp. "He's fixed. I can't help feeling—"

"Feel it later," said Rud. "Now what exactly do we mean to do?"

Bellacourt began: "I get my planes refuelled and inspected."

"What we do," said Rud, "is this. You, Bellacourt, I take it, go high with those twenty bombers of yours, high, high, high—out of sight in the blue—until you are just out of hearing of him. About here say."

Bellacourt made a rapid calculation and indicated a spot with his pencil. "Twenty thousand feet," he said.

"You will be leading. Your men will have copies of these air maps. Well, as many as there are copies. Possibly not if you think it unnecessary. The light will be good for two hours yet. Then you stop your engines and down you come. Without a sound. Down, down, and then flatten out and let out the engines. They'll hardly hear your engines before you are on them. Then—all this area—

"Goes to smithereens," said Bellacourt. "You can count on it. It's disgusting work. We shall be beautifully accurate—as we shall do it—trust me—but none the less it's disgusting. This makes ordinary assassination a gallant enterprise. You know I admire the way you've fixed him, but by God I don't like it…Ah well, perhaps I'm a bit finicky. I'll try and think I'm getting square with those damned Germans at Guernica. You know, I saw all that…I did."

"Meanwhile," said Rud, "Thirp and I go over the enemy lines in that modest little plane we came in and drop down in these flats here."

"Olders and you," said Thirp. "I had better stay here for a bit and then go back to Sloten."

"You think?" said Rud.

"Sure," said Thirp.

Rud turned to Bellacourt. "You're sure we can make a good landing there?"

"It's been used as an airfield," said Bellacourt. "You can see the tracks. Look. With the lens."

"We land there then," said Rud. "While your Russian boys, Thirp, in their parachutes, are already drifting and falling like thistledown over all this bit, each with his little gun and his ribbon of ammunition."

"I wish I could come," said Thirp.

"You expect to find mutineers there?" asked Bellacourt. "I expect you'll find a Soldiers' and Workers' Committee," said Thirp. "Talking mostly."

"Is that what they call it?" said Rud. "Soldiers' and Workers' Committee! Delightful! It's 191 7 over again. But this time the sequel will be different. We are the Revolution from the West and all fast–colour Revolutions come out of the West."

"Suppose they shoot you as you come down?"

"No guarantee they won't. Then it will be all up with our Common World and nothing else will matter to us. I wish I talked better German. But they will have heard of me."

"Suppose they take pot shots at our parachutists?"

"Most of them will be gaping at Reedly's Headquarters, over the way. They won't shoot unless they're shot at. They won't know who we are."

"And the Allied Army?"

"Stunned. And then fraternisation…"