Beware This Boy (26 page)

In spite of the situation, the others had to smile.

“All right. Let’s at least get ourselves underneath one of the machines,” said Eileen. “It’ll give us some protection if the ceiling comes down. We’ll reverse what we did before.”

The two men picked up Francine and shifted her as carefully as they could so she was lying underneath the lathe. Eileen squeezed in beside her.

She waved her hands at the two men. “Take cover.”

Tyler thought the best thing to do was cram himself in the space under the nearby machine. He slid into something wet. Then he saw, just above him, a long swatch of once-blonde hair dangling from the wheel. A piece of scalp was still attached.

Lev gave the password and was admitted. As always, from his American perspective, Comrade Arnold seemed formally dressed for a mere evening at home. He was wearing a navy blue blazer, striped tie, and grey flannels. His shoes were highly polished. Only his canary-yellow socks appeared out of place.

“Who’s here?” Lev asked.

“Everybody but Comrade Cardiff.”

“Has the new guy, Bolton, arrived yet?”

“Yes, he has. They are all a little concerned about your message.”

Lev had chalked
Hitchcock requests meeting tonight
on the church wall.

Arnold led the way down the hall to his room. “I do hope this is necessary, comrade,” he said fussily. “It really isn’t safe to meet other than at our regular times.”

“I’d think it was the opposite. Being unpredictable has always seemed a much better course of action. However, who am I to say? I’m just an ignorant Yank.”

He received the customary giggle as a response.

As with the previous meeting, the room was already filled with tobacco smoke. Nobody was talking. Comrade Bolton was sitting just inside the door with his cap and overcoat on; Chopin was by the fireplace, also wearing his outdoor clothes and fingerless gloves, his hands outstretched to the low-burning fire. He nodded a greeting to Lev, but Comrade Bolton glared at him in such an obvious, provocative way that Lev felt a surge of anger. How that lad had got to this age without somebody killing him was a miracle.

“Sorry, I don’t have any tea to offer you,” said Arnold. “Rationing, don’t you know.” He pulled forward a rickety-looking chair just as they heard a knock on the door. “Ah, that must be Comrade Cardiff. I’ll let him in.”

Lev could hear the faint sound of music from the upstairs room. The invisible landlords were home. Who were they, and what did they think was going on in their parlour? he wondered.

Arnold returned, the Welshman behind him. Cardiff looked angry.

“I’m on the night shift, comrades. I’d like to get this over with quickly. What’s so urgent?”

“I’ll be working at Endicott’s for a while longer,” said Lev. I want to know what the plans are. As you can imagine, comrades, I have no desire to be present in the factory if it is going to get blown to smithereens.”

Chopin looked up, startled. “What you mean? Who said so?”

Lev shrugged. “It’s as obvious as the nose on your face something is in the works. Incidents like today aren’t enough. They only slow down production for a short while.” He looked
over at the Pole. “Were you the one responsible for the so-called mishap?”

Arnold jumped in with surprising firmness. “Better not to ask questions like that, comrade. Who does what shouldn’t be part of general parlance.”

“Hey, I’m a Yank, don’t forget. We don’t use ten-dollar words if we don’t have to. I assume you’re telling me to keep my trap shut.”

“Quite so.”

“Suit yourself. However, what’s been done so far is piddling – a woman injured, no general strike, no significant halt in production.”

“Sunday not piddling,” said Chopin without turning his head.

“According to you lot, that was an accident. Lucky for us, unlucky for those women.”

Nobody spoke. Even Comrade Bolton was still.

Lev continued. “What comes next has to be major and we all know that. Let’s not kid ourselves. I assume our esteemed leader, Patrick, is planning another ‘accident.’ And soon. Am I right, Comrade Arnold?”

Arnold had lit his pipe and he sucked on it hungrily. “I’m not able to answer you at this time, Comrade Hitchcock. I am awaiting orders.”

Cardiff spoke out sharply. “I’m with our Yankee comrade, look you. I don’t want to be killed either. I’d like to live another day and continue with our work. I want to know what the plans are. And do they involve me or not?”

Arnold shrugged nervously. “All I can tell you is that Comrade Patrick has something in mind that is very close to being executed. But until all is worked out, it’s better you not know.”

“Christ almighty,” said Lev. “Are we talking about days? Tomorrow? Next week?”

Bolton spoke up. “Don’t get your knickers in a bleedin’ knot, comrade. It will happen soon, I promise.”

“
You
promise. Why is it you promising? I thought we had an equal stake in this mission. Why do you have special privilege?”

The youth sneered at him. “Let’s say I’m currently acting as Comrade Patrick’s lieutenant.”

“Really? I find it hard to believe, our illustrious leader would rely on a kid like you. You’ve hardly let go of your mommy’s titty.”

He was doing everything he could to needle the youth, but Bolton had a lot of self-control and one of those dead faces that revealed little. Only his eyes seemed to grow darker.

Cardiff grinned. Chopin hardly seemed to have heard or understood.

Arnold fluttered his pale, fat hands. “Please, Comrade Hitchcock. This is quite unproductive. It is not relevant. We must await our orders.”

“I need to know who my orders are coming from,” said Lev. “Why should I risk everything for an invisible man?”

Comrade Bolton nodded. “You have a point, Yank. But don’t worry. Everything is in place for our little party. And it’s going to be bloody spectacular.”

“When? Or is that too difficult a question for a mere lieutenant to answer?”

“Let’s say you will be given warning.”

“But I need to have some idea when these fireworks are going to happen. As well as everything else, I’m a legitimate filmmaker making a legitimate film. I have no desire to have my hard work go up in smoke. Besides, as our Welsh comrade says, I too want to live to fight another day. When are you and ‘the boss’ planning this, and what do you mean by spectacular?”

Cardiff lit up one of his home-rolled fags, drew on it deeply, and picked a piece of tobacco from his lip. “If our American friend here is going to be in the clear, what about us two, Comrade Chopin and me? Will we have a job to do or is it better if we are absent that day?”

Arnold did another flutter. “You will be receiving your instructions within the next day or two. You are part of the plan, an important part. Both of you.”

“But not me?” Lev managed to make his voice sound sulky. A man who was being passed over in favour of inferiors.

Comrade Bolton answered. “You’ll be needed afterwards.”

Lev raised his eyebrows. “I get it. I’m to film the destruction part. Pan over dead bodies and that sort of thing. My secret other film to show the people what a lousy job their government is doing.”

“That’s right. You’ve hit the nail on the head.”

“I thought we had agreed there would be no civilian casualties. You’re suggesting there will be, and a lot of them.”

Comrade Bolton bared his teeth in a sort of smile. “Minimal, old chap. Fucking minimal.”

Lev turned to the Welshman. “How do you feel about the civilian damage, comrade?”

Cardiff hesitated. “Like we’ve said previous, you can’t win a war without spilling blood, and we’re in a war.”

“But these are innocent young women we’re talking about,” said Lev.

Cardiff dragged on his cigarette. “Let’s put it this way, comrade. The English have a long history of not giving a damn about the innocent when they want something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, comrade,” interrupted Bolton. “Tell us your own sad story. And then I can add mine and Chopin here can tell his. I bet he has a doozy. Except for Comrade Arnold, who grew
up in the lap of luxury with a silver spoon in his arse. I bet we can all turn on the bloody spigot. Maybe even the Yank has got a sob story tucked away.”

“Comrade Chopin,” Lev interjected. “How do you feel about what’s being planned? This so-called spectacular show.”

The other man didn’t move. “We have to stop the sickness in the world.”

Before Lev could press him as to what the hell he meant by that, Cardiff spoke up.

“If you must know, my father, both of his brothers, and my oldest cousin all worked in the mines in Wales. What else is there to do for a living in that godforsaken place? They worked for a pittance. Most of them had too many children, most of them had black lung. Those men – my own flesh and blood, look you – all died in the mines. Typical happening. One of the shafts collapsed and twenty men died a slow and lingering death. They had no pensions, of course, except what the benevolent society could pay out. The English owners didn’t give a shite. Nobody came to the funerals and they docked the wages of the men who did attend. Nobody asked if something could be done to prevent accidents like that.”

Cardiff’s voice was low. He was looking at the floor. “I was eleven years old when my pa died and I became the breadwinner for the family. Seven wee ones, me the oldest. One day I saw one of the owners drive by in his motor car with his wife in furs beside him. My mam didn’t have furs. She went without clothes and food so her kiddies could have something to stop the pain from the cold and the hunger. She died when she was forty. The doctor said the cause of death was pernicious anemia. I say she died because she was worn out.”

His bitterness and white-hot rage were spilling into the room, so palpable they could burn the skin. “I’m sorry if civilians have to die, but if this is one more step on our journey to
bring down the English and return the Welsh land to its rightful owners, I consider it necessary. No matter what the price.”

“I gather that was a vote in favour,” said Lev.

Cardiff flushed. “That’s right. And sorry I am for the long speech. Mind you, I’d like to know sooner rather than later when I might expect it all to happen.”

Arnold was clearly so relieved to have Taffy’s support that he blurted out, “It’ll be before the week is out.” Realizing he had said too much, he stopped. “But that is for your information only.”

Bolton looked at Lev. “Can we all trust you to keep your bleedin’ mouth shut, comrade?”

“What do you take me for?” Lev answered irritably.

“Good bloody question. Unless I read you wrong, you’re very interested in saving your own bloody skin. That, or you’ve got another reason for wanting to know when the party will happen.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Lev and he took a step forward. In the small parlour that meant he was almost nose to nose with the youth.

Cardiff put out a hand between them. “Not a good time to fight among ourselves, comrades.”

Lev could feel the strength of Cardiff’s forearm and he moved back.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed. A pleasant, melodic sound that seemed to belong to a world of china teacups and freshly toasted crumpets, not this squalid, dingy room filled with murder.

“I’ve got to go,” said Cardiff. “Comrade Hitchcock, do you have an answer to your questions?”

Lev shrugged. “In a way. But I do want to go on record that I hate being kept in the dark like this.”

“Objection noted,” said Arnold.

The Welshman held out his hand to Lev. “In case I don’t have a chance to shake your hand at a later date, I wish you well, and here’s to the revolution.”

They shook hands. Cardiff waved at the others. “I shall await my instructions, Comrade Arnold. Usual method of communication?”

“Quite so.”

He left and there was an uneasy silence for a few moments. Lev knew it would be impossible to get any more information. Nobody trusted him. The doors had closed. He wasn’t even sure who was in the know. Not Chopin, and presumably not Cardiff as yet. The little thug was, and obviously Arnold. For a moment he felt a wave of desperation. How the hell was he going to find out what they had planned? Even if he had them arrested he didn’t know who the leader at the plant was, and that was the man he wanted. Otherwise he would have simply lopped off one of the heads of the Hydra. More would grow.