Shadows of Annihilation Page 34

  “Luz!” Ciara said sharply.

  Luz heard it easily as she reholstered her .40, even over the middle-distance mad-typewriter snarl of a Thompson gun and the quickly dying shrieks and screams and eerie triumphant wailing as the Bugkalot pack hunted through the darkness.

  “Luz, here, quickly!”

  Luz followed the voice, dragging her captive as she went. Not everything in here had been wool. There were a scattering of boards from packing crates, the sort used to move heavy goods with built-in pallets in their bases, and another almost-intact one that had spilled sideways as the bales were tossed; this was farther from the doors, anyway. It had splintered too as it fell, and through the gap Luz could see the dull gleam of a steel cylinder. An elemental jolt ran through her, half like a punch and half like gripping a bare electric wire, more frightening than armed men. She’d met plenty of those and come off best, or at least been able to escape and survive. But you couldn’t shoot or cut primed explosives . . .

  Can’t run away screaming Bomb! Bomb! either. There’s no way everyone would hear me, not in time.

  Ciara was kneeling beside it, with a leather rectangle she normally carried rolled up and tied with a bowknot laid flat and open beside her on the flagstones. Tools glinted in rows from the loops inside it. Late last year they’d both nearly died—along with several hundred others—because it had taken precious seconds to persuade aircrewmen on the ANS dirigible Manila Bay to stand back and hand Ciara the equipment she needed to defuse a bomb that would have killed them all. Since then she’d taken to carrying this roll of pliers and whatnot when they were working in the field, just in case.

  Bless her! Luz thought. And I’m more certain than ever that Horst is . . . was . . . here. I left that little present behind for him at Rapsstrasse in Berlin when he was on our trail there . . . and from the Military Intelligence transcripts of his interrogation, it made quite an impression when it decapitated that secret policeman right next to him. That’s his reply. Turnabout, I suppose . . .

  “What do you need, Ciara?” she asked.

  “You can’t help except by getting me more light. There’s a fusing mechanism screwed into the end of this but it’s awkwardly placed for me,” Ciara said, her voice detached and her fingers feeling—gently, gently—through the gap. “It’s not just a bomb, it was designed as a bomb, only part of this fuse is improvised, but the rest fits right into this socket . . . and it’s a very big bomb too.”

  “Julie!” Luz called, careful to make her voice loud but not frantic. “You’re needed here, right now! Bring the flashlight!”

  * * *

  —

  They knelt to either side of Ciara, with Luz looking out until York and several of his Rangers came up and took guard duty over. Julie held the newfangled flashlight steadily, the tube at the rear braced on her shoulder and the puddle of light on Ciara’s hands and the interior of the crate. The portable electric lights had only become common in the last decade, and a lot of people still didn’t believe they were reliable enough to be worth the weight and trouble. Only last week back home in the Casa de los Amantes Ciara had spent twenty minutes at breakfast talking about the many virtues of tungsten-filament bulbs . . .

  Bless Julie’s Progressive instincts!

  “Well, now we have some idea of what that U-boat north of Tampico was probably landing,” Julie said softly to Luz, though they’d have had to be much louder to break Ciara’s brown study of concentration as her hands moved like a surgeon’s. “This, undoubtedly a good deal else, and at least one German agent and probably several more. Damn the German who invented the bloody sneaky things!”

  “An Irishman named John Philip Holland invented them, or Seán Pilib Ó hUallacháin if you want to be picky, to use against the Royal Navy. Though the Germans have certainly run with the idea,” Luz said. “And those agents met Horst; he probably passed some sort of message to Abteilung IIIb using surviving revolucionario networks—he was here in early 1916 and made contacts then. The message moved slowly since there aren’t many of them left, or something would have happened earlier, but it got through. Anything more here?” Luz said.

  “Still combing the place, but we did find the entrance to a tunnel and we’re trying to trace it. Henrietta, get a note on that to Lee, he’s just outside now. Give a full description, with my code and Executive Field Operative O’Malley’s. Tell him to see that it’s sent to HQ . . . just in case. There’s something odd going on here; they didn’t send explosives in a heavy steel cylinder just to send explosives—there are much less awkward and conspicuous ways to do that. Or buy them from mining supply companies, or buy them under the table from people working in construction, with a little effort and a lot of money.”

  The confidential secretary trotted out to hand the message to Julie’s subordinate . . . just in case they were all blown to kingdom come in the next instant, so the information wouldn’t die with them. There was a slight sheen of sweat on Julie’s face, picked out by the odd light, and Luz could certainly feel more running down her own flanks, and not just because of the brief savage exertion of the assault. She nodded very slightly in approval when Henrietta trotted back not long later, without much joy at the prospect of standing next to the bomb but no hesitation either.

  The station chief looked over at Luz’s prisoner. “Oh, and Captain York, if you could have a couple of your men take the prisoner out? Without removing his head, please—I do so want to have a nice long chat with him. In fact, get the doctor to see to him as soon as he’s seen to your men. An untimely death would be tragic.”

  York did, with simplified command English and gestures and bits of their own language; a Ranger with sergeant’s stripes apparently had more command of English and amplified the translation. From hand motions it included Don’t kill him.

  “They wouldn’t take the head, anyways, ma’am,” York added. “Wouldn’t be . . . sportin’, since they warn’t the ones as caught him.”

  “It’s nice to know that sportsmanship lives,” Luz said. “They’ll be playing baseball next. Not with heads, hopefully, that would be very unsanitary.”

  He chuckled as he left to oversee the cleanup, without even bothering to glance at the bomb or Ciara’s tiny, intent movements with her tools. Julie went on quietly to Luz:

  “I wonder why my snitch didn’t tell us about the tunnel.”

  “Probably holding it back to have something spectacular to hand you later,” Luz said. “You really can’t expect much altruism in those circumstances.”

  “You’re ruining my faith in the essential goodness of human beings, Luz.”

  “Turnabout is fair play.”

  Ciara was stock-still for ten long seconds. Then she reached in with a pair of needle-nosed pliers, seized something Luz couldn’t see, and bore down.

  Then she waited another few seconds . . .

  Waited for us to die if she guessed wrong, Luz thought. That’s my girl!

  Ciara shivered in reaction, and Luz put an arm around her shoulders. The younger woman seized her for a brief violent hug.

  “Sorry,” Ciara said into her neck. “Didn’t mean to be a goose. I thought that dry cell connection was corroded . . . but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “Goose? You’re a lioness!”

  Even then, Ciara frowned thoughtfully as she rose. “This bomb . . . it’s odd. It’s very odd. The casing is substantial, and the way it’s shaped and the bolt attachments . . . I need to think about this.”

  Luz gave her a final squeeze. “Do! ¡Ay, you’re so good at it! And what about getting this thing somewhere safe?”

  “We’ll need lifting tackle, and someone who really knows how to use it . . . a flatbed truck would do nicely, there are hooks for pulleys up on the overhead beams . . . though it would be better to stick to good roads and go very slowly. I really need to take a look at this somewhere with shelter and tools and good light
ing, try to make sense of it . . .”

  “There’s plenty of workshop space at the ranch, some of it usefully far from anything damageable,” Julie said helpfully. “And it’s close to this location but out of the way. That’s come in handy before.”

  Ciara gave her a brisk nod. Luz recognized the tone and the firming of her lips; this was Ciara with a job to do, running over the details in her mind. Henrietta had been even more quiet than usual after her quick hand gesture to Julie to show Task done, and Ciara looked at her, blinked, and spoke:

  “Henrietta, could you get in touch with Major Dicot? He could get us some combat engineers and their transport from the 32nd. And be . . .”

  “And Andre could be not noisy and conspicuous, he surely could,” Henrietta said, grinning, and looked at Julie, who gave a brief Do it nod. “He’s a right clever man.”

  “Is this thing safe now?” Luz asked. “Or as safe as a large bomb can be?”

  Ciara frowned. “Well . . . I cut the electrical connection and blocked the mechanical plunger with some wire and crimped that securely,” she said. “But the detonator is still there—that needs much better positioning and some wrenches to remove, since it’s threaded solidly in. I wouldn’t . . . well, darling, I wouldn’t, you know, kick it or anything. Just in case.”

  “I will not kick the bomb,” Luz promised solemnly, making a cross-the-heart gesture.

  “I’d better go along with Henrietta too in case Major Dicot needs details on what to send,” Ciara added. “If they could put lots of padding under it . . . or a rubber sling in a timber cradle, that would be just perfect.”

  “Use the line at the police station, but let Henrietta do the talking as much as possible,” Luz specified. “You’ve got the code list we agreed on with them?”

  “Memorized.”

  “Keep it all verbal, then.”

  Julie let a long breath out slowly and clicked off the flashlight as the two younger Black Chamber operatives left, touching one gingerly finger to the exposed casing of the bomb in a dimness lit only by burning wool somewhere near, throwing ruddy flickers and making the air thick with a greasy stink.

  “I won’t kick it either. That was a little too racking for my nerves!”

  “You could have just handed me the flashlight and left,” Luz pointed out.

  “I suppose I could,” Julie replied dryly, and they both snorted; nobody with those reflexes would have ended up as station chief.

  Then she went on thoughtfully: “Sucking us forward like that when they discovered Sandoval had sold them out, with the bomb to finish us off if we rushed in . . . We’ve found his body, by the way.”

  “Don’t tell me—neck broken with a twist?”

  “That and a stab wound. And the bomb ready to reward us all for our boldness . . . It all rather reminds me of the sort of thing you used to do. Except the neck-breaking, but the stab wound was so you, and so was the bomb, very much. You fiery Latin charmer, you.”

  Luz nodded. “I know exactly why, too. I’m morally certain now that Horst is involved, and I . . . ah . . . arranged something like this for him in Berlin, planted in a safe house just before we departed with him and the Preußische Geheimpolizei and a bunch of Stoßtruppen and Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all on our heels. Probably including representatives of the Lower Saxony Forestry and Game Service.”

  “Never change, Luz! It would destroy your charm!”

  “Gracias. My little parting gift didn’t kill him, unfortunately, he went flat too fast, but from the Military Intelligence records of his interrogation a colleague standing right next to him got spattered about the landscape and all over Horst.”

  “So this”—Julie touched a fingertip to the bomb again—“is him blowing a kiss back at you?”

  “Más o menos; just my thought. That and it was too heavy to move at the last minute . . . but from the look of the place, there was a lot more until recently . . . including at least, what, a total of four of these bombs?”

  “That would be my take. All those empty crates labeled agricultural machinery.”

  “How irritating it is when the enemy learn from you instead of doing the same thing over and over!”

  “The sincerest form of flattery!” Julie said, and glanced after Ciara. “Your partner saved our bacon well and truly. Quite a girl you’ve got there, old friend,” she said.

  “Oh, she’s young, but I think she earned a promotion from girl some time ago, if solo un poco, and not just because she’ll be able to vote in the next election,” Luz said, realizing she had a fond smile on her face and showing in her tone.

  “You’ve got it bad! Bob and I weren’t that spoony on our honeymoon!”

  A sly grin in the darkness, as much heard as seen: “You realize she’s jealous?”

  “No reason for it,” Luz said a bit shortly.

  The grin turned to a chuckle. “None at all, beyond my occasional malicious teasing, but did I just hear you put reason and jealousy in the same sentence? This from the star of Professor Ganz’s philosophy class?”

  “A point.”

  “She’s remarkable, but . . . I wouldn’t have thought her your type, frankly. Fresh-faced dewy innocence and all. I doubt you were that dewy when you were Alice’s age.”

  “I was an intolerably bossy, obstinate, bad-tempered, and incipiently murderous little bitch,” Luz said with a grin of her own. “Only my big-eyed, raven-curled adorability kept Mima and Papá from strangling me. And have I ever told you how hurt I was when you didn’t name your firstborn after me?”

  “I didn’t think you were as influential as el jefe’s firstborn, so I flattered her, not you.”

  “Princess Alice? Though that was one pair of frilly knickers you never did get off,” Luz observed.

  “Alas, but not for want of trying at one point, I assure you. Oh, my God, those eyes! The way she can flay people alive with three words and a raised brow . . . watching that always made me breathe faster and go faint! Why, if things had gone differently, I might be ambassador to Japan myself now instead of poor Nicholas Longworth.”

  They shared a laugh at the playful absurdity; Alice Roosevelt Longworth’s husband had been shuffled off to honorific exile in Tokyo due to some rather lurid family dramas that straitlaced Uncle Teddy hadn’t enjoyed at all. In fact he’d muttered something about Augustus Caesar and his troubles with his daughter Julia, though to date it hadn’t been Alice herself who was deposited on an island of no return.

  “Or el jefe might have had you torn apart by mad longhorn bulls attached to each limb,” Luz said. “Or Alice might have had you stuffed and mounted in a glass case like one of her father’s hunting trophies; she’s that dangerous.”

  “I know. We’re much alike.”

  “Too much so. Ciara and I aren’t at all similar, but that’s a good thing sometimes. You and I are quite alike too, for example, mi amiga.”

  “Which is why it didn’t work? On the other hand, Bob and I suit perfectly, and we have a great deal in common.”

  “With enough differences to be piquant. I’m coming to the conclusion that Ciara is my link to the human race, for starters . . . which is odd since in some ways she’s one of the more unworldly people I’ve ever met . . . or otherworldly . . . rather like a very Progressive changeling from the Danaan Sidhe.”

  “The Girl Engineer from the Green Faerie-Mounds? There’s a new Celtic deity for you! Lug of the Long Spear, Brigid of the Cauldron, and Ciara of the Electrical Circuits! It’s obvious that you’re both very happy, though, Luz. And in all seriousness that is good to see.”

  A pause, and then Julie went on: “Though loving someone in our line of work . . . Bob and I worry about each other a fair bit; and about the children, of course, if either of us were gone. Or both. Quite a few are gone, from those who crossed the border with us in ’13.”

  There was a soft bleakne
ss to Luz’s reply: “I learned long ago that the Pale Horseman can come for anyone, untimely and without warning, whether everything seems safe or not. Anyone at all.”

  Julie shrugged in the darkness. “True enough,” she sighed, and produced an enameled flask, raised it, and took a sip. “Absent friends, and confusion to the Kaiser!”

  Luz accepted it when she offered, inhaled the aroma of ripe peaches and jasmine, and swallowed a little. It had an unmistakable smooth bite and taste with echoes of almond and toffee . . . Courvoisier XO, obviously. Nobody was going to be making this in the future, unless some lucky German colonist could emulate the formula, which she doubted even with the same land, vines, and machinery: There was reverence in her sip. Her father had laid down three crates of Courvoisier the year she was born . . .

  “Amen,” she said. “And here’s to an early, painful death for Colonel Nicolai.”

  “Apropos of which, another late working supper, I think,” Julie added as she took another nip to wish Nicolai the worst, returned the flask to her jacket, took out her cigarette case, and lit one.

  “Yes,” Luz said, glad to be back to the practical. “We’ve made some progress, but we’re still in the dark about what they intend to do.”

  “Blow up the Dakota Project, I thought? This”—she pointed with one toe—“would seem to indicate that. With luck, our prisoner will know some details. Thank you for resisting the irresistible impulse to chop off his head and do a dance, by the way.”

  “And probably he’ll have been kept in the dark doing the donkey work,” Luz snorted. “Would you brief local dupes in their position?”