Harry Harrison - A Transatlantic Tunnel, Hurrah!

“Have some more. In fact you can have the bottle. Stay here and drink for a while—and don’t follow me. I’m going inside and out the back way.”

The Algonquin puzzled over that for a moment, then his face lit up in a wide grin. “Say, now that’s what I call a good idea. Just what an Indian does. Get woman to drown sorrows. I’ll tell you best house…”

“That’s perfectly fine, but I’m old enough to take care of myself. Now just sit here.”

Gus fought back a smile as he rose; if only Sapper knew where he was going. Without looking back he went through the dining room and up the stairs that led to the rest rooms. However, after he had entered the dark hallway he stopped and listened to see if he was alone When he was sure that he had not been followed he went swiftly and quietly to the window at the end a the corridor and pulled it open; it was unlocked and well greased and opened silently. In one swift motion he was through it and balanced or the ledge outside, closing it behind him before he dropped into the dark alleyway beyond. He had not been seen; blank, cracked walls faced him and noisome refuse barrels stood close by. There were people passing at the sunlit end of the alley, none looking in, yet to be completely sure he waited until the street there was empty. Only then did he run silently across to the other building, to the door recessed there that opened as he approached and closed behind him.

“It went all right? You weren’t seen?” Tracy asked.

“Fine, just fine. Sapper is guarding my flank.”

The Pinkerton man nodded and led the way to another room, well lit by electric bulbs since the shutters were closed and the curtains drawn. There was a radio set upon a table here and a man sitting before it who turned and rose as Gus entered.

“Sure and I feel like a departed spirit,” O’Toole said.

“You did an excellent job.”

“It’s the actor in me, sir, and you were no slouch yourself. Why for a while there I was convinced that I was really back on the old Naut and sailing her out for a deep six and it fair to choked me up. She was a good ship and ’tis a pity she had to go like that.”

“A noble end, and far better than the breaker’s yard where she was headed. Her glands were beginning to leak and fissures develop in her pressure hull. This way her destruction served a good purpose.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, though I have to mind the danger from all that radiation that the technical manuals warn us about.”

“There is no worry there. The meteorologists assure us that the prevailing winds will carry the radiation out to sea away from the shipping lanes, and that the radioactive materials in the sea water will be dispersed and harmless.”

“An encouraging thought. So with that taken care of the next order of business will the grand adventure you are embarking on this evening—that will give some meaning to the demise of the dear old Naut. Can I go with you?”

“No!” said Tracy in a commanding voice, his fingers lingering near the butt of a revolver that had been pushed into the front of his belt and concealed by his jacket. Another man, who had been sitting quietly in a chair in the corner rose swiftly and it could now be seen that a gun had been in his hand all of the time. Tracy waved him back. “At ease, Pickering, he won’t be coming with us. Captain Washington, when I gave permission for another man to be informed of events it was with the firm understanding that he would remain in this room until circumstances had run their course.”

“And so he will, Tracy, I gave you my word.” He turned back to the submarine pilot who was looking on with a fair degree of incomprehension. “It has to be that way, O’Toole.‘ You have come into this matter blind, just taking my word that sabotaging your own sub and sending her out to sea to blow up and pretending by radio, that you were aboard her, was important—and highly secret. Perhaps you have some hint of what is involved, but I ask you to keep it to yourself if you do. And remain in this room with Pickering, for your own good if for no other reason. We are up against desperate men and we must needs be as desperate ourselves and it is my firm belief that either of these two men would shoot you dead rather than permit you to leave this room this evening.”

Both of the secret operatives nodded silent agreement while O’Toole shrugged in submission. “So be it, sir. Since I’ve committed suicide once today I’ll not be wanting to do it twice.”

“Sit under this light,” Tracy told Gus, the matter ended and the revolver buttoned from sight again. “No one must recognize you or the game is up.”

Under his skillful fingers Washington changed into someone else, so abruptly and efficiently that O’Toole breathed the names of a saint or two as he watched the transfiguration. First brown dye, rubbed well into his hands and face, then pads were slipped inside his cheeks, some brisk work with a dark pencil to accent lines in his skin, invisible rings put into his nostrils to widen and round them, all of this climaxed by a thick moustache attached with spirit gum with a wig to match. When Gus looked into the mirror he gasped, for a stranger looked back at him, a Latin gentleman, one of the islanders perhaps, bearing no resemblance to the man who had sat first in the chair. While he admired this handiwork Tracy was busy on his own face, working the same sort of transformation, climaxing the entire operation by producing two pin-striped suits with wide lapels and stuffed shoulders, definitely of a continental cut, as well as black, pointed shoes. After they had changed into the clothes O’Toole let a thin whistle escape through his teeth.

“Why sure and I could pass you in the street and never know, and that’s the truth.”

“We must leave now,” Tracy said, looking at his watch, calmly accepting the praise as his professional due. “We must use a roundabout route to reach the meeting place.”

Darkness had fallen while they prepared their disguises so that the side streets and alleys that Tracy preferred were blacker than pitch. But he seemed to have acquainted himself with the underworld geography of the city for he made his way unerringly to their goal. As they paused, outside a darkened doorway no different from a hundred others they had passed, he bent close and whispered.

“These are bloodthirsty men and sure to be armed. I have a second revolver if you wish.”

“No thank you. I am a man of peace, not war, and abominate the things.”

“A necessary tool, no more. But I have heard that your right cross was much respected in college boxing and more than once you were urged to enter the professional ring. If it comes to close work there is nothing wrong with fists.”

“I agree and look forward to the opportunity with pleasure. Now—lead on.”

The door proved to be the back entrance to one of the fouler drinking dens that lined the waterfront, though it did have a balcony overlooking the main room where the gentry, or those who passed for it, could drink in a measure of solitude while watching the steaming stew of life below. They took a table at the rail and Tracy waved back two dark-eyed and rouged women who began to sidle towards them. The waiter brought a bottle of the best the house offered, a thin and acid champagne at a startlingly high price, and they touched it to their lips without drinking. Speaking around his glass, in a voice that only Gus could hear, Tracy said, “He is there, the table by the door, the man who is drinking alone. Do not turn to look at him for there are other watchers here besides us.”

Casually lighting a thin and dangerous-looking black cheroot that Tracy handed him , Gus threw the match onto the soiled floor and looked offhandedly down at the crowd. Drinking, shouting, gambling, swearing, it was a noisy bustle of life, a mixture of local toughs, navvies, coarse seamen, a den of a place. Gus let his eyes move over the man at the table just as they had moved over the others, an ugly man with a perpetual scowl, the agent Tracy had referred to as Billygoat. He was garbed as were the other navvies, for he had been working on the tunnel, at the waterfront section. He could have had access to the submarine which had first originated the idea in Gus’s mind. His sabotage theoretically successfully finished, he was waiting for his pay-off, waiting to meet others in the sabotage gang since now, by his drastic act, he had proven his worth.