J. Jones - The Third Place

He would borrow one and return it long before any of the assistants returned from their sausage and kraut. Klavan did not have a high impression of Viennese cuisine.

He quickly found one of the white coats that fit and slipped it on. He hoped this would provide him with double cover: for the book depository on the second floor and for Office 3G on the floor above.

He was working on old information there, but knowing the glacial speed at which life in Vienna changed, he felt fairly sure Office 3G was still in operation.

He mounted the stairs, careful to do so as quietly as possible. He had no idea who might be about during the noontime closing. Surely there was a guard somewhere. Or were they all off to the gasthaus? How Viennese of them, he thought with venom. The land of schlamperei. Thoughts such as this only made him more disgusted with himself that his previous mission to Vienna should have been compromised. Yet it was not the Viennese that had tripped him up, but rather that meddlesome Advokat Werthen and his cohort, Doktor Gross, both originally from Graz if he were not mistaken.

He shoved such thoughts from his mind, concentrating now on each step he took upward. Finally he reached a door and discovered that on the other side of this was a hallway almost identical to the one on the floor below.

Where to now? One would think the stairs would continue into the floor above, but instead they ended at the second floor. Was there a separate outside entrance for the third floor? It would make sense, knowing the nature of the work that went on in Office 3G. But if so, such an entrance was most probably a recent addition, built since Office 3G had been moved in secrecy here from the General Hospital in early 1899. Surely the original plans built during the reign of Joseph II had included contiguous interior stairs to the third floor, and just as surely the existence of such stairs had been disguised.

He went back into the stairwell and examined the end of the steps at the second floor. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? These steps led up to a wall; the door was to the right. Covering the wall was a large canvas sign demarking the second floor and book depository. ‘Entrance restricted to library personnel only.’

He tapped lightly on the canvas-covered wall and heard a hollow sound. Then he ran his hands over the surface, feeling for any irregularities. As he suspected, at about waist high his right hand struck on such an irregularity. He ran a finger along the right corner of this wall and discovered the sign could be lifted out from the wall. Behind was a small door with a latch countersunk into the wood so as to be unnoticeable.

Whoever had renovated had left this access even after deciding to block the interior stairs. Makes sense, he thought. An emergency exit. There could well be need for such a means of rapid egress from Office 3G.

He turned the latch and the small door opened. He ducked his head as he entered, and then made sure that there was a corresponding operational latch on the inside before closing the door behind him. This led to a flight of stairs similar to that which took him to the second floor. He followed the stairs up and came to a full-sized door. He assumed that this one led to the third-floor hallway, but again took the time to listen for exterior noises before opening it. Hearing nothing, he slowly opened this door, peaked his head out and saw no one about.

Apparently noontime was as sacred for the researchers of Office 3G as it was for the library personnel below.

He proceeded down this long hallway, past one long room with a bank of interior windows giving onto the hallway like a nursery observation ward in a hospital. Instead of babies, however, there were dozens of cages holding an assortment of animals: white rats, rabbits, guinea pigs and some larger animal that Klavan was not sure of. A stoat?

He proceeded past this to another room which also had interior observation windows. Here were row upon row of test tube racks, each containing a glass tube stoppered with a ball of cotton. He nodded. This was what he was looking for.

He was just putting his hand to the door of this room when a voice sounded from behind him.

‘Library personnel are not allowed on this floor.’

He wheeled around to confront a robust-looking young officer dressed in a blue military tunic with white buckskin pants tucked into high black books. He wore a sword at his side and looked like he might know how to use it.

Klavan made his usual immediate survey of the adversary. Sword worn on the left hip; the soldier would have to draw it right handed across his body.

‘Sorry,’ Klavan said in his most pleasant voice. ‘I’m actually a visiting researcher. This was all they had to give me for the lab.’ He pulled at the lapels of the white lab coat.

The officer looked at him more closely now. It was obviously better to be mistaken for an errant library assistant than caught in an obvious lie, which Klavan had the feeling he had been. He’d taken a chance with the visiting researcher story; it was not working with the officer, who was obviously familiar with every person in Office 3G.

Quickly now, he thought, as he continued smiling benignly at the officer. He was too far away from the man; nothing else he could do. He made the decision.

‘Look,’ the officer began, then stared at Klavan’s hand as he brought out the hollow India rubber ball from his pants pocket, the length of tubing also showing.

‘I squeeze this and we are both pieces of meat and whatever is stored in those glass tubes goes up with us,’ Klavan said, still smiling. ‘But it won’t destroy that material. Merely spread it in the air for the entire city to breathe.’

The officer put his right hand on his sword.

Klavan shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not unless you are prepared to have your name go down in infamy.’

‘What do you want?’

Klavan nodded at this. ‘Better. I am a simple journalist-’

‘With a bomb?’

‘An anarchist journalist,’ he said, improvising and moving closer to the target. ‘I have heard rumors of this secret laboratory. After the tragic events of October, 1898, this was supposed to have come to a halt. However …’ Klavan swept his free right hand toward the observation windows.

The man gripped his sword again. ‘How do I know you even have a bomb?’

Klavan smiled on the inside now. This was what he was waiting for.

‘You see the tube here – it is threaded down my pants to an explosive charge taped to my calf. Here, I’ll show you.’ Keeping his eyes on the soldier, Klavan leaned over, reaching under his pant leg with his right hand to free his knife.

The subsequent movement was so smooth and rapid that the soldier was staring down at the handle of a knife blade sticking out of his chest before he realized what was happening. He took a stumbling step toward Klavan, then toppled to the parquet floor.

Klavan lost not a moment in deciding what to do. He took his knife out of the man’s chest, wiped it on the tunic and quickly replaced it in its sheath. Then, grabbing the large soldier under the arms, he dragged him to the door to the stairs, manhandling him down the flights of steps to the small hidden interior door on the second floor. Still wearing the white lab coat, he raced back up the stairs to the third floor and the room full of test tubes about half an inch in width and six inches long. Each was stoppered with a hunk of cotton to let air in the tube. The liquid in each was brownish. Klavan searched the tubes until he found one with what looked like a tiny, light-colored thread coiling the length of the fluid.

He took this and carefully lodged it in a secure pocket in his vest meant for a thick writing pen or for a cigar, perhaps. The tube fit with room for more. On a sudden inspiration, he decided to find a second vial of the deadly fluid. It took him two more minutes, but he finally came upon another vial with what looked to be a string of developed bacilli in it. He placed this in the pen pocket next to the first. He then pulled the handkerchief out of his pants pocket and arranged it to cushion the two vials in his vest pocket.