James Benn - Billy Boyle

Anders’s hand was flat on the table, too.

“So everything won’t fall apart,” I said in answer to Anders’s question, feeling myself my father’s son.

Anders reached for his revolver. I held my breath for a second, the muscles in my legs and arms bunched, ready to upend the table and run for the door. He put it in his holster. I breathed out, relaxed, and felt as if I had just passed a test.

“It will be difficult to take Rolf out of here as your prisoner.”

“I imagine it will be.”

Anders looked at me for a minute. I could see he was making up his mind about something.

“We need a plan,” he finally said.

The evening mountain air was cool. Anders and I sat on a rough wooden bench in front of the hut. He was reading a worn paperback book with a picture of three Viking warriors on the cover. I was smoking a Norwegian cigarette and thinking what a demand there would be for Lucky Strikes after the invasion.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The Edda. An ancient Norse poem. I studied it at university, and we had to read it in English as part of language class. I always enjoyed it, and picked up this copy in London. It seems to me to see into the future.”

“How so?”

He flipped through the dog-eared pages and began to read. The one who squats at the end of the sky is known as Engulfer of Corpses a giant in eagle form; they say from his wings comes the wind of the world.

Brothers will fight and kill each other, siblings do incest; men will know misery, adulteries be multiplied, an axe-age, a sword-age, shields will be cloven, a wind-age, a wolf-age, before the world’s ruin.

“Cheery,” I said.

He laughed. “It’s also a story about the theft of gold. Sound familiar? There are many parallels to Europe today. We have our own Engulfer of Corpses, and this is certainly an axe-age and a wolf-age.”

“And men certainly do know misery, some more than others.”

“Some deservedly so, some not.” He gazed out over the fjord with a distant look in his eyes.

“Well,” I said into the silence, “let’s hope tomorrow is Rolf Kayser’s ruin, not the world’s. Or ours.”

Anders put down the book and looked at me. “Remember, Billy, I need Rolf alive. He has information to give me about the Underground Army in Nordland. It is very important. Once I have that, he’s yours.”

“I understand. It should be easy if he doesn’t suspect anything.”

“He may be very careful. He knows that at this rendezvous is the only location anyone in England knows he will be at.”

“Right. But I can’t think of any better way to take him alive.”

Our plan was simple. I would sit right out front tomorrow, dressed in Anders’s British battle dress. I would watch for Rolf coming up the trail. There were several places where it was visible, and with binoculars you could even make out the road below in the valley. As soon as I saw him, I’d wave him up and walk inside the hut before he got too close. Anders would be hidden in the woods, about twenty yards from the hut. He’d have a clear view of Rolf all the way and would follow him inside, once Rolf had gone through the door. Easy.

“Yes,” agreed Anders. “Alive, there is no better way.”

He closed his book.

It was another beautiful day. I was surprised at how nice it was this far north, especially after all those rainy and chilly summer days in England. What I did on my summer vacation, I thought idly, remembering childhood September essays. Never anything like this. I leaned back on the bench, so that its front legs came off the ground and my back rested against the hut. I felt the sun warm my face and would’ve taken off the wool jacket I wore if it hadn’t been a disguise. A black bird cawed above me, drifting on the wind with its wings outstretched. I put the binoculars up to my eyes and scanned the road down in the valley for the hundredth time.

There it was. The milk wagon on its morning run. It stopped at the path and a figure got off, dressed in the same British browns I wore. He didn’t stop to wave good-bye to the old lady. I could almost make out the rhythmic metal clanking sounds of the milk cans echoing up the hillsides as the cart wobbled on down the dirt road. I signaled to Anders, who was hiding at the tree line. We were on.

I caught sight of Rolf several times as he hustled up the trail. He was faster than I had been. I made a show of walking back and forth in front of the hut, so he would see me. I guessed he’d signal me as soon as we sighted each other. That was my cue to go into the hut.

Finally, I saw him stop. He put his hand across his brow, to block out the sun. It felt like he was looking straight into my eyes. I waved one arm back and forth in a slow, deliberate motion. He waved back. I changed to a “come on up” motion, and stood watching him for a few minutes. He disappeared and reappeared as the trail dipped and turned. His head bobbed up once and I could almost make out his features. Time to go. I made sure he could see as I opened the door to the hut. I stepped inside and pulled out my automatic, flipped off the safety, and chambered a round. The sharp snick of the slide snapping back was reassuring, comforting in a lethal sort of way. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I felt my heart thumping against my chest and breathed deep again, willing myself to slow down, to listen to every sound outside, and not to my own blood pumping through my veins. I waited.

I stood away from the windows so he couldn’t see me as he approached. I tried to watch the path from the back of the room, but the window was too small. I sat down on the edge of one of the beds, pistol ready. I figured he’d come in tired, expecting to find his friend, and his guard would be down. It should be easy. I told myself that three times. Piece of cake. I waited.

Ten minutes passed. What the hell was he doing? Maybe he was winded and had taken a break. I got up, sneaking a peek out one of the windows. Nothing. I opened the door just a bit and listened. Nothing. A slight breeze blew through the fir trees and made a gentle swishing sound. I stepped outside, onto the stone step below the door, and craned my neck to either side. Nothing. I stepped to the side and looked over to where Anders was hiding. I heard a bird singing, then the flutter of wings as it flew away. The sound of glass breaking was louder than the wind.

I barely had time to realize that sound was completely out of place when a tremendous blast came out of nowhere. My eardrums felt as if they had split. A flash of bright light, then a vortex of glass and wood came fly-ing out of the hut, slamming the partially open door flat against the wall. It knocked me to the ground. Everything was spinning, the hut and the pine trees all revolving as if I were tumbling through space. My gun wasn’t in my hand anymore. I tried to get up. It didn’t work out too well. Dust and debris from the explosion settled over me. Blood from my hands and face made red rivulets in the gray dust. I tried to shake off my confusion; a little voice from the back of my head was telling me to find my gun.

I heard somebody yelling. I looked up and saw Rolf Kayser standing six feet away, Sten gun gripped tightly in his hands, the murderous snub-nosed barrel pointed at my chest. The only thing I had going for me was the look of utter surprise on his face. His dark eyes were wide, and his whole body seemed to be shaking, as if not killing me then and there was causing him to short-circuit.

“Boyle! Gud forbanner De! What are you doing here? Where is Anders?”

I could barely understand him over the ringing in my ears, but I could hear and see his confusion, which at least bought me time.

“Maybe we should start off with why did you try to kill me with that grenade?” I asked as I started to get up. I noticed my. 45 lying a few feet to my right. I took an unsteady step toward it and fell back to my knees as if I was weak, which wasn’t hard to do. This maneuver brought me closer to my piece.