As Time Goes By (38 page)

"Good morning, Victor," Renault said jauntily as
Laszlo stepped out of the car in which he'd been riding.

"Good morning, Captain Renault," replied Laszlo.

Laszlo's tone caught Renault's ear. "Anything
wrong?" he asked.

"What could be wrong?" asked Laszlo. Wrapped in a long cloak against discovery, he had his hat pulled
down low over his forehead, and his hands were
jammed in both his pockets. "Today, I shall realize an
ambition that has burned inside my breast for a long
time. Today I shall kill the man who is destroying my
country and those in it I love. What more could one
ask? Were it raining and storming, I should think this
the most beautiful day of my life."

Renault nodded. "I think I know how you feel," he said. He checked his watch. It was 7:42 a.m. Time for them all to be getting into position; almost past time.

Laszlo spoke in the same controlled monotone.
"How can you presume to know how I feel? You, who
until just a few months ago were in the paid employ of
my enemy."

"I don't think we need to go back over all that right
now," Renault said stiffly. "We have a job to do. With
luck, we shall succeed. With the help of God, we shall escape. We will have plenty of time to discuss all this
back in Lidice or, better yet, London."

"I hope so," said Laszlo.

Ilsa tried to control the fear in her voice. "The
Č
ech
ů
v Most?" she said softly, trying not to be over
heard by anyone else. "Last night you said—"

Heydrich cut her off. "Last night I said a good many
things, most of which I prefer not to remember. Today,
however, is a new day—a day of terrible vengeance
and great joy!"

He consulted his timepiece. "Even now my men are
taking up their positions in Josefov. Surely you would
not deny me the satisfaction of witnessing the capture
and execution of Victor Laszlo? Really, my dear, I am
surprised that you think so little of me." He rubbed
his hands briskly together and looked heavenward. "A
superb day, don't you agree, Miss Toumanova?" he ob
served.

"Yes, Herr Heydrich, it is," she agreed. They were
no longer in his house; first names no longer applied. From now on, everything would be strictly business.
That would have to change, too.

Rick stood on the Charles Bridge, smoking the first
of his borrowed cigarettes and waiting. He hoped he
was waiting for nothing. He hoped he would stand
there, waiting, until Heydrich was five minutes late, ran
for it, get word back to London that the plot had failed,
and request immediate extraction. Boredom: that was
the best case scenario. He didn't want to think about
the worst case.

7:45 a.m. Traffic moved slowly back and forth across
the bridge. On one side of the river, the Old City, all
spires and turrets. On the other, the imposing majesty
of the castle. He looked up and down but could see
nothing out of the ordinary. No big black Mercedes-
Benz, swastika pennants flapping briskly. Just worka
day Prague, going about its business.

Heydrich was always on time, they had said. Point
of pride. Measure of Aryan superiority over the lesser
breeds. Indicator of supreme self-confidence. Here, the
trains ran on schedule, and so did the officials.

7:46 a.m. -

Set a good example.

7:46:30.

Always on time.

7:47.

Ha!

Rick lit his second cigarette. He couldn't let them
know that he had tipped off Heydrich in order to save Ilsa and spare the lives of innocents across Europe. He couldn't say a damn thing. He just wanted to go home.

7:47:30.

Inhale.

7:47:32.

Exhale.

7:48:30.

Time to start the cycle over. Light another cigarette,
the last one. Almost time to go home. Inhale.

The bodyguard was armed with both a pistol and an
automatic rifle, and two more rifles were stashed away beneath the dash. Heydrich himself wore a pair of side-
arms, one on each hip; Ilsa knew as well that he also
carried a large killing knife in the calf of his right pol
ished boot. Finally, there was a brace of shotguns
across the back of the front seats, within easy reach.
Ordinarily the Protector did not expect trouble from his
Czech subjects, but he was ready for it just in case.

The car moved away from the villa, picking up speed
as it hit the open road that led into the Old City.
Abruptly he removed one of his twin Lugers from its
holster and checked the clip. "My men are looking for Laszlo right now," he said. "As soon as they spot him,
they will arrest and hold him until we arrive. Then I
shall shoot him."

He sighted down the barrel of bis Luger at a road
sign. The sign read PRAHA.

"Like this." He squeezed the trigger. There was a
bullet hole directly through the center of the middle
"A."

7:49.

Rick surveyed the scene once more. On one side of
the bridge Jan Kubiš
 
was bent over his street-sweeping duties, methodically working back and forth across the
roadway. This part of the bridge had probably never
been so clean, thought Rick, and never would be again.
Meanwhile, up on a window ledge,
Gabčík
was perch
ed on the side of a building, pretending to inspect the telephone lines. As Rick watched, he saw Josef slide
into position along a wide window ledge: the perfect vantage point from which to rain lead into the car.

Rick looked back down the bridge. No sign of Re
nault. Odd: Louis should be ready to go by now, ready
to step out into the street just as Heydrich's car was
turning. Of course, Heydrich's car wouldn't be turning,
but nobody besides him and Louis knew that.

Where the hell was he?

He glanced at his watch. Ten seconds before 7:50 a.m. No sign of Heydrich. His watch was right. He
knew it was right. It had to be right.

He started to breathe easier.

There was Renault!

He could see the little man's elegant form standing on the sidewalk near the Clementinum. Right behind
him was Victor Laszlo. Although half-hidden in the shadows, he was unmistakable. Laszlo appeared to be
whispering something in Louis's ear. Louis was shak
ing his head, violently disagreeing. What were they
saying?

7:51 a.m. No Heydrich.
       

7:52 a.m. No Heydrich.

Rick let out a deep breath.

7:53 a.m. No Heydrich.

7:54 a.m. No Heydrich. Another minute and that
would be that.

He was patting his pocket for another cigarette, and coming up empty, when the sound of martial music
wafted across the river and into his ears.

"Where is he?" said Laszlo, his voice growing tense.
"He's not coming.
Why?"

"Really," said Renault over his shoulder, with as
much savoir faire as he could muster, "I don't have the slightest idea."

Louis was standing on the sidewalk of Karlova
Street, ready at Kubiš 's signal to step into
Křižovnická
Street and into the path of Heydrich's vehicle as he
made the turn. Heydrich was four minutes late; no Ger
man had ever been four minutes late for anything. That
meant Rick's warning had been successful, that Hey
drich had taken the other bridge after all, that the oper
ation was a failure—all the things he had been hoping
for, with one more to go: to get out of Prague alive.