As Time Goes By (39 page)

As he looked at it, Renault's watch ticked over to
7:55 a.m. Time to stand down. "It appears that our little
rendezvous with destiny has been canceled," he re
marked. "What a pity."

Louis could feel Laszlo behind him, pacing back and
forth. "It can't be," Victor was growling. "Not now."

"I believe it was agreed that if our friend was one
second past five minutes late the operation would be
aborted," Renault reminded Laszlo, pointing to his
watch.

"No," said Laszlo. "He's coming. I know he is."

"I am confident he is not," replied Louis. It was time
to end the charade. He just wanted to get out and get
away before they were all arrested and shot.

He started to leave but was jerked back roughly into the darkness of the Clementinum. "You are very anx
ious to leave, aren't you, M. Renault?" said Laszlo. "I
wonder how you can be so certain that the target is not
coming. Perhaps you know something I do not."

Laszlo tightened his grip on Renault's arm. "I have
heard all about your babbling to that stupid girl. At
first I took it as simple irresponsibility. Now I think otherwise."

Laszlo spun Louis around. They faced each other in
the damp gloom of the ancient building. "That's why
Heydrich isn't coming, isn't it? Because you tipped
him off. I have always suspected you, and now I know
the truth: you are a traitor."

Louis was about to raise a word of objection in de
fense of his honor when Victor Laszlo pressed the
muzzle of his revolver against his chest. "This is how
we deal with traitors," he said, and fired a single, muffled shot.

7:56 a.m. As Louis lay bleeding, he heard the music.
He had heard it many times before in Casablanca,
whenever a Nazi dignitary had come to visit: the
Ho
henfriedberger March,
a symbol of imperial Germany, composed by Frederick the Great. There could be little
doubt whom it was meant to be serenading.

"Mon Dieu!"
gasped Renault. He had not prayed to
God for a long time, and was trying very hard to remember what was supposed to come next, when he
died.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
S
IX

As they approached the center of the Old Town, Ilsa could hear the faint sounds of music. How incongruous
they seemed. Her heart was hammering as she turned
to Heydrich with feigned enjoyment. "It's marvelous!"
she cried. "What is it?"

Heydrich glanced down at her. "That is my private
military band, sent down from the castle on my orders
to serenade you," he replied. "They could not know I would change my mind this morning."

He was standing up in the car now, for they were
nearing the Starom
ě
stsk
é
Nam
ě
st
í
, the central square.
A large crowd had gathered in the byways, to view the
Protector in the flesh. He stood ramrod straight, his
right arm outstretched. As they passed by, the pedestri
ans stopped to gape in awe at the great man, and she
could hear shouts of
"Heil Hitler!"
from the crowd.

"See how my people love me!" he exulted.

"No more than I!" she cried desperately, and reached for his free hand. "If perchance you love
me, too, spare me the sight of the death of this
Victor Laszlo. I am only a poor girl, unaccustomed
to blood and pain, and I would not wish to disgrace my Protector at the
Č
ech
ů
v Most by any sign of
weakness." Her voice filled with alarm. "And should
anything happen to you there, I could not bear it!
Please! I beg you!"

7:56 a.m. The car was passing through the square. From here, they could either turn into Parizska Street,
drive through Josefov and then over the
Č
ech
ů
v Most,
or continue straight on Platn
éř
sk
á
to the river, left at
the Clementinum, right onto the Charles Bridge, and
straight to the end.

"Please, Reinhard," she said. "Take me over the
Charles Bridge. Let me hear the music and bask in your
glory. I was a fool last night to turn down the love of a
man like you. I know that now. Tonight will be differ
ent, I promise. Kill them all, but not in front of me. I beg you!"

Still clasping his hand, Ilsa looked up at the Protec
tor. He was staring straight ahead.

The music grew louder.

Ilsa managed to catch a glimpse of her watch. They were six minutes late.

Heydrich's hand squeezed hers gently as he barked
an order to the driver. "To refuse to subject a beautiful
woman to the sight of death is the mark of the true German gentleman," he said.

The car went straight ahead.

"Thank you, Reinhard," she said, finally exhaling.

She started to laugh, giddily, hysterically, all the pent-
up emotion and terror flooding out of her at once.

They turned left onto
Křižovnická
Street.

She was about to say something more when she
heard a faint, barely perceptible pop.

Instinctively Heydrich sniffed the air for the smell of
cordite with his long, wolfhound nose. He knew that
sound, he knew that smell, and he knew what they
meant.

Roughly he tried to yank his hand from hers. In the
same motion he brought his right hand down and began
to unholster his sidearm.

"What is it?" she asked. She gripped his left hand to
keep him off balance. If it was time to die, she was
ready. All she asked was that it be quick.

"Gunfire," he replied.

Even before he heard the shot, Rick saw Renault col
lapse on the sidewalk. He knew immediately his friend
was dead. There was no time to mourn him. There
would be plenty of time for that later. Or not, as the
case may be.

He started to run, run as fast he could along the
bridge, toward the Clementinum.

He could see the big car now, turning left. He knew it was Heydrich's car. Damn the man to hell! Couldn't
he listen to a warning?

Faster, faster. He was getting closer to the intersection. He was almost there. He was there. Not too late this time, please God. Not too late.

He saw Louis's body, puddling blood in the gutter.

He saw Heydrich standing in the backseat, his right
hand groping for his sidearm, his nostrils flared like a
wild animal's, his eyes wide and sweeping the streets
for danger.

He saw Jan Kubiš , throwing down his street sweep
er's tools and coming up with a pistol.

He saw Josef
Gabčík
on the ledge, a Sten gun in his
hand.

He saw Victor Laszlo throwing off his cloak and
stepping out in the street, approaching the left side of the car. The bomb was in his hand.

Rick was at the intersection now. The Mercedes was
just starting to turn onto the bridge. Victor Laszlo was right behind it. Rick was right in front of it.

Then he saw something else, something he wasn't
looking for. In the backseat, seated behind the driver.
Another passenger. A woman.

Ilsa Lund.

She was sitting beside the Protector, clad in a rich
red dress and clutching his left arm.

Rick hesitated. After Heydrich, she was the last per
son he expected to see.

Laszlo kept going. If he felt any surprise, any emo
tion at her presence in the car, his face did not register
it.

The limousine slowed nearly to a complete stop as
it turned right onto the bridge. Laszlo was two steps
away.

"No!" cried Rick, sprinting toward him.

"Victor!" shouted Ilsa. "Hurry!" She pulled Hey
drich hard, nearly toppling him.

Heydrich had his pistol out. Rick thought at first he
was going to shoot Laszlo. Instead the Nazi pointed it
at Ilsa.

Before the driver or the bodyguard could react, Rick dove into the car.

Rick hit Heydrich just as he fired at Ilsa. The shot
went wild.

In the same instant, Laszlo jumped onto the running
board and flung the bomb into the backseat.

Ten. . .

Rick lunged for the bomb, which was rolling around
on the floor. Victor saw him and understood his purpose immediately. "Get away!" he shouted, clamber
ing aboard. Heydrich hesitated, confused, uncertain
whether Rick or Laszlo posed the more imminent
threat.

Nine.. .

Ilsa was aghast. Why was Rick trying to stop her
husband from killing Heydrich? Trying to stop
her?
"Rick, no!" she cried.

Eight. . .

Rick could hear the sound of gunfire as Kubiš
 
and
Gabčík
opened up on the front seat's occupants, and he
could hear the groan of the bodyguard as their shots slammed into him. Glass shattered, wood splintered,
and leather split. Blood flew.

Seven . . .

Heydrich wheeled and smashed his gun butt on
Rick's head. Rick went down. Heydrich was about to
hit him again when Laszlo grabbed him from the other
side.

Si
x
.
...

Rick's hands shot out again, frantically seeking the
bomb on the floor. He knew there wasn't much time
left. His hand found Ilsa instead of the bomb.

Five
...

Shot by
Gabčík
, the driver's head exploded. Incon
gruously, his chauffeur's cap blew off his head and
flew, spinning over the abutment and into the river, like
a child's paper airplane.

Four
...

"Come on!" Rick shouted, hauling Ilsa to her feet.

Three...

Laszlo had one hand around Heydrich's throat and
jammed a gun into his midsection with the other. Hey-drich flashed a knife.

Two...
      

"Victor!" cried Ilsa.

"Jump!" Rick screamed.

Victor shot Heydrich in the abdomen. Heydrich
stabbed Victor through the heart.

One...

Rick and Ilsa were out of the car, his arms around
her, rolling and tumbling together as fast and as far as
they could.
  

Zero.

The explosion lifted the Mercedes off its wheels and
into the air, as if it were a child's jack-in-the-box.
Rick's head hit the pavement, and he brought his hands
up to shield his face. He caught a glimpse of Ilsa, lying
limp against the stone wall.

Glass and metal rained down from the sky. The
smell of burning rubber was followed quickly by the
sickening stench of burning flesh.

Fire, now, and then another report as the gasoline tank ignited. Rick scrabbled as fast as he could away
from the burning wreck, trying to get to his feet, trying
to get to Ilsa.

Ejected from the wreckage, one of Heydrich's Lugers lay at his feet Rick grabbed it like a drowning man
clutching a life preserver. It felt good in his hand; it
felt like old times.

Someone yanked him to his feet: Kubiš . With one arm around Rick, he was still spraying the wreckage
with gunfire with the other.
         

"Ilsa," Rick gasped.

"That Nazi whore!" spat Jan.

Rick stuck the Luger in his ribs. "Ilsa," he commanded. "Now."

Commotion everywhere. Rick glanced back along
the bridge. The band had dispersed to the sides of the
span. Down the middle came a security detail, undermanned but on the double.

Bullets whizzed past their heads.
Gabčík
returned
fire. Nazi soldiers dropped. The kid was a hell of a shot,
thought Rick; we could have used him way back when
and oh so long ago.

Three steps, and there was Ilsa alive and conscious. He lifted her to her feet.