To Kingdom Come (13 page)

The fellow followed us out of the dining room and up the stairs, staying some distance behind us. When we were safely in our rooms, I heard his footsteps pass a half minute later.

“That was …” I began, but Barker put a finger to his lips. I
looked over at the bottom of the door, where a sliver of light shone in from the hall. After a moment’s pause, a flicker of shadow moved across the light.

Still standing in front of the door, my employer pulled back his arm, and then smote the door very close to eye level. I could picture the fellow in the hall with his ear pressed against the other side. I heard feet stagger back and then run swiftly down the hall. Barker wasn’t going to let these fellows think that the prickly van Rhyn was going to be that easy to handle.

11

IT WAS NEAR ELEVEN WHEN THEY FINALLY
appeared at our door. The odor of alcohol that I smelled on Colonel Dunleavy told me our rooms had not been his first stop of the evening, but his associates seemed sober enough. There were two of them, and one was the fellow who had followed us earlier.

“Gentlemen!” Alfred Dunleavy bellowed when we opened the door. “We come bearing gifts.”

I need hardly mention that the gifts were all of the liquid variety. Each of the colonel’s subordinates carried a wooden crate full of bottles, which they set down on the largest table in the room. There was a bottle of schnapps, bottles of Irish and Scotch whiskey, and a dozen bottles of ale. Rather than risk having the whiskey forced on me, I took a Guinness.

“I’ve never been to Liverpool before,” I said. “What’s it like?”

“I believe you’ll find the town has much to recommend it, sir,” the third man spoke up. “It combines the rowdiness of Dublin with the anonymity of London. You’ll feel welcome.”

“I am Johannes van Rhyn,” Barker announced, putting out his hand. “And you are?”

“Eamon O’Casey,” the fellow said, shaking it firmly. “This is Niall Garrity.”

O’Casey was a young, capable-looking chap with a confident manner and an athletic build. He looked like a university student, the kind who takes a first in his studies and has a blue in rowing. As it turned out, that is exactly what he was. He had recently graduated from Trinity in Dublin. With his square jaw and frank, hazel eyes, I could see him succeeding in whatever he undertook, and he must have caught the eye of many a girl in Dublin or in Liverpool, for that matter.

As for Garrity, I noticed right off the missing two fingers. He reminded me of Cassius in
Julius Caesar,
the one who had “a lean and hungry look.” He looked young enough to be a youth in the eyes of the cabman John Farris. His sharp eyes over a broad arrow of a nose gave him a devilish appearance.

In a moment or two we were all seated, Barker with schnapps, Dunleavy with a full glass of whiskey, Garrity with a bottle of ale. O’Casey, I noticed, was not drinking. I wished I could have emulated his abstinence.

Dunleavy spoke up. “Gentlemen, it was most fortuitous that we should find ourselves at the same hotel, but you must understand that I and my associates are suspicious of coincidences. British agents have attempted to infiltrate our ranks in the past. I wonder if I might prevail upon you to see some identification.”

Barker and I reached into our pockets and handed over our passports. Dunleavy held them out at arm’s length and read them. “You are quite well traveled, Mr. van Rhyn-France, Russia, Italy, Montenegro; in fact, all across eastern Europe. That is quite satisfactory. I wonder, sir, if I may presume upon our new friendship a little further and request that you remove your spectacles?”

A slow smile spread across Barker’s face, the coldest, most lethal smile I’d ever seen him give. “Be careful what you ask for,
Herr Colonel. The last fellow who forced me to remove these met with an unfortunate accident. He was trying to light his stove and it exploded. Apparently, something had happened to the valve and it was leaking gas. Killed him and his dog A terrible tragedy. I liked the dog.”

The three Irishmen looked at one another uneasily and silently agreed to let the matter of Barker’s spectacles rest. They turned, instead, to me. Apparently, I was still fair game.

“So, Mr. Penrith, how long have you been working for Mr. van Rhyn?” O’Casey asked.

“Half a year now, I’d say.”

“I take it,” Garrity put in, “that you are something of an explosives expert yourself.”

“He was trained by Mr. Nobel at his factory near Glasgow,” Barker spoke for me. “And I have taught him much of what I know. He is a fast learner, but, then, he has had to be. You see, gentlemen, I have a degenerative ocular disease. I can no longer see the fine measurements on a beaker. Thomas is my eyes now. I cannot do without him.”

“Where are you from?”

“Cardiff, originally. I’ve been living in London.”

Garrity leaned forward in his chair. “What are your politics, Mr. Penrith? How do you feel about the English?”

“My country is no more free than yours, Mr. Garrity. I find calling the Queen’s whelp the Prince of Wales to be the grossest of insults. Anything I can do to relieve them both of power shall be good for my people.”

O’Casey turned to my employer. “You are a very famous figure, Mr. van Rhyn,” he said. “One might almost say legendary. There are a lot of stories about you being passed around among the factions. Is it true, for example, that it was one of your bombs that blew up Czar Alexander the Second three years ago?”

“I was in Russia at the time, but the anarchist responsible was
capable enough of building his own bombs. We consulted, but that was all. It was enough, however, to have Czar Alexander the Third’s parliament declare me an enemy of the state and to escort me to the border.”

“I see,” O’Casey said. “And were you really a member of Le Cercle de l’Anarchie, which threatened Louis Napoleon?”

“Monarchies, even such enlightened ones as his, are relics of the Dark Ages, gentlemen,” Barker pontificated. “The sooner they are exterminated, the better for society.”

“You were a member, then.”

“Ja,
Herr O’Casey. I was a member.”

“Then you would be sporting the society’s tattoo on your forearm.”

With a sigh, Barker pushed back the sleeve of his jacket and unbuttoned his cuff, exposing the back of his thick forearm. There, a few inches up from the wrist, were three crude black lines, crossing themselves to roughly form the letter
A.
I had sat with Barker in the steamed heat of his bathhouse many times, but I hadn’t noticed such a mark before. Was it new, or had a former case required him to join that organization?

“Are you satisfied now, gentlemen, that I am whom I claim to be?” he asked, buttoning his sleeve. “This exercise is getting tedious.”

“Of course we are, sir,” Dunleavy stated, anxious to make peace. “Forgive these young fellows’ doubts, please. It seemed too good to be true that we should come upon you just at this time.”

“And what time would that be, sir?” Barker asked.

O’Casey gave a smug smile. “A week after we bombed London.”

So, they admit it,
I told myself.
Barker was on the right track. I should have known such an old hunter would find the scent.
My employer broke into a laugh.

“Ho, ho, so it was you! I should have suspected. Well, gentlemen,
I don’t know what you need of my services. Two attacks in one night! You are doing well enough on your own. From what I read in
The Times,
London has certainly sat up and taken notice.”

“Aye, but the dynamite we’re using is rubbish,” Garrity said. “It failed to go off at the Ship Street Barracks in Dublin last month. We made two earlier attempts that failed in London, and a bomb we left in Trafalgar Square the same night was a failure as well.”

“What kind of explosives are you using?”

“Atlas. American made,” Dunleavy answered.

“I am familiar with the brand. It is industrial grade. Where did you get it?”

“It was donated by an American Irishman from Cincinnati and shipped here on a freighter, hidden in a shipment of raw tobacco.”

“There is your problem, gentlemen. Chances are it had been sitting in a warehouse for years until the fellow needed to get rid of it. He knew you were desperate and convinced himself he was doing his bit for Irish freedom in the Old Country. Then it had to endure an ocean voyage with all that salt air. I would wager that the cakes are sweaty and that there is a waxy residue in the bottom of the case.”

“Yes, there is,” Garrity admitted.

“Then it is a marvel you haven’t blown yourselves up. What you have is highly unstable. The nitroglycerin has separated partially from the kieselguhr base. It can explode at any minute, or the liquid can leak onto the wires around the primer, rendering the entire bomb inert. I strongly advise that you dispose of whatever you have left. A bomb is a tool and it should be reliable, like any other. It must go off when you want it to, or you have no control over it.”

“Up until now,” O’Casey admitted, “it’s been ‘throw it all together and hope it works.’ No offense intended, Niall.”

“None taken. We could really use your expertise, Mr. van Rhyn. You could help us strike a strong blow for the Irish cause and make us all heroes. What do you say?”

“I say you are already heroes, Herr Garrity. Five years ago, I aided a group in Montenegro who were fighting Turkish tyranny. Now they live in a free country, thanks to young men just like yours. Provided we agree upon the terms, I will gladly help.”

Dunleavy poured another glassful, his fourth, and studied us shrewdly. “We are not wealthy, Mr. van Rhyn. We are dependent upon the aid of various Irish organizations in America. What sort of terms are you proposing?”

“It is not money I have need of, Colonel. I desire to have a permanent laboratory, without the fear that my door shall be kicked in during the night by the secret police. I have been incarcerated six times in the last four years, and I have had enough. My eyes are slowly failing me, and I am getting too old to jump from one country to another. I want a home and a place to continue my work. My work, gentlemen! A man is nothing without his work.”

Dunleavy drained his glass again and set it down. “As a military man and a politician, sir, I’ve had to make several promises I was not sure I could keep, but what you ask is not too much. Aid us in our campaign against the Queen, and you shall have your laboratory.”

Barker slowly put forth his hand. “A gentlemen’s agreement, then?” he asked. The colonel took his hand and shook it solemnly. I looked over. O’Casey and Garrity had broken into grins.

“Gut,”
Barker said, filling his glass with more schnapps. “I was intent upon leaving the country, but you make me take heart again. I believe I shall stay. It would be a shame to leave now when things are just beginning to get interesting. And as a German, I am, of course, concerned about English arrogance, especially regarding the seas. It is necessary that the Germans, the Irish, and the Americans show England that they shall not be cowed by its
imperialist expansion. Who better than the Germans to be your allies, gentlemen?”

I thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but it was obvious these Irish radicals were impressed by his speech. They would ally themselves to Satan if it meant they could have their own country. It occurred to me, then, to wonder what would happen if they succeeded. A country just thirty miles away led by bombers and anarchists would not, in my opinion, be a stable ally; and should they truly form an alliance with Germany, where already there were rumblings of discontent, it would form an imminent threat to English security. That is to say, to my security. If we didn’t stop these people, I could find myself with a rifle in hand on some foreign battlefield or, worse than that, in our own country. It would be 1066 all over again.

“Mr. van Rhyn,” Dunleavy said, “we have done a desperate thing. We have planned a second attempt upon London within the month, using the very dynamite you have urged us to destroy. We are committed to this venture and shall go forth with our campaign, but if this dynamite is as dangerous or worthless as you say it is, we must find another source. Nowhere in these godforsaken isles will they allow an Irishman or an American to purchase dynamite, blasting caps, chemicals, or even so much as base materials. The Special Irish Branch and Scotland Yard are watching, hoping to catch us in the attempt. This dynamite is all we have in the way of munitions.”

“You have adequately described some of the obstacles in our path,” Barker stated, “but allow me to ease your mind upon a few points. First of all, Mr. Penrith and I are very obviously not Irish and would be able to purchase materials forbidden to you. My name, as well, might open some doors, though it might close others. Rather than attempt to purchase the ready-made dynamite or nitroglycerin, the two of us will be able to make them ourselves. We would then be able to fashion our own bombs. I would suggest
we purchase the equipment elsewhere, such as Amsterdam or Paris, where the officials are not so vigilant.”

“They’re vigilant enough,” Garrity complained. “I’ve been trying to buy materials for weeks.”