Switzerland this morning. Men that catch the first, likely to have the best chance of making it close enough to the border so that they can find their way across. So I need that ax, and I need it right now.
Sorry I tried to kill you with it. You sure did duck at the right moment. But, hell, now you gonna have to give it up.'
The band leader held out his hand. Tommy did not budge.
'The truth, first,' he said.
'Gotta keep your voice down. Hart,' the band leader said.
'If there are any goons in the trees, they might hear us. Even down here. Voices carry. Of course, it likely would seem to one of them like it was somebody whispering from the grave, but that ain't so far from the truth, now is it?'
'I want to know,' Tommy replied.
The band leader smiled again. He motioned toward Murphy, who started to dust some of the dirt from his body.
'Get dressed,' he said.
'We're going to move soon.'
'Why?' Tommy demanded softly.
'Why? You mean why are we trying to get out?'
Tommy shook his head.
'No. Why Vic?'
The band leader shrugged.
'Two reasons. Tommy. The best of reasons, too, when you think about 'em. First, Trader Vic was trading information with the damn Krauts.
Sometimes, when he needed something special, like a radio or a camera or something, he would whisper a number to some ferret.
Usually Fritz Number One, you know. That would be the number of the hut where a tunnel was getting started. Coupla days later. Krauts would show up. Pretend it was a routine search. Bust it up. We'd start digging someplace different.
Run through the whole charade again. Vic, I think, he never figured he was doing all that much harm, you see. The Krauts would ruin the tunnel, maybe toss somebody in the cooler for a week or so. Mostly, what Vic figured, was that nobody was getting hurt and everybody was getting ahead. Especially him. Only thing that wasn't happening was nobody was getting out. Which might be a good thing, we'll see.
Anyway, it like to kill old MacNamara and Clark. They started digging deeper tunnels. Longer tunnels. Harder tunnels. Those two figured that if they didn't manage to get at least one of us out of here, they would be failures as commanding officers.
Wouldn't never be able to face one of their old West Point buddies after the war. Why, Tommy, you can see that. And they didn't know for sure what Vic was doing. No one did, because Vic, he kept these things pretty close to his vest. He thought he had it all figured out.
Playing everybody against everybody. Weren't that just like Vic?
Anyway, he figured he had it all doped out. And he did. He was some sort of operator, Vic. Until those two guys died in that tunnel…'
The band leader stopped, took a deep breath of the thin harsh air surrounding them, then continued.
'They was my friends, those two. That one boy was the sweetest clarinet I ever heard. Back home in New Orleans, people like to sell their souls to be able to play one note half as good as him. And they wasn't supposed to be down there, not at night, you see. Vic hadn't figured on anyone digging that late. But MacNamara and Clark, they ordered round-the-clock digging. Two tunnels. That one and this one.
Only that one caved in with my friends inside when the goddamn Krauts drove one of their trucks right over the top. They wouldn't have known where to do that if it weren't for Vic.'
Tommy nodded.
'Revenge,' he said.
'There's one reason.
And betrayal, too, I guess.'
Murphy looked over at Tommy.
'Best reasons of all,' he said.
'The sorry bastard. All he did was make one mistake.
You shouldn't go around making deals with the devil, because he might just come back and ask a higher price than you want to pay. That's what happened. Funny thing, you know. Vic was a fine flier. Better than fine. A real hotshot. A brave man in the air. Deserved every medal he got. It was on the ground that he couldn't be trusted none.'
Tommy slumped back, trying to sort through everything the band leader said. Like a deck of cards being shuffled, details started to fit together, stacking one after the other neatly.
'So,' the band leader continued, 'there you have it. Vic got me the knife, just as I asked him, and then I turned around and I used it on him, while Murphy here kept him occupied from the front. At first we figured to pin the whole thing on one of the ferrets, you see, make it look like Vic got killed when some big old trade went wrong, but your boy Scott made it so damn easy. Weren't no special hardship framing him up for the killing. And it sure as hell kept the Krauts from poking around none, too. You think old Lincoln Scott realizes what a service he's provided? I don't suppose he'll take much comfort in that.'
'Why didn't you tell the truth? Why didn't…'
The band leader held up his hand.
'Why, Tommy, you ain't thinking this through. What the hell good would it do me, and my Yankee helpmate here, if anyone knew the truth? I mean, we'd just be facing charges back home, wouldn't we? All this trouble to escape, only to get back to the States and be charged with Vic's murder? Not very likely, I think. Not after all this trouble.'
Tommy nodded. He knew instantly that unsaid in what the band leader implied was a single necessity: Lincoln Scott would have to be blamed, tried, convicted, and shot. It was the only way the men in the tunnel escaping could actually be free.
'MacNamara and Clark,' Tommy said slowly, 'they didn't want the truth, did they?'
The band leader grinned.
'No sir, they did not. I doubt they'd have wanted to hear it, even if it'd come up and smacked them in the face. They wanted Vic taken care of.
They didn't want nothing to do with it. The truth. Tommy, as you can hear, is right messy for all involved. Trader Vic was a hero, and the army don't like its heroes tarnished none. And blaming Scott, well, that particular lie, well, it was working real fine for just about everybody. Everybody save Scott, that is. And I don't know this for sure, but I'm guessing right about now Clark and MacNamara didn't count on this quiet boy from Harvard making such a mess and all, either.'
'No,' Tommy replied.
'I guess they didn't.'
'Well, you sure have. There you have it. Now, I need that ax,' the man said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried both threat and urgency.
'Either you let me dig us out of here, or go ahead and kill me, 'cause one way or the other, I will be free by the time the sun comes up!'
Tommy smiled. It was a great word, he thought, the word free. Four letters that meant much more. It really should have been a great, long, exultant word, a word with power and strength and pride. He paused and realized that he had to find a way to accommodate everyone that night.
'Stalemate,' he said abruptly.
The band leader looked surprised.
'What you mean by that?'
'I mean, no ax. I mean, maybe I'll raise my voice. I don't know what the hell I'll do. Maybe kill you, like you tried to kill me. And then dig these other men out.' This was a bluff, Tommy knew. But he said it
