nonetheless.
'Hart,' the band leader said sharply, 'it ain't just us. There's seventy-five men heading out tonight. And ain't none of them waiting behind us done anything to deserve losing their chance at freedom. They worked long and hard and dangerous for this chance tonight. You can't be taking that away.
And maybe what I've done ain't perfect by all accounts, but I ain't sure it's altogether wrong, either.'
Tommy eyed the man carefully.
'You killed a man.'
'I did. That's what happens in war. Maybe he deserved to die. Maybe not. Only I don't want to be blamed for it. I don't want to dig my way out of this Kraut hellhole to face an American firing squad.'
'True,' Tommy said softly.
'So, how do you want to solve this, because I'm not leaving here until I know that Lincoln Scott isn't going to face the damn firing squad!'
'I want you to hand me that ax.'
'And I want Lincoln Scott to go free.'
'There's no time,' Murphy piped up.
'We gotta get going!'
Silence filled the tiny space, closing in on the three men jammed into the area, covering them like a dark wave closing over their heads.
The band leader seemed to think hard for a moment. Then he smiled.
'I guess what we'll all have to take is some chances here,' he said slowly.
'What do you think, Tommy? This is a good night for taking chances.
You ready to take some risks?'
'Yes, I am.'
Again the band leader laughed.
'Then I guess we got a deal,' he said. He stuck out his hand to shake
Tommy's, but Tommy continued to wield the pickax. The band leader shrugged.
'Hart, I gotta say this: You are some sort of hard man.'
Then he scrambled to the wall where the tunnel opened into the small anteroom. The band leader took one of the candles and waved it back and forth. Then he hissed as loudly as he dared: 'Number Three? Can y'all hear me?'
There was a momentary silence, then a voice crept up the dark tunnel.
'What the hell's going on up there?'
Even Murphy smiled at that most obvious question.
'We're having a little conversation about the truth,' the band leader whispered back.
'Now, Number Three, you listen real carefully and you make damn sure you get this right. Lincoln Scott, the Nigra flier, he didn't kill nobody! Especially not Trader Vic! You have my absolute swear to God word on that. You got that?'
There was another small hesitation, then Tommy heard the voice rise up the tunnel, asking, 'Scott is innocent?'
'That's one hundred percent right,' the band leader said.
'Now, you pass that back in line. And keep right on passing it back, got it? So that everybody knows the real truth. Including that sorry bastard Clark, waiting back there at the start of the tunnel!'
There was another hesitation from Number Three, and then the most critical question.
'Well, if Scott is innocent, then who killed Trader Vic?'
The band leader grinned again, turning to Tommy for an instant, before whispering his response up the tunnel.
'The war killed Vic,' he said.
'Now, you pass that word back just like a bucket of dirt, because we are going to start moving outta here in the next ten minutes!'
'Okay. Scott is innocent. Got it.'
Tommy craned forward into the tunnel and heard Number Three scramble backward and then say to Number Four, 'Scott is innocent! Pass it back!'
He listened for a moment, as the message was relayed down the length of the tunnel.
'Scott is innocent! Pass it back!' He heard it over and over, echoing in the small space, 'Scott is innocent! Pass it back! Scott is innocent! Pass it back!' until the words faded totally into the great blackness behind him. Then Tommy slumped over, suddenly exhausted.
He did not know for certain whether those three words broadcast to all the men in line in the tunnel and waiting up in Hut 107 would be sufficient to free Scott. Scott is innocent! But in the sudden total fatigue that overcame him, he understood they were the three best he could pry out of this night. He held out the pickax to the band leader who took it from him.
'I don't even know your name,' Tommy said.
For a moment, the band leader brandished the ax, as if he were going to strike Tommy.
'I don't want you to know my name,' he said. Then he smiled.
'You got lots of faith, Hart. I'll give you that. Not precisely a religious faith, but faith anyhow. Now, as to the rest of our little discussion here tonight…'
Tommy shrugged.
'I would say that somehow comes under the attorney-client privilege.
I'm not exactly sure how, but if anyone ever asked me, that's what I'd say.'
The band leader nodded.
'Tommy, I think you maybe shoulda been a musician. You sure know how to carry a tune.'
Tommy took this as a compliment. Then he pointed toward the roof.
'Now's your chance,' he said.
The band leader grinned again.
'Ain't gonna be all that simple for you now, Tommy boy. This little misunderstanding has caused us a significant delay. First, Tommy, I done something for you. That's the chance I took. Now, you're gonna do something for me. Take a chance for me. Not only for me; for all the other kriegies waiting in this damn tunnel and dreaming about getting home. You're gonna help us get outta here.'
Chapter Nineteen
Visser motioned Hugh across the administration room to a stiff-backed wooden chair next to his desk. The German's eyes followed the
Canadian's progress closely, measuring the difficulty that Hugh had with each step. Hugh slumped down into the seat hard, his face tinged red with exertion, a line of sweat on his forehead and dampening the blouse beneath his armpits. He kept his mouth shut while the German officer slowly lit his cigarette, then leaned back, letting the gray smoke curl around them both.
'I am impolite,' Visser finally said softly.
'Please, Mr. Renaday, indulge yourself if you so desire.' Visser motioned with his only hand to the case of cigarettes lying on the flat table between the two men.
'Thank you,' Hugh answered.
'But I prefer my own.' He reached into his breast pocket and removed a crumpled package of Players. The German remained silent while Hugh carefully removed a cigarette and lit it. When he inhaled the harsh smoke, he leaned back slightly in the chair. Visser smiled.
