The Blackbirder (26 page)

He stood beside the cot looking down at her. Even through sleep she saw the haggard lines of his face. Her watch said 4:30. She pushed up. She said, “I've not been waiting for you. Major Cochrane— ”

He sat down on the chair. “I'm Blaike Cochrane.” He managed a smile. “The Roderick, as I told you, is never used. The Major isn't important.”

“I see.” Her feet were on the floor now. She pulled the red coat about her coldness. She said, “I don't know why you couldn't let me go.”

His smile was wry. “Maybe I didn't take to your one-man suicide-squad scheme. You didn't really believe you'd come through it unscathed?”

“It didn't matter.” She looked at him with a spark of unspent passion. “There's more of us than of them. Many of us have died. Many more will. But some day we'll exterminate them, all of them, one by one. I want my share.”

He said, “We have men trained for that, to fight, even to die. But not without weapons, not without a chance. We'll conquer them. When that's done you may share. The woman's way. Feeding and clothing, and helping the children to forget that once there was a world like today's. It won't be spectacular. No one will weep over your holy grave. It will be merely work, drab, everyday work. But it will be of more value than snuffing your life out to satisfy personal revenge.”

When she spoke it was in dull anger. “I don't want praise. I don't want martyrdom. It's personal, yes, but it's more than that. It's repayment for all who have suffered for what Paul did, those who have suffered far more than I. I must kill him.”

He was silent. He turned his head at last. “Paul is dead.”

She repeated as if she didn't understand, “Paul is dead.”

“He's been dead for months. A bomb exploded in the car in which he was riding with important Nazi officials. All were killed.”

“Aunt Lily?”

She was last heard from in Ankara. She's married again, a wealthy Turk. She'll come out on top.” He turned the subject deliberately. “The Gestapo hasn't been after you since you left France. They don't know about the necklace. Do you think Paul would risk losing it to them? Schein knew only that you escaped them. But he wasn't after you. He had no time for that. He was running from the New York police. Nor have they been after you. Schein hoped they would be; that's why he killed Maxl in a place that could involve you. They do want your testimony, yes: But they've known it was Schein from the first night. The F.B.I. doesn't want you. You're an American citizen; you were registered as an infant. It was necessary because of the Marlebone estate. I've taken care of the Santa Fe police. You were helping me on the case.”

She said, “Thank you.”

“Don't you get it?” he asked. “You're free. To come and go as you please. You can leave now.”

“Then why did you stop me from going?” Her eyes held his.

“Because"— he jammed his hands into his pockets—"I knew you didn't know what you were doing. You were blind with pain. No matter what you thought of him— you said it there at Popin's— ‘Death is so permanent.'” He spoke with strength. “I came here to prevent you from destroying yourself. That's the one thing none of us can afford to do now. We're all needed. I can use you. Popin has those lists. Incidentally they will save his neck from the firing squad. My job now is to track down every one of those men and women, hundreds of them. Every one a definite danger to our victory. You'll know some of them. You'll know other faces. It will be dangerous work, but you're not afraid of danger. I'm asking your help. It is up to you. If you don't want to you can go. Free. Without restrictions. Think it over. I'll be across the way.”

He stood up, shoved his hat forward again. “I also came after you because I didn't want you to die. Not until you'd lived, Julie.” He went out.

She walked to the window. Pinpoints of light sharpened the darkness. There was the stir of awakening at the great Fort. Below her window the guard was changing. The bugles of reveille came blowing through the dark.

There was only one answer she could give Blaike. Fran was gone. It was better he should die. He could never have learned to live in a world dedicated to love of thy neighbor. Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. Man is created free and equal. Not some men— Man. Little children, love one another. There could never be any answer but to help achieve that peace. Even if it took a million years for it to come to pass, her own small effort would speed that day. Her effort and the effort of all good people everywhere.

She gathered her things together. Her hand touched Fran's jacket. She withdrew it, left its leather there on the cot. He was gone. The ache too would go. The cutting away of a malignant growth left the body pain-wracked. But no one would ask the return of the disease to heal that pain. She couldn't grieve. She could want him in every fiber, want her dream of him, but her face must be set away from grief. He had to die. He had been born too late. He had been born on the wrong side of the tracks.

She opened the unlocked door, crossed the silence of the corridor. She tapped softly on the door across. There was no answer. She opened it slightly. The room was like the one in which she had waited. Blaike lay asleep on the cot, the one leg stiff, the other relaxed. He didn't waste time talking about what had happened to him over there; he had left that behind. He was turned face forward to the fight.

His breathing was of exhausted sleep. She realized only then how after the ordeal at Popin's, after the mopping up, he had set out again to follow her. To save her from her own despair. To ask her to live. He was the first person in a long time who had cared about what happened to her.

She laid her bright coat gently over him. She sat down to wait.

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