He didn't know. He simply didn't know. He'd studied the message for hours, rather than tossing it into the fire as he'd done with all the others.
And he still didn't know. His mind seemed paralyzed.
He knew now that he'd go to bed not knowing. Toss through the night, and still not know come the morning. Thomas Wentworth had never felt so lost and helpless in his entire life. A man sure to a fault, who was now unsure of everything.
Chapter 54
London
"Here comes the barge," Anthony Leebrick murmured. He looked around the area from the small wharf on the south side of the Thames where they'd just finished setting up Julie's shooting bench. "And there's still no one about."
" 'Cause they ain't crazy," said Julie. "The sun's just coming up. Damn, I'm cold."
She had her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, to keep them warm. Unfortunately, it was a thin coat to begin with. She'd brought a heavier one to London, but it wasn't really suitable for good shooting.
However, she was mostly just grumbling to keep her nerves steady. She wasn't really worried that the early morning chill would affect her shooting. She wasn't that cold, after all-not to mention that her original plans, way back when, had been to compete for a position on the U.S. biathlon team in the Olympics. That meant skiing as well as shooting, and you didn't ski in mid-summer.
Alex was sitting on the bench next to her. Oddly, given her husband's slender frame, Alex never seemed affected very much by low temperatures. Maybe because he'd been born and raised in Scotland, who knew? He not only had his hands out, he was holding the spotting scope, whose frame had to be downright icy.
His presence was a great comfort, though, more than enough to make up for the chill. Leaving aside all personal considerations, by now Alex had become the best spotter Julie had ever worked with.
Throughout, after that one glance around, Leebrick had kept his attention either on the barge slowly moving down the river or on the wharf directly across from them, right in front of the Tower of London. He'd leave it to Patrick and Liz, who were positioned ten yards back and to either side, to keep an eye out for awkward passers-by. Even if someone showed up, there shouldn't be any serious problems.
"Getting close to the wharf now, Julie," Leebrick said, still in that same soft and unhurried tone. "And Richard's got our own craft following not far behind."
A few seconds later, he added, "The gun crew's beginning to stir, it looks like."
Alex raised the scope to his eyes. "Indeed, they are. Get ready, love."
There were gun batteries on the Tower's wharf, but in time of peace they weren't normally manned at all. Since the mercenary companies took over handling the Tower's security from the Warders, however, they'd always maintained one gun crew on the wharf. Not for any practical purpose anyone could imagine, but simply as a means of mild punishment for miscreants. Spend a night shivering on the wharf instead of sleeping in a billet.
Needless to say, the gun crews always dozed off once enough time had passed after sundown for there to be no danger of an officer moving about on inspection. That posed a constant headache for the people in St. Thomas' Tower, because they couldn't extend the radio antenna out of the window until they were sure the gun crew wasn't paying attention. Sometimes that took long enough that they missed the evening window altogether.
But it was all about to come to an end. This night's gun crew was coming to life, finally, seeing a big barge approaching the wharf just as the dawn broke. The craft clearly intended to dock alongside. Right in front of the Traitor's Gate, in fact, with the bulk of St. Thomas' Tower looming above.
It had no business being there, certainly not at this time of day.
Julie brought the rifle into position. "Call it, Alex."
"Not yet. They're still just staring at the barge. Sluggish bastards. Take out the fellow with the plumed hat first. He's likely the sergeant."
Julie found him in the scope. "On your call."
"Just a bit longer." '
Standing in the bow of the barge, Harry Lefferts gave the gun crew a cheery wave of the hand. That might hold them for another few seconds.
Not that he really cared. Not with Julie Mackay across the river.
Still, it'd be handy if they could finish tying up before the shit hit the fan.
He glanced back and saw that Matija and Paul had already hopped off the barge and were taking care of that. Now, he just had to wait until they cleared themselves off to the side. He didn't think the rubble from St. Thomas' Tower would hit the barge itself-although everyone on it was staying as far as they could to the stern or the bow, just in case-but it was sure and certain to land all over the wharf.
In the event, he didn't need to give the signal. The crack of Julie's rifle did it for him.
Harry didn't waste time looking to see if she'd hit her target. Or the next one-by the time he brought the walkie-talkie up to his lips, she'd fired a second round.
And Darryl didn't wait for him, either.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Melissa Mailey hissed, crouched in the heavy stonework that held the machinery for the watergate below St. Thomas' Tower. All the members of the embassy were crouched there with her. Months ago, they'd decided that would provide them with a safe refuge from the blast.
Darryl McCarthy was the one nearest the entrance to the rest of the tower. He had an electrical detonating device in his hands and a truly disgusting grin plastered on his face. Melissa wasn't sure if the grin was because of the overall situation, which Darryl seemed to view as a great adventure, or the more specifically cheerful fact that the many weeks they'd had to delay their escape had had its side benefits. One of them being that, with the Shorts serving as the couriers and go-betweens, Darryl and Tom had been able to replace the primitive fuses they'd originally planned to use with much fancier mechanisms. Harry Lefferts seemed to be an endless cornucopia, when it came to anything that could wreak havoc and destruction.
Rita Simpson was crouched right next to her. "Never expected you'd wind up in a combat operation at your age, huh? Me neither, tell you the truth, and I'm still a spring chicken."
Melissa shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's-"
She heard a sharp cracking sound, coming from somewhere outside. That had to be a rifle shot. Glancing over, she saw that Darryl was already-
"Yee-haaaaa!" he shouted.
The noise was deafening. Even the heavy stonework seemed to shake.
Darryl was up and entering the main part of St. Thomas' Tower the instant the blast ended. "Oh, man!" she heard him shout. "You wanna talk about a beautiful sight!"
Melissa lowered her head. "I can't believe it. We just blew up the Tower of London." Her voice began to rise. "For God's sake, it's an historical monument!"
But Rita was already hauling her to her feet. "Come on, Melissa. Worry about it later. Besides, there's still plenty more blowing up to do."
"He still hasn't come out, Uncle," said Jack Hayes nervously.
Squatting next to him, in the shadows, Stephen Hamilton shrugged. "His problem, not ours. The stupid bastard was told not to shit under there."
He gave his young kin a look that was as sympathetic as anything Hamilton could manage. "I'll do it for you, if you'd rather."
Jack Hayes was still peering intently at the big heavy wooden staircase that led up to the White Tower's second-floor entrance. The huge central keep of the Tower of London had been built more than six centuries earlier, and had been designed from the standpoint of early medieval warfare. Having only one entrance, and that one far above the ground, had undoubtedly made sense at the time. But once that staircase was destroyed, most of the Tower of London's mercenary soldiers would be trapped inside the keep, with no way to get out except a very risky jump or using a rope or jury-rigged ladder.
No harm would come to them, of course. Not, at least, so long as they stayed there. And they didn't even need to stay for all that long. Just long enough.