The Death Instinct

'How?'

'Because she works for him. Good-looking girl. Ever since I quit as a T-man, she's been feeding me all kinds of Washington secrets. She says Houston's got something to tell us.'

'Us?'

'Yeah — you and me.'

The men were quiet again for a while.

'You were right about the machine gun,' said Littlemore.

'How's that?'

'Turns out the bombers blew up Wall Street twelve hours after they were supposed to. So they had a little problem: the manhole was locked.

There they were in the alley, with all that gold and no place for it to go. One of them runs across the street and fires his machine gun into a wall of the Morgan Bank, trying to get somebody to open up the manhole. Apparently it worked. I told Commissioner Enright about it, and he sent Lamont a letter telling him to keep those bullet holes unrepaired. He says Morgan can tell everybody it's a memento, but if they repair the holes, he'll arrest them for destroying evidence.' Littlemore looked out to sea. 'Where's that ship?'

'Late.'

'It's funny,' said Littlemore. 'People are already forgetting September sixteenth. When it happened, it was like nothing would ever be the same. The country was frozen. Life was going to be different forever.'

'At least we didn't go to war. A manufactured war on a country that had nothing to do with the bombing — God knows the price we would have paid for that, if you hadn't stopped it.'

'Yeah — I should be famous,' said Littlemore. 'Instead I'm broke.'

'We could go to India.'

'Why India?'

'Poverty is holy in India.' Younger ground out his cigarette under a heel. 'So no one gets punished for it. The bombing.'

'I don't know about that. Where did you and I first see Drobac?'

'At the Commodore Hotel — after they kidnapped Colette,' answered Younger.

'Nope.'

Younger shook his head: 'Where then?'

'A horse-drawn wagon passed you and the Miss and me when we were walking down Nassau Street the morning of September sixteenth. Remember — about three minutes before the bomb went off? With a load so heavy the mare could barely drag it behind her? Drobac was the guy driving that wagon.'

'Bonjour,' said Luc, looking up at his sister that night.

The Susquehanna had arrived twelve hours late. The boy, sprucer and cleaner than Younger had ever seen him, had just come down the gangway, hand in hand with Oktavian Kinsky, into the bright electric lights of the dock. There were no stars in the sky, nor any moon. The cloud cover was too thick.

For an instant Colette was paralyzed. It was the first time she'd heard her brother speak in six years. She could not fit the voice to Luc; it was too mature, too self-possessed, as if a stranger had taken over her brother's body and were speaking through his mouth. Then somehow the voice and the steady eyes and the serious face came together all at once: it was he. She opened her arms and gathered him in.

'Bonjour?' she repeated, hugging him. 'How can it be bonjour in the middle of the night, you goose? And your hair — you let them cut it?'

Luc nodded gravely.

Oktavian greeted Younger and Colette — the Littlemores having departed hours before — like long-lost friends. 'I'm here to start a fleet of hired cars,' Oktavian declared. 'That sort of thing is not frowned on in America, I'm told.'

'On the contrary,' agreed Younger. 'And you'll have to fight off the American ladies, Count, at least the ones I'm going to introduce you to. They worship aristocracy.'

'But you abolished your titles of nobility over a hundred years ago,' said Oktavian.

'People always want what they can't have,' said Younger.

'Not me,' said Colette.

That night, they stayed with Mrs Meloney, who generously opened her home to them. Colette had persuaded Mrs Meloney to help the dial workers at the luminous-paint factories — and the good woman had taken to the business with all her usual industry and alacrity.

At Brighton's Manhattan plant, the dial painters were being tested for radiation exposure. Over half the girls were radioactive, especially in their teeth and jaws; several of them glowed in the dark. Pointing of brushes with the mouth had been forbidden. Protective gloves were made mandatory. Radiation detectors were being installed. Brighton's bank accounts had been seized, and his assets were being held for the benefit of girls who developed illnesses as a result of their work in his factories.

Younger and Colette put Luc to bed. 'I have something to tell you,' the boy said to his sister.

'I know,' answered Colette. 'Dr Freud told us.'

'He told you?'

'Only that you had something to say. He wouldn't tell us what.'

'But now that I'm here,' said Luc, 'I don't want to say it anymore.'

'Sleep for now,' replied Colette. 'Tomorrow you can tell us.'

Tomorrow, however, the boy was still less talkative. Oktavian took rooms at a modest but decent hotel in Manhattan and began looking into the letting and buying of livery vehicles. They said goodbye to him and that evening boarded a train for Boston.

As the train rumbled quietly north, a light snow fell outside their window. 'Luc,' said Colette, 'now is a good time.'

The boy shook his head.

'You can whisper it in my ear, if you want,' said Colette.

'Rubbish,' declared Younger. 'He can't whisper it. He's not a child. He's lived through a war. He saved our lives. You're a man, Luc, not a little girl. Stop this nonsense and speak up.'

Luc frowned. He looked taken aback — and undecided.

Younger pulled out a letter from his jacket. 'This is from Dr Freud,' said Younger. 'You trust Dr Freud, don't you?'

Luc nodded.

'He warns us that you might go quiet in America,' Younger went on. 'He says you'll be worried that your sister doesn't want to hear what you have to say.'

Luc stared steadily at Younger.

'He says we should remind you that he's spent thirty years of his life telling people what they didn't want to hear. He says that the fact that someone doesn't want to hear the truth is very rarely a good reason for silence. He also says that your sister does want to hear what you have to say.'

Luc turned his gaze on Colette. 'You do?' he asked quietly.

'Very much,' said Colette.

'You don't know what it is,' said Luc.

'Whatever it is, I want to hear it.'

'No, you don't.'

'I do,' said Colette.

'No, you don't.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Wonderful,' said Younger. 'The boy speaks for the first time in his life, and the two of you quarrel like schoolchildren.'

'Father was a coward.' Luc had spoken simply but definitively.

Colette started. Her fingers clenched. 'Father? A coward?'

The boy looked at the snowflakes melting on the train's window. 'I was at the house when the Germans came,' he said.

A shadow fell across his sister's face, and she began a question: 'You mean-?'

'Yes,' Luc interrupted her.

'But we-'

'Were in the carpenter's basement,' he completed her sentence. 'I left in the middle of the night. You didn't hear me. I went back to the house. I looked in through the window next to the shed.'

Colette stopped moving altogether. She may even have stopped breathing.

'German soldiers were inside with Father. Three of them. One was tall with blond hair. Do you remember where Mother and Grandmother were hiding?'

'Yes.'

'Father was saying to them, "Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me." He started to cry.'

'That doesn't make him a coward,' she answered.

'Father pointed to the cabinet. I think he was trying to show the Germans where the silver was. They opened the cabinet, but I guess they didn't care about the silver. They turned around and yelled at Father again. The tall one aimed his rifle at him. Father pleaded with them not to shoot.' The train rattled around a curve. 'Then Father pointed to the rug.' 'You saw him point to it?'