Shell Shocked (18 page)

Now Mr. McGregor looked shocked. “That is a very serious concern. Do you have proof?”

“No proof, only what Liesl … the spy … what she said before she was knocked out. If I'm right, and some of the guards are in on it, then the whole place will go up at the first sign of any interference.”

“Then that leaves only one way in,” Mr. McGregor said. “They'll have to come in over the fence. At least the storm is perfect cover for that—that's one knife that cuts both ways.” He turned back to his wife. “And as soon as Ralphie is dispatched, you come back to George's house. We'll need the car, and I'll leave you to guard the prisoner.”

“And take care of our mother,” I said. I felt a bit embarrassed to say the next part. “I sort of had to give her the sleeping powder, too.”

“She'll be in good hands,” Mrs. McGregor said. “I'm also a registered nurse.”

Mr. McGregor took his coat from the hook behind the door. He slipped the pistol into the pocket as he pulled it on.

“Be careful,” his wife said. She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bonne chance, mon chéri.”

We stepped out and into the teeth of the storm. Each time out it seemed like it was worse than the time before. I ducked my head and pushed through the wind and the snow rising into drifts on the ground. Mr. McGregor was at my heels. It felt good to know that he was carrying a gun. It couldn't protect me from the storm, but there were worse things out tonight.

Back at our house, Liesl was still seated and asleep, but she was now tied into the chair with a bright yellow rope wrapped around her a half-dozen times. Jack stood over top of her, casually holding the gun. My mother was asleep, lying on the chesterfield, softly snoring, oblivious to everything that was happening around her.

“She's just a girl,” Mr. McGregor said.

“And we're just a couple of kids,” Jack said. “What's that got to do with it?”

“Good point.” He bent down beside her. “What's her name?”

“Daphne, no, Liesl!” Jack said.

“Liesl, can you hear me?” Mr. McGregor said loudly into her ear.

She moved slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

“Liesl!” he yelled, and he slapped her across the face. I jumped in surprise—I hadn't expected that.

She came to, and her eyes opened slightly. She looked around, completely confused and dazed.

“Liesl!” he yelled. “The attack, when will it take place?”

Her eyes started to close and he slapped her again, her head jerking to one side with the impact.

“When is the attack!” he demanded.

She mumbled something that I couldn't hear or understand.

“Louder!” he yelled. “Speak louder!”

“Tonight,” she said. “Tonight … mid … midnight.”

Her eyes closed. He took her face in his hands and squeezed and they popped opened again. She looked scared, almost crazed. He put his face right down so he was staring into her eyes.

“Where will it be?” he demanded.

“The plant … DIL.”

“
Where
at the plant?”

“Every … everywhere.”

He released his grip on her face and her head slumped over onto her chest.

He stood up. “That's all the proof we need,” he said. “That means that we have only one course of action.” He paused. “The three of us need to go to the plant and stop the saboteurs.”

“
CAN YOU MOVE
over a bit?” I asked.

“And where do you think I'm going to go?” Jack questioned. “This is a trunk, not a stateroom.”

We were in the dark in the trunk of Mr. McGregor's car, and it seemed like he was hitting every bump between our house and the gatehouse. This was how we were going to get onto the grounds without anybody knowing it.

“Can you at least move your elbow so it isn't digging into my side?” I whispered to Jack.

“It's not my elbow,” he hissed.

“Well, something's digging into me.”

“Shut up and don't move, or you might get
shot
by accident.”

I realized then what had been digging into me—the pistol that was in Jack's coat pocket, Liesl's gun. Mr. McGregor had shown Jack how to use it and handed it to
him, saying that he “might need it.” Jack knew about guns. Growing up on the farm, we'd both fired rifles before.

I tried to shift away a bit. The safety was on—I was sure. I didn't want to end things with me being shot in a car trunk.

“I'm coming up to the gate!” Mr. McGregor called out. “No more talking or noises!”

The car hit a bump and then slowed down, rocked and came to a stop.

“It's a fine evening!” Mr. McGregor sang out loudly.

“If you're a penguin or a polar bear,” a voice—the guard's voice—answered.

“Can you believe my wife came out to the Community Hall to play bingo on a night like this?” Mr. McGregor said loudly.

“Women, weather and bingo are three forces of nature!” the guard replied. “And you'd be a fool to try to defy any of them.”

Mr. McGregor laughed. “I'm almost tempted to make her walk home. I tried to call but the storm has knocked out my phone … it's dead!”

“All the phones in the whole facility are down,” the guard said. “I'm thinking my relief may not come and I'll be stuck here for the night.”

“I guess there are worse places to be stuck … like at my house if I made the wife walk home.”

The guard laughed.

“You'd better get out of the storm, and I'd better be on my way,” Mr. McGregor said.

I heard the gears grind and the car started moving. We were through the gate. So far so good.

I tried to picture our route in my mind. We had to curve around a number of buildings to come in behind the main plant and enter by the back stairs—the stairs that led to Mr. Granger's office. We had to hope that he'd still be there and that he'd know what to do. If not, it would be just the three of us.

We'd left Mrs. McGregor behind with our mother and Daphne … Liesl … both sleeping peacefully. Mrs. McGregor had arranged for help. They'd be moved from our house to a “safe house.”That was in case another enemy agent came, but also because of the danger from the plant. If we weren't able to stop whatever was planned, it wasn't only the plant that was going to be destroyed but all the houses in all the streets around it—and all the people in those houses.

Mr. McGregor and his wife had talked briefly about trying to evacuate the area, but they'd quickly decided they couldn't do that without tipping off the enemy that we were on to them. Those people sleeping in their houses couldn't be warned. Their safety was dependent upon what we were doing, their safety and the safety of
everyone in the plant. Hundreds, no,
thousands
of lives depended on what we were about to do. That was too overwhelming for me to think about.

The brakes whined, the car came to a stop and the sound of the engine died. I heard Mr. McGregor get out and slam the door closed. The trunk opened and light shone in. Mr. McGregor offered me a hand and I climbed out. Quickly I pulled up the hood of my coat so nobody could see my face and looked around. I couldn't see anybody. Between the thick snow and the darkness I couldn't see far or well—and neither could anybody else. Our enemy's advantage was going to be our advantage as well; the knife cutting both ways, like Mr. McGregor said.

What I did see was Mr. Granger's car tucked in beside the door. Why had I been so stupid? Why hadn't I insisted on seeing him?

Mr. McGregor slammed the trunk closed. “Lead the way,” he said.

Hoods up, hiding our identity, we trudged through the snow. The door was open and we were soon in the stairwell, sheltered from the storm but also from unseen eyes. Jack started climbing the stairs and I was right on his tail. I felt a rush of adrenaline rising with each step. Mr. Granger would know what we should do and he'd have people he trusted who could help us do it. Jack
opened the door from the stairwell leading to his outer office and we both skidded to a stop.

There, sitting at the desk, was Juliette! She looked as shocked and surprised as we felt, and for a second we all froze. She jumped to her feet and Jack rushed forward, throwing himself over her desk, knocking her down. I ran over as the two of them were on the floor, struggling and thrashing around and—she had a gun in her hand, and Jack was fighting to knock it loose!

I jumped forward, throwing my full weight right on her arm—she squealed in pain and the pistol dropped from her hand and skidded across the floor.

“Get the gun!” Jack shouted.

I scrambled over and grabbed the gun, and then I heard the door opening behind me—thank goodness Mr. Granger had heard us. But it wasn't Mr. Granger—it was a man, a stranger, and he was holding a gun! He brought the gun up and aimed it at me, and I heard the explosion of a bullet fired! I blinked … as he crumpled to the ground.

I spun around, shocked, confused, unable to understand what had just happened. Mr. McGregor was standing in the doorway to the stairwell, his pistol in his hand, smoke rising from the barrel. Before I could even think to react, Jack scrambled to his feet and pulled out his pistol. Juliette remained on the floor, whimpering, rolling, holding her wrist, and for a split second I felt sorry for
what I'd done. Then I remembered who she was and what she would have done to us if we hadn't tackled her. There was no time for sympathy.

Jack crouched down and edged his way to the door leading into Mr. Granger's office, holding the gun out in front of him. I aimed Juliette's gun at the door as well. Mr. McGregor came forward. He motioned for Jack to move aside.

“Hello!” yelled out a voice from the office. It was Mr. Granger! “Is somebody there?”

“It's us!” I called. “It's us!”

There was a hesitation. “George? Is that you?”

I went to answer and Mr. McGregor put a finger to his lips to silence me. I didn't understand why, but I wasn't going to argue with him. Slowly he moved to the doorway and then, gun first, leaned into the office. He turned around to face us.

“It's all right … it's clear.”

Mr. Granger was in a chair in the corner, and Mr. McGregor was trying to untie the ropes that bound him.

“Bring the girl in!” Mr. McGregor yelled. “And drag the body in here as well!”

“Her first,” Jack said, pointing at Juliette. “Get up,” he ordered her.

She looked up. There were tears rolling down her face and she was obviously in pain, clutching her wrist.

“That wasn't a request,” Jack said.

He grabbed her by her good hand and hauled her to her feet, and she let out a yelp of pain. He gave her a slight push that propelled her into the office.

“Sit over there,” Mr. McGregor ordered, pointing to a chair in the corner, and she meekly sat down.

I turned back around to see Jack dragging the man in. If he wasn't dead, he was certainly unconscious. As the body moved, it left behind a dark-red stain on the concrete floor.

Mr. Granger was free and on his feet and he closed the door behind Jack.

“Thank goodness you came,” Mr. Granger said. “I wish I could have put a bullet through that man's head myself.”

It was then that I noticed that Mr. Granger's face was cut and bruised. It was obvious that he'd been beaten.

“How long have you been a captive?” Mr. McGregor asked.

“Three, maybe four hours. I have to assume that tonight is the night.”

I nodded. In a quick burst we told him what we knew and what we suspected.

“Oh my God … this is worse than I feared. We have to call in help from Camp X.”

“The phone lines are dead,” I said, “but somebody has been sent to alert them.”

“A confidant of mine,” Mr. McGregor said. “He'll get there and bring back help, but with this storm …”

Mr. Granger looked at his watch. “We don't have much time. We'll have to deal with this internally. I'll alert my guards and—”

“You can't!” I exclaimed. “Some of the guards are part of the plot.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Are you sure of this?”

“As sure as we can be,” I said. “Besides, can you be completely sure that
none
of them are involved?”

He shook his head. “I can't guarantee that, but there are some who are above reproach, so I'll ask them to report to my office.”

“I'm afraid that won't work either, old chap,” Mr. McGregor said. “No orders can come from this office, or that will alert them that you're free.”

“But if we can't rely on outside help and I can't use any of my guards, that means that there are only the two of us.”

“Not two,” Jack said. “Four … four of us.”

Mr. Granger looked at Jack and then at me, as if he was weighing up our strengths and weaknesses. “Right. You're right. There are
four
of us to stop this plot.”

I felt a surge of pride—and fear—flow through my body. I was proud that he thought that he could count on me, and afraid that he simply had no choice, because we were all he had.

Mr. Granger walked up to Juliette. She was seated, hunched over, clutching her wrist and quietly sobbing.

“I'm sorry about your wrist. It must hurt badly,” he said.

She nodded her head.

“We'll get you to a doctor as soon as possible, but first we need your help.”

“I won't help you,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

“If you don't help, you're dead.”

She laughed. “I am a prisoner of war—you can't just kill me.”

“I didn't say
I
was going to kill you,” Mr. Granger said. “In less than two hours this plant will be destroyed and you will be killed with it, because you're going to be right here, tied up in this chair, counting the minutes until your death. Are you prepared to die for your cause?”