The Stainless Steel Rat Saves the World

It was a close-run thing because I heard the tread of heavy marching boots on the bridge even as we nipped down a side lane burdened with the guns. But these men were locals and knew all the turnings and bypaths, and we were never in any danger that I could see. We ran and walked in silence for the better part of an hour before we reached a large barn that was apparently our destination. I followed the others in and put my chest on the floor. When I straightened up, the two men who had been carrying the guns took me by the arms while the man in leather held what appeared to be an exceedingly sharp knife to my throat.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Brown, John Brown. From America. And what is your name?"

"Brewster." Then, without changing the level tone of his voice: "Can you give me reason why we should not kill you for the spy you are?"

I smiled calmly to show him how foolish the thought was. Inside, I was not calm at all. Spy, why not? What could I say? Think fast, Jim, because a knife kills just as thoroughly as an A-bomb. What did I know? French soldiers were occupying Oxford. Which meant that they must have invaded England successfully and occupied all or part of it. There was resistance to this invasion, the people holding me proved that, so I took my clue from this fact and tried to improvise.

"I am here on a secret mission." Always good. The knife still pressed against my throat. "America, as you know, sides with your cause…."

"America helps the Frenchies; your Benjamin Franklin has said so."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Franklin has a great responsibility. France is too strong to fight now, so we side with her. On the surface. But there are men like me who come to bring you aid."

"Prove it?"

"How can I? Papers can be forged, they would be death to carry in any case, and you wouldn't believe them. But I have something that speaks the truth, and I was on my way to London to deliver it, to certain people there."

"Who?" Had the knife moved away the slightest amount?

"I will not tell you. But there are men like you all over England, who wish to throw off the tyrant's yoke. We have contacted some of the groups, and I am delivering the evidence I spoke of."

"What is it?"

"Gold."

That stopped them all right, and I felt the grip on my arms lessen ever the slightest. I pressed the advantage.

"You have never seen me before and will probably never see me again. But I can give you the help you need to buy weapons, bribe soldiers, help those imprisoned. Why do you think I assaulted those soldiers in public today?" I asked with sudden inspiration.

"Tell us," Brewster said.

"To meet you." I looked slowly around at their surprised faces. ' "There are loyal Englishmen in every part of this land who hate the invaders, who will fight to hurl them from these green shores. But how can they be contacted and helped? I have just shown you one way—and have provided you with these arms. I will now give you gold to carry on the struggle. As I trust you, you must trust me. If you wish, you will have enough gold to slip away from here and live your lives out happily in some kinder part of the world. But I don't think you will. You risked your lives for those weapons. You will do what you know is right. I will give you the gold and then go away. We will never meet again. We must go on trust. I trust you… "I let my voice dwindle away, allowing them to finish the sentence for themselves.

"Sounds good to me, Brewster," one of the men said.

"Me too," said the other. "Let's take the gold."

"I'll take the gold if there's any to be taken," Brewster said, lowering the knife but still uncertain. "It could all be a lie."

"It could be," I said quickly, before he started punching holes in my flimsy story. "But it isn't—nor does it matter. You'll see that I'm well away tonight, and we will never meet again."

"The gold," my guard said.

"Let's see it," Brewster said reluctantly. I had bluffed it through. After this he couldn't go back.

I opened the chest with utmost care while a gun was kept pressed to my kidney. I had the gold; that was the only part of my story that was true. It was divided into a number of small leather bags and intended to finance this operation. That is just what it was doing now. I took one out and solemnly handed it over to Brewster.

He shook some of the glittering granules into his hand, and they all stared at it. I pushed.

"How do I get to London?" I asked. "By river?"

"Sentries on every lock of the Thames," Brewster said, still looking at the golden gravel upon his palm. "You wouldn't get as far as Abingdon. Horse, the only way. Back roads."

"I don't know the back roads. I'll need two horses and someone to guide me. I can pay, as you know."

"Luke here will take you," he said, finally looking up. "Used to be a drayman. But only to the walls; you'll have to get by the Frenchies yourself."

"That will be fine." So London was occupied. And what about the rest of England?