"Tom Purdom-The Redemption of August" - читать интересную книгу автора (Purdom Tom)

learned, from agents in Paris, of the forces still poised there. He had taken it upon himself to issue an
order in the name of his superiors.
It was an entertaining, well-written book. I enjoyed the evening I devoted to it. There were many
reasons, however, why the behavior of the "spy" made little sense to me. Could any German ever treat
his chain of command so cavalierly? And then, years later, I discovered it might be possible to travel in
time...
I have often been criticized for my "impetuosity," and it has, in fact, sometimes gotten me into trouble.
Still, I had almost been arrested because I had decided to delay my departure by fifteen minutes and
carefully reinspect my preparations. Now, seeing Greenway ride away on his bicycle, I grabbed a
machine that had been left in front of the hotel. I had already managed to glance through his door and
determine that he had a large trunk in his room. My trip to the train station had eliminated the possibility
he had checked a package with the attendant.
For half an hour after we left the town, I followed him along the paved white road that passed by neat
French farmhouses and well-kept fields -- a French countryside that had not been disfigured by hordes
of automobiles, blocks of "country homes," and the other blessings of German "technical and economic
progress." Eventually he turned onto a dirt side road and I stopped him in an isolated spot where we
were alone with the wind that blew across the wheat fields on both sides of the road.
His eyes widened when I pointed my revolver at him. His hands shot up in the air with such alacrity I
almost started laughing. I thought he would hand over his keys as soon as I demanded them but instead
he started arguing with me. There was nothing in his trunk of any value, he insisted.
You must remember that my assault on the GD man and his French valet had been the first serious act
of violence I had ever participated in. I had assumed Greenway would follow my instructions as soon as
he saw the front of my revolver. It had never occurred to me he would stand there arguing with me.
I could have simply killed him, of course. I had already decided I was willing to go to the guillotine.
For now, though. I merely wanted access to his radio.
I thought about knocking him out with the revolver and realized I didn't know where to hit him or how
hard. Instead, I tried to silence his babbling by telling him the one thing that would convince him I was
willing to pull the trigger.
"Give me the keys, monsieur. I don't want to kill you if I can avoid it but don't try to convince yourself
I won't. It's the surest way I can make certain General von Kluck never receives your famous message.
I've given up my whole life to keep you from making that transmission. If I have to go to the guillotine to
stop you, I will."
He shut up as soon as he understood. Then his whole face lit up with excitement -- the same
excitement I have seen, now and then, on the faces of scientific researchers who have hit on some new
idea that catches their fancy The babbling started again and I realized, as I listened to that flow of
anglified French, that he had again forgotten about the gun. All he could think of was the fact that I was a
time traveler, too. That, and the fact that my presence indicated he had "succeeded."
My voice erupted from me in a bellow that was, I suspect, also a cry of pain. "GIVE ME YOUR
KEYS. And give me the knife on your ankle. too. I know about that also."
This time he got himself under control. He handed me the knife. He gave me the keys. He took off his
tie and let me bind his wrists to the frame of his bicycle. But all the while he went on talking, endlessly
talking, trying to convince me he and I should "exchange information about our alternative histories,"
trying to persuade me I should support his lunatic assault on the destiny of civilization.
I slashed both his tires with his own knife and left him still mouthing words at me as I rode away. There
was a moment, as I turned onto the paved road, when I actually threw back my head and laughed in
triumph.
Had anyone in the whole history of the French people ever done anything that could be compared to
this? Everything the so-called "Englishman" had said made it clear that all my hypotheses had been
correct. He had indeed come here to transmit the mysterious radio message that had forced General von
Kluck to ignore the considerations that were telling him he should modify the Schlieffen Plan. And he had