by Bill Walker
“What now?” Denise said, draining her beer. Her words slurred.
“Ease up, will you? We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
She shrugged. “For what? Sightseeing? How the hell are we gonna get in there?”
Jack sighed and decided to go with his last-ditch plan. “We’re going to use your newfound talent and pop in on Winston and his friends, that’s how. But if you keep pounding back those pints of Guinness, you’re going to be no good to anyone.”
Denise smiled a lopsided grin. “I know one thing I’m good for,” she said, looking seductive. “How ’bout a roll in the hay, soldier?”
“For Christ’s sake, you’re plowed.”
“Me and everyone else here,” she said, waving her arms expansively.
“In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got a nutcase out there with a bomb who’s going to blow up a lot of very important people tomorrow at that briefing!”
“I haven’t forgotten. But I’m not going to get all bent out of shape over something I can’t do anything about tonight.”
“Why do you have to drink so damn much?”
“I like it. That good enough for you?”
Jack fumed. What the hell was wrong with her? Getting up from the table, he fought his way through the crowd and went into the men’s room. He stood at the urinal and let his bladder go, feeling immeasurably better. Staring at the wall in front of him, he read some of the graffiti. One in particular caught his attention:
Whistle while you work,
Hitler is a jerk,
Mussolini bit his wienie,
Now it doesn’t work.
Seeing the familiar schoolyard refrain here and now made Jack burst out laughing. He turned and noticed a soldier staring at him from one of the other urinals.
“Just a funny thing written on the wall,” he said, shrugging.
The soldier, a young lieutenant, stared at him, his eyes cold. Jack suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Guess you had to be there,” he said, buttoning up and leaving the lavatory. He pushed his way back to the table and found Malloy with a fresh pint, in earnest conversation with another woman at a nearby table. Jack felt a tiny stab of jealousy as he sat back down.
“Hi, sweetie, this is Maude!” she said.
“Hi,” Jack said, immediately turning away.
“That was rude,” Denise said.
“Never mind that. I was taking a piss and some guy was giving me the eye.”
Denise grinned and Jack held up his hand.
“Forget it. It’s not what you’re thinking. This guy was an officer, and if looks could kill, I’d be on a slab. I think we’d better leave.”
“Oh, Jack, you’re just paranoid.”
He was about to come back with a smart remark when he felt someone come up from behind him. A chill ran up his spine when he heard the voice.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Deciding not to be intimidated, Jack turned, a nasty remark on his lips. He lost all his steam as he spotted the three soldiers standing by their table. Two military police, one British, the other American, stood flanking an American lieutenant. The same lieutenant from the men’s room. The noise inside the pub died to a soft murmur as all eyes turned toward them.
“Excuse me, sir. But I’m going to have to ask you and the lady to accompany us.”
“Uhh, what seems to be the trouble, Lieutenant?”
“No trouble, if you come quietly,” the lieutenant said. The man looked barely older than twenty-two. Something felt very wrong.
“May I ask why?”
“No.”
Denise whispered to him, “Let’s go, Jack. I don’t think they’re kidding around.”
Jack eyed the two MPs. Both were strapping men with bull necks and steely expressions. Both would have made great bouncers for the pub. Each of them gripped the holsters where their pistols resided.
Seeing no other choice, Jack and Denise rose from the table and were hustled from the pub, out onto the sidewalk, and into a waiting half-ton truck. The MPs sat in the back watching them while the lieutenant climbed into the cab with the driver. The engine started with a throaty roar and lurched from the curb.
“So where are we going, handsome?” Denise said to the American MP. He stared through her as if she didn’t exist.
“Forget it, Malloy, he isn’t talking,” Jack said.
“Can’t say the same for you,” she said, ignoring him.
Jack shook his head and watched the receding road out the back of the truck, noting the slightly noxious odor of gasoline and stale vomit. They must make a sweep of all the pubs, he thought.
Hardly on the road for more than a few minutes, Jack felt the truck slow as it pulled through a gate. Though an especially dark night, Jack could still see they had entered the grounds of 21 Army Group, St. Paul’s School. His lips curled in a wan smile. They’d made it onto the grounds, but not the way they’d intended.
The truck, its breaks groaning as it slowed, jerked to a stop up in front of one of the buildings. The MPs hustled them off the truck and into the building. Though now an army headquarters, the interior of the ivy-covered walls still held the looks and smells of academia. The MPs guided them down a flight of stairs into an area that in no way resembled anything like a school. They’d reached the brig.
After passing a guard sitting at a desk piled high with paperwork, they passed through a steel door and into the holding cells, two on each side of the narrow corridor.
The British MP opened the cell farthest from the door and shoved Jack inside, slamming the door behind him. Denise got the adjacent cell and more gentlemanly treatment. After checking that their cells were locked, the MPs turned heels and marched out, their hobnailed boots clacking cadence as they faded into the distance.
“Nice work, Dunham,” Denise said, giving Jack one of her patented looks of disgust. She turned and flopped down onto one of the bunks, her back to the bars dividing their cells. Jack sighed, sat down on his bunk, and tried not to notice the overpowering odor of feces and ammonia.
“Hey mate, what’re ya in for?” someone called.
Jack shot a glance toward the cell across the hall and spotted a British corporal peering at them through the bars. Wearing a wrinkled uniform and a black beret pushed back on his balding pate, he smiled, revealing a missing front tooth and deep laugh lines etched into the nut-brown skin around his piercing, slightly oriental eyes.
“Yeah, over here, Guv,” he said.
The man smiled again and held out a pack of cigarettes in a hand crisscrossed with calluses and scars and nails chewed to stumps.
“Uhh, no thanks. Don’t smoke,” Jack said.
The corporal shrugged and lit one for himself.
“The name’s Harry, Corporal Harry Gordon, Royal Fusiliers at your service.”
Jack didn’t feel much like socializing, but the little man’s infectious grin and cockney accent broke the ice.
“What are you in for, Harry?”
“What you might call a little extracurricular activity after hours. In short, absent without leave. I was supposed to be on guard duty.”
“Sorry.”
Harry smiled slyly. “Nothing to be sorry about. At least the buggers let me finish with the dolly before they broke in.”
It was Jack’s turn to smile.
“So...”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said, feeling foolish. “I’m Jack Dunham and this is my friend, Denise Malloy.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Jack, Denise.”
Denise, still angry, waved curtly from her bunk, saying nothing.
“So, Jack. What’re ya doing in this fine establishment?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue. Denise and I were having a pint or two and a nice conversation and, wham, these MPs grabbed us and hauled us out of the pub and brought us here.”
“Cor,” Harry said, his eyes wide. “You blokes must have ruffled someone’s feathers to get put in here. You’re
not even military, are ya?”
“No, we’re not!” Denise said, speaking up for the first time. “Jack was shooting his mouth off about things he shouldn’t.”
That pissed Jack off. “Can it, Malloy.”
“Fuck you, Dunham.”
Harry whistled, long and low. “And a lover’s quarrel to boot. Not good. Not good at all.”
About to explain, Jack’s attention was caught by the opening of the steel door leading into the brig’s outer office. The American lieutenant had returned with two different MPs, both American. One of the MPs unlocked the cell door and swung it open.
“You two. Come with me.”
Jack and Denise followed the lieutenant out and Jack caught Harry winking at him. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he took it as a sign of encouragement. The lieutenant led them through the outer office and down the basement hallway, reaching an open doorway. He beckoned them both inside.
The room, except for three battered chairs and a table, stood empty. The lieutenant pointed to the chairs and both Jack and Denise sat. The lieutenant remained standing.
“Cigarette?”
“No thanks,” Jack said.
“Do you know why you two are here?”
“No, we don’t,” Denise said.
The lieutenant closed the door and leaned back, casting his face in shadow.
“I think you do. And we’ll get along a lot better if you cooperate.”
“I have no reason not to cooperate, Lieutenant...?”
“Simmons.”
“Why are we here, Lieutenant Simmons?”
Nodding as if to acknowledge their decision to play the game their way, the lieutenant sat down on the chair in front of them.
“We have reason to believe you are involved in a plot to assassinate Eisenhower and Churchill. You were spotted outside the school yesterday afternoon.” Jack looked at Denise, who shook her head in disgust. Simmons continued.
“Thinking that someone standing around for so long was up to no good, I had one of our undercover men follow you. Last night in the pub, he overheard you talking about a bomb and called me. That’s why you’re here.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jack said.
The lieutenant pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open. “Then why were you talking about, and I quote, ‘a nutcase with a bomb who’s going to blow up a lot of very important people at that briefing.’”
“Doesn’t that prove we’re not the ones to worry about?” Denise said.
“That proves nothing except you are aware of top-secret information. And since you are dressed in civilian clothes, we can assume you are German spies.”
“Oh, for crying out loud! We are not spies!” Jack shouted.
“Tell him, Jack,” Denise said.
“Tell me what?”
Jack looked at the man, wanting to hate him, but instead saw a dedicated man trying to safeguard a very important operation. He decided to come clean.
“All right,” he said, taking his seat once again. “But you’re going to think we’re nuts.”
“Try me.”
Jack glanced at Denise, who nodded. Turning back to Lieutenant Simmons, he began to tell the whole story. As incredible fact followed incredible fact, Simmons’s eyes never wavered, never changed expression. He sat there and listened intently.
“And that’s it. If we don’t stop Kruger tomorrow at the briefing, he will kill everyone in that room. Hitler will win and everything that I told you about the future will come true.”
After Jack finished speaking, a silence fell over the room. For a long, pregnant moment, nothing was said. Jack felt like screaming.
“And that’s it?” Simmons said finally.
“Isn’t that enough?” Jack said.
“Let’s show him, Jack,” Denise said.
Jack sighed and nodded. He hadn’t wanted Denise to use her power unless absolutely necessary. Now they had no choice. Denise closed her eyes and began to chant. Simmons sat forward imperceptibly, waiting. But, after a couple of minutes, nothing happened. Denise’s eyes snapped open in shock.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, sweat beginning to pop out on his face. “Try it again.”
Again, Denise closed her eyes, her concentration redoubled. Again, nothing. At that moment a sharp knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?” Simmons said.
“Begging the lieutenant’s pardon, but the general is requesting your presence.”
“Very good, Corporal. Tell the general I’ll be along.” He stood up and gave them a vaguely contemptuous look. “You two will be staying with us for a while. I suggest you think of a better story and be ready to explain how you know so much about Overlord.”
The lieutenant opened the door and signaled the two MPs to return the prisoners to their cells. Too shocked to protest, Jack trudged back to the cell and sat on his bunk. Denise sat on hers, equally shocked.
“I don’t understand, Jack. It should have worked. It always works.”
She began to cry, prompting Jack to reach through the bars and take her hand in his.
“I love you, you know that?” he said.
She nodded through eyes clouded with tears.
“I think I know what it is.”
“What?”
“The Guinness. I think getting drunk blunts the power. Tomorrow, you’ll have a hell of a hangover, but I think you’ll be back to normal.”
Denise looked hopeful for a moment then began to cry again.
“But what if I’m not? What will we do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wing it somehow. We’ll make it, okay?”
Denise nodded and wiped the tears from her face.
“Okay.”
Pushing her face as far as she could through the bars, she kissed Jack passionately.
“Awww, now ain’t that ducky,” Harry said.
“Harry! Do you mind?” Jack said.
“Excuse me, Guv, but this ain’t exactly the Ritz, ya know. Not the most private of accommodations.”
Jack chuckled and was joined by Denise. The humor was a badly needed respite from all the anger and frustration. It also gave Jack an idea. If Denise was not back to normal in the morning, it would be their only shot. It was audacious, crazy even, but Jack liked it the more he thought about it.
“Say, Harry. Do you know the school grounds well?”
“I should say so. I’ve been stationed here ever since Monty took the place over in ’Forty-three.”
“Do you know where the model room is? It’s sort of a classroom shaped like an amphitheatre.”
Harry beamed. “That’s a right tight room, that one is. But I do know where it is.”
“Where?” Denise said, trying to catch the drift of Jack’s thoughts.
“About twenty feet straight up.”
Jack went to the bars, excited. “You mean it’s in this building?”
“Right you are, Guv. Right you are.”
“YES!” Jack shouted.
“What?” Denise said.
“I have a way in,” he said.
“A way into what?” Harry asked.
“The top brass are having a little soirée tomorrow and they forgot to invite us,” Jack said, rubbing his hands together.
Denise narrowed her eyes. “Jack? What’re you planning?”
“Nothing we aren’t already prepared to do. Besides, Harry’s going to help us.”
“And how am I supposed to do that in here, Guv?”
Jack smiled and put his arm around Denise. “Let me tell you a story, Harry. It’s one that’s guaranteed to curl your toes and put hair on your chest.”
Harry chuckled. “I could use one of those, mate.”
The little corporal leaned forward, pressing against the bars of his cell while Jack retold their story and then outlined their plan for the following day.
The more he heard, the more Harry smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
London, England
15 May 1944
Kruger’s eyes snapped open precisely at 0700, just as the phone next to the bed rang.
“It’s seven, sir,” the voice said.
“Dank—Thank you.”
He slammed the phone down, cursing under his breath. He’d nearly blown it right there. What was wrong with him? Climbing from the feather mattress, he padded over to the window and threw open the drapes, staring out over the city. After leaving Jane’s flat, he’d taken a cab to Claridge’s Hotel and gotten the last room available. The hotel manager had been most insistent that the room was reserved for a colonel and his bride, but Kruger quickly changed his mind with two five-pound notes slipped into the obsequious bastard’s hand. After that, it had been “Yes, sir” this and “Anything for our fighting men” that. All such rubbish.
Kruger looked toward the west and felt the return of the old excitement. He hadn’t slept much, kept up by the thoughts raging through his mind. He was ready for whatever Dunham could dish out. Kruger smiled, remembering his little plan for the man. He could hardly wait to see his face.
Stepping away from the window, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower and stepped under the icy spray. Immediately, he felt his mind and body become alert, fresh for the day’s events. He toweled off, heard the light tapping at the door, and opened it. The waiter smiled and wheeled in a covered tray.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said cheerily. “I do hope you slept well.”
Kruger had no patience for the man’s pathological cheekiness. He paid him a ridiculously large tip and practically pushed him out the door. Pulling off the covers on the plates, Kruger scowled: runny eggs, limp bacon, and something that could only be kippers. He shivered involuntarily and grabbed a piece of toast from the rack and stuffed it into his mouth. About to return to the bathroom, he thought better of it when he spied the copy of The London Times tucked neatly between a basket of muffins and the teapot. He scanned it and smiled. There it was, buried on page ten: TWO DIE IN FIRE ABOVE GREENGROCERS. The one-column article went on to say that witnesses were being sought and that the fire had started in the flat above the store. Nothing was mentioned about Jane. Who the other bodies were didn’t matter. Happy for the first time, Kruger dressed and descended the stairs into the lobby.