by Bill Walker
He could see the hotel manager arguing heatedly with an officer. The man looked apoplectic, while the woman with him looked as if she’d slept in the lobby. No doubt the unfortunate groom and his bride. Striding past the desk, Kruger crossed the lobby and headed out onto the streets. He nodded to the doorman, who blew his whistle and waved for a cab. One immediately pulled up from a long line, and the doorman held open the door.
“Grosvenor Square,” he said, sliding into the seat.
“Bloody hell, Guv. I’ve been waiting two bleeding hours for a fare, and now I’m going to have to wait in the queue again!”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem, Guv, is Grosvenor Square is right over there,” he said, pointing down the road.
“Quite,” Kruger said, pulling out a one-pound note. “Officers do not walk. Drive.”
The cabbie shrugged and snatched the bill from Kruger’s outstretched hand. “Your money, Guv.”
The cab lurched away from the curb and joined the morning traffic.
Lieutenant Simmons sat in his office and stared out the window, waiting for his coffee to cool. He’d slept badly the night before, haunted by nightmarish visions of a world fifty years in the future. The story that Dunham—or whatever his name really was—gave him clearly could not be believed. It was absurd, preposterous, yet one thing weighed heavily on him: Dunham insisted someone planned to bomb the briefing. How did he know about the briefing, something only he and a handful of the top brass knew about? Even General Patton had not known until just yesterday. And that amounted to sealed orders merely telling him to report to 21 Army Group at 0900. They said nothing about the nature of the meeting. That was known by even fewer people.
Perhaps Dunham and his lady accomplice were members of a ring of saboteurs and it was their job to sew discord and disinformation, keeping everyone off-balance. But then why give away the store? Why reveal exactly what it was they planned? It didn’t make sense.
That Dunham and his woman were trouble, he couldn’t deny. The phone rang at that moment.
“Yes... I understand. Tell the general I’ll be right along.”
He hung up the phone and picked up his cap, the coffee forgotten. All the way down the hall, he debated whether or not to tell Montgomery about his two prisoners. He decided to keep it to himself a while longer. They weren’t going anywhere, and security today had been doubled. No one would get past the guards without an invite. He stopped at the intricately carved door and stared at the nameplate: GENERAL BERNARD L. MONTGOMERY. He could hear the general berating someone for some slip-up. That made the decision a firm one. No way would he bring up fantastic stories about time travel and Nazi futures. He would, however, keep his eyes and ears open.
“Hey, Guv! Wake up.”
Jack opened his eyes and saw Harry’s smiling face beaming at him from across the narrow hallway.
“What time is it?” Jack said.
“Breakfast.”
Jack concealed his annoyance and glanced over to Denise’s cell. She slept like a stone, oblivious to the bright light in the cell, on twenty-four hours a day. He shook his head in wonderment. How the hell did she do it?
“You ready, Harry?” Jack said.
“Ready, steady, and right as rain.”
A moment later, the metal door leading to the outer office swung open and a guard came through pushing a breakfast cart. Without speaking, he pulled out three trays and slid them through the slots in the cells. He then turned and retraced his steps. The door clanged shut, echoing slightly. That sound still gave Jack a chill.
“Hey, sleepyhead, get up,” Jack said, gently shaking Denise’s shoulder.
She bolted from the bunk, her muscles tense. “Huh, what?”
“Take it easy. It’s breakfast.”
She sighed then frowned. “Oh, shit, my head is killing me.”
Jack smiled in sympathy. “I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Denise said, waving him away.
“Eat something. You’re going to need your strength,” he said, pointing to her tray.
She curled her lip in disgust. The sectioned metal tray held a huge mound of lumpy porridge, a burnt piece of toast with a dollop of marmalade, and a mug of tea. The tea had the leaves floating in it.
“Man, I hate marmalade,” Denise said.
“Mm... and how about this lovely mush?”
Denise stuck out her tongue and Jack laughed.
“Are you always so chipper in the morning?”
“Only when I sleep with motormouths,” she said, taking a bite of the porridge. She grimaced but kept eating.
Jack’s annoyance came back. “Come on, you’re not still angry about that?”
Her warm smile and soft chuckle answered his question. “I just had to pull your pud one last time.”
“Oi, she is one salty skirt,” Harry said.
“Yeah? You should see her with a machine gun.”
It was Jack’s turn to smile until a spoonful of porridge landed on his shirt.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” he said, wiping it off and putting it in his mouth. He shivered. It tasted like warm cardboard. “How can you eat this?”
“It oughta make Harry’s job easier,” Denise said, tossing her empty tray to the floor.
Jack nodded and turned to the little corporal. “Let’s give it two hours. The briefing should have just started by then. All right?”
Harry leaned back on his cot, his hands behind his head and a sly grin on his face. “Don’t you worry, Guv. Old Harry will make the Old Vic right proud, you’ll see.”
Jack turned to Denise, the question on his lips echoed in her eyes. “I don’t know, Jack, I’m scared.”
“You feel up to trying?”
Denise nodded, climbed off her bunk, and sat on the concrete floor in a rough approximation of the lotus position. Harry pressed his face to the bars of his cell and watched. Denise closed her eyes and began to chant, her lips moving silently. Sweat beaded her brow and she frowned. Nothing happened. Her eyes slowly opened, filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said, throwing herself back onto her bunk.
For the first time since all of this began, Jack felt blind panic shooting through his body. He’d been sure that once the alcohol had worn off, she would be back to normal. And no doubt she would be after more time had passed.
Ironically, there was little time left. The briefing would be starting in a little less than two hours. Something had to be done.
“Is everything all right, Guv?” Harry asked, his beetled brow furrowed with concern.
“Change in plan, Harry. I’m afraid the Old Vic will have to wait.”
The car sliced through the morning traffic effortlessly. Kruger noted how the other cars moved aside with nary a honk on the horn. It helped to be riding in a general’s staff car and one that proclaimed that fact with bright-red pennants flapping from either side of the hood. He glanced at his watch and noted it was now 0830. Half an hour until the beginning of the end. As he recalled the reams of research Armand Bock had provided, he knew that the meeting would go on all day with a lunch break at noon and tea at four. He planned to excuse himself just after the noon break, pretending a need for the lavatory. He would place the explosives in the adjoining classroom. Two shaped charges to blow in the wall and another, larger one to create a concussion that would kill anyone left alive. Classic demolitions technique.
Kruger shifted in his seat and felt the Semtex dig into his ribs. He only hoped he could sit there for three hours. And what if Montgomery decided to send him out on some errand? What then? He stifled the thoughts and turned his attention to the passing buildings and people. That would not happen.
The car stopped momentarily at the front gates of St. Paul’s. The two MPs, both British, took his and the driver’s IDs, scrutinized them for what felt like hours, then returned them with a snappy salute. Kruger let out his breath. He was in.
The car pulled to a halt in front of the mai
n building. The driver, a British sergeant, got out and opened the door. Kruger stepped out and scanned the grounds.
“The general’s office is the corner office on the north side. Just ask anyone if you get lost, sir,” the driver said.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Carry on.”
With his briefcase in hand, he marched up the steps and into the venerable building. Without thinking, he patted the inside pocket of his tunic for the fifth time that morning. It contained Bock’s letter to his uncle. After his mission here, he would leave immediately for Germany. Aside from the Semtex, this letter was the most important item on his person.
He saluted when two American colonels passed him in the hall, and he nodded at another captain who came out of an office just ahead of him.
“Oh,” the captain said, “you must be Liddington, right?”
“Quite.”
The officer smiled and extended his hand. “Good show. I’m Breckenridge, the general’s other aide.”
Kruger pretended to be uncomfortable. “I hope I’m not stepping on any toes here.”
Breckenridge smiled. “Not at all, old boy. The general’s got a lot on his mind and a lot to delegate. There are three more of us.”
“Any idea what he’s got in store for me?”
“Looks like you get the brass ring, Liddington. The old man wants you in with him today.”
Kruger could barely contain his excitement, but he continued to play dumb.
“But aren’t you and the others more familiar with everything?”
“Precisely the point. Monty wants fresh blood in there, someone without preconceptions and who’ll be a little off-balance. He likes it that way.”
Kruger shrugged. “It’s his show. Can you direct me to his office?”
“Right. Go to the end of the hall and go right. It’s four doors down. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” Kruger said, moving off.
“Not at all. Welcome to the club.”
Reaching the end of the hall, Kruger turned and walked toward the imposing door at the end of the short corridor. Even from where he stood, he could see the nameplate. His pulse quickened with anticipation. About halfway down the hall, the general’s door opened, and an American lieutenant exited. The man stared at him, making him feel like a lab specimen. He also blocked the way in to the general’s office.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said.
“You are?”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Kruger didn’t like the man’s attitude one bit and decided to play up his part a little.
“Do you always forget to salute a superior officer, Lieutenant!” he said, his voice rising. “In answer to your question, Lieutenant, I am General Montgomery’s new aid, Flight Lieutenant Arthur Liddington, and you will salute me!”
He thought he saw the man’s eyes widen, as if he recognized the name, but the reaction was gone in an instant. Just then the door flew open.
“What is going on here! It sounds like a bloody barroom!”
There stood General Bernard Law Montgomery, Commander of 21 Army Group.
Both men snapped to attention.
“Begging the general’s pardon, but I did not recognize this officer, sir,” Simmons said.
Montgomery turned to Kruger.
“You must be Liddington.”
“Yes, sir.”
A hint of a smile flashed across the hawk-like features. “You must forgive Lieutenant Simmons. He is our security chief and a little overzealous at times. Right, come in. We have things to go over.”
Liddington saluted and walked inside. Montgomery turned to Simmons. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
Simmons saluted and stood there as the door slammed in his face.
Simmons returned to his office feeling like a fool. He’d let the shock of the man’s face and name make him forget common military courtesy, something Montgomery frowned on. Still, forgetting to salute was the last thing on his mind. Liddington! The man was exactly as this Dunham character had described him. And how could Dunham have known the man’s name in advance? Even he hadn’t. In the hectic events of the last few hours, he’d neglected to study the duty roster. He glanced at it now and saw that Liddington had been ordered to report this morning. If he’d bothered to look at the sheets as he always did, he would not have acted like such a bleeding idiot. Still, something bothered him about the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
And that was not the only thing that bothered him. Only that morning he’d received a garbled report about a corpse being discovered in a copse of trees on one of the Fortitude bases. No ID and stripped naked. The body even now was on its way to army pathologists, but after being exposed to the elements, the body had begun to decompose. It would make the ID process longer.
Problems. Nothing but problems.
Simmons leaned back in his chair and stared at the clock. The briefing would start in a few minutes. He needed to make sure all the arriving parties were properly checked. He grabbed his cap and walked out of the office. After the briefing began, Simmons decided he would pay his new prisoners another visit. Maybe this time he would get some answers that made sense.
Kruger stood at attention while Montgomery closed the door and strode over to his desk. “At ease, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kruger said, taking a seat after Montgomery seated himself.
“Crutchins tells me you’re ‘Doubting Tommy’s’ son?”
“Yes, sir.”
The general’s expression saddened. “He was a bloody great soldier. One of the best officers I ever served with. Asked too many bloody questions, though. Not like that, are you, Liddington?”
“Uhh, no, sir.”
“Too bad. Could use a man with some brass in his sack.”
Kruger felt like an idiot but had to admire the old man. A master manipulator. The general’s smile told him it had all been in jest.
“Right. Let’s get to it. What you are going to witness today is nothing short of historic, Liddington.”
“Yes, sir.”
The general stood up and began to pace. “After this war is all over, I expect my account of this great conflict will be in high demand. I want you to transcribe today’s events for inclusion in my memoirs. Not a detail is to slip by you.”
“Never, sir,” Kruger said.
Kruger could barely contain his mirth. Here he was, about to participate in one of history’s greatest moments—as a secretary to a popinjay with delusions of grandeur.
“You do take shorthand, Liddington?”
“Yes, sir, General.”
“Good. I expressly ordered they send me someone who could write that nonsense. History waits for no man.”
“So I’m told, sir.”
“Right. And after today, you’ll be taking over for Breckenridge. Man can’t write a bloody word.”
The general glanced at his watch. “Come, Liddington. Let us make our mark.”
Montgomery turned on his heels and marched to the door. He stood there waiting for Kruger to open it. Scrambling out of his seat, Kruger held open the door and followed the rapidly striding general down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Three
London, England
15 May 1944
Jack glanced at his watch. It was now 0845. The meeting would begin in fifteen minutes. If all went as planned, Jack would be there waiting for Kruger. He nodded to Harry and then grabbed his abdomen.
“Ooooohhhh! My stomach! Oooohhh. Someone! Guard! Get me a doctor! Oooooohhhhh!”
Jack writhed on the bunk, his face contorted in pain, and yelled as loud as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Denise watching him, her expression doubtful. On cue, Harry screamed for the guard, adding to the noise.
“Guard! Guard! Get your bloody arse in here!”
The metal door banged open.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” the MP said.
“Oi!”
Harry said. “Can’t you see this bloke’s sick as a bloody dog? I think he’s got food poisoning.”
The guard sneered at Jack. “Poisoning’s too good for guys like him.”
Denise joined in. “If you don’t help him, Lieutenant Simmons will have your balls for breakfast.”
The mention of Simmons’s name had the desired effect. Fumbling with the ring of keys, he unlocked Jack’s cell door and walked in. Jack continued to moan softly, his eyes squeezed shut.
“You really look like shit, Mack,” the guard said, shaking his head.
In a flash, Jack grabbed the MP by his shirt and slammed his head into the cinder block wall, knocking him out. Jack leaped to his feet, threw Denise the keys to their cells, and began exchanging clothes with the unconscious guard.
“I still don’t like this, Jack. What if you get caught? What if—”
Jack buttoned up the MP’s britches, noting that they were two inches short. “Look, we’ve been over this a hundred times. You can’t help at this point. The best thing you can do is let Harry get you off the grounds and back to the Roundhead. If something happens to me—”
“Don’t you dare say that!” Denise said, her eyes aflame.
Jack buttoned up the shirt and put on the tie. “If something happens, you’ve got to follow Kruger and get him.”
“What if they won’t let Harry and me out?”
Harry chimed in. “Not to worry, love. I was due to be sprung this morning, anyway. As for you, I’ll tell them that Simmons has released you.”
“Won’t you need some kind of official release?” Denise asked.
Harry shook his head. “It being Monday, Smithers and Walston will be on guard. They both owe me big favors. You see, I’m also what you might call the procurement officer.”
Jack put on the finishing touches to his MP uniform and stood at attention. “How do I look?”