The Shadow of Treason

by Edward Taylor

  ‘Up the road and turn left,’ said the porter. ‘Then right at the crossroads. But that’s a government place, you can’t go in there.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Adam. ‘It’s official business.’

  He passed through the gate, and began to walk up the country lane.

  It should have been a pleasant walk. The trees and bushes were still in leaf, and wild flowers lingered in the hedgerows. Birds were singing and from the meadow beyond the hedge came the occasional sound of cows mooing.

  But, in fact, it was irksome. For one thing, it was uphill all the way. It had been a ten-minute trudge to the crossroads, and a further five since. For another thing, Adam was apprehensive and in no mood to enjoy the scenery. He was wondering what awaited him. And he still had no plan of action. He would have to improvize, and he mustn’t waste this opportunity.

  For the last hundred yards the roadside hedge had been replaced by a fence, and at last Adam came to a gate, beside which a notice proclaimed ‘Ministry of Defence Property: Keep Out’. Over the gate Adam could see a footpath leading across a field to a timber shack, like a cricket pavilion. There were no sentries. Indeed, there was no sign of life at all. The gate was unlocked. Adam opened it and went through, reflecting that if Hitler still planned to invade, this was the place to choose. As he walked up the path, the only sound was the trill of a robin. By the shack was a sign saying ‘Danger! Live Ammunition in Use!’ Next to it, a red flag hung from a white flagpole. The firing range must start behind the building but currently no ammunition of any sort was in use.

  Approaching the shack, Adam saw yet another injunction on the door: ‘Home Guard Personnel Only’. By now he was convinced that elements of the Home Guard must be involved in the black market. The government had kindly provided them with this lair in the wilderness to store illicit goods. Perhaps Mark Jefferson had found out, and had to be silenced. Maybe he’d actually been involved and was killed by rivals. Adam hadn’t known Jefferson well enough to judge which was the more likely. But Jane had been fond of Jefferson, so he hoped it was the former.

  The robin had packed up for the day, and now all was silence, but Adam had begun to feel he was being watched.

  He mounted a step onto the verandah of planking, which increased the resemblance to a cricket pavilion. It occurred to him that the area must have been playing fields before the war. He hoped a sporting spirit still prevailed.

  He was now in front of the door. It seemed sensible to knock, as he had no wish to surprise anyone. So he rapped firmly on the door with his knuckles. A voice shouted, ‘Come in,’ so he turned the handle and entered.

  The place was almost bare: plain wooden floor, plain wooden walls, no guns to be seen. Presumably, soldiers brought their weapons with them when they used the range. There were several church-hall-type chairs and one table.

  At this table, on the far side of the room, sat a man in unkempt khaki battle-dress, buttons of his tunic undone. He was a big man, and he didn’t smile.

  As instructed on the phone, Adam led off with ‘I’m a friend of Sniffer Dean’.

  ‘That’s a novelty,’ said the man. ‘He doesn’t have many of those.’

  ‘He said we might be able to do some business,’ said Adam.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure we can,’ said the man. ‘Come over here and sit down.’ He still wasn’t smiling.

  The man’s manner wasn’t that of someone with something to sell. This was all wrong. And there was no sign of whisky anywhere.

  Suddenly Adam felt a violent sense of danger: all his instincts screamed at him to run. He turned quickly but already there were two men behind him, between him and the door: tough-looking characters, not in khaki but in sweaters and dark trousers. One of them kicked the door shut.

  ‘Bring him over here,’ said the man in khaki, and the other two took an arm each, shoved Adam across the room, and pushed him down into a chair.

  Adam didn’t resist. Three against one was odds he didn’t fancy. Not at the moment, anyway. For now, it would be better to use his brain. Were they simply after money? He’d led Sniffer Dean to think he had plenty of cash.

  ‘What’s the idea?’ he asked, firmly but pleasantly. ‘I’m here to buy some Scotch.’

  ‘You’re here to answer questions, Webber,’ said the man in khaki. ‘And you’d better have the right answers or you’re in for a very hard time!’

  Adam was shaken by the threat, but the use of his surname was an equal shock. He’d been careful to give Dean no hint of his identity. Things were turning nasty but he decided to ignore the name and try to keep up the façade. He did his best to speak calmly. ‘What are you talking about? This is an odd way to treat a customer. I was going to put a lot of business your way.’

  ‘Cut the crap!’ The man spat out the words. ‘You know what this is about. You and your mate Jefferson nicked something that belongs to a friend of ours. Or he nicked it and passed it on to you. Either way, we want it back. And you’re going to tell us what the hell you and him were up to.’

  ‘Jefferson wasn’t my mate. I only met him a couple of times.’ Now they were getting down to basics, Adam thought the man might let something slip. He said, almost casually, ‘Jefferson was killed, wasn’t he? Did you kill him?’

  The man was getting angry. ‘I’ll ask the bloody questions!’ he snarled. ‘Don’t waste time! Jefferson burgled the Tilfleet Home Guard and took a logbook, right? And then he gave it to you and your bird. So where is it?’

  ‘Logbook? I don’t know anything about a logbook.’

  The man in khaki snorted with exasperation. Then he nodded to the other two. One of them yanked Adam to his feet and held his arms. The other hit him hard in the stomach and then in the face. The first man released his arms and rabbit-punched his neck. After that, the second man smashed his fist against Adam’s head, knocking him to the ground. Then both men kicked him.

  Dizzy with pain, Adam still judged it would be foolish to fight back. In a brawl tempers would flare, and they could easily kill him. As things were, they wanted him alive to answer questions. He’d let them play it their way for now; he might even learn something. He lay sprawled on the floor, breathing hard.

  ‘That’ll do for now,’ said the leader. ‘He can’t talk if he’s unconscious. Get him up.’

  The two men dragged Adam to his feet.

  ‘Search him,’ said the leader. ‘He’s not likely to have it on him, but you might find something.’

  One man held Adam’s arms again while the other went through his pockets. He extracted a handkerchief, which he threw on the floor, then some change and a small piece of cardboard.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked the man in khaki.

  ‘Return ticket to London.’

  The leader laughed for the first time: a short, sharp, very unpleasant sound. ‘Well, he won’t be needing that. Give it here. And he won’t want the money either. I’ll have it.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said his underling, with a hint of defiance.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said the leader. ‘I’ll share it out later.’

  Adam watched the money being handed over. ‘You’re supposed to give me whisky for that,’ he ventured.

  ‘Shut up about the bloody whisky!’ barked the man in khaki. ‘There isn’t any bloody whisky! Sit him down again!’

  The men dumped Adam back on the chair like a sack of potatoes. His interrogator leaned across the desk and brought his face up close to Adam’s.

  ‘Listen, you stupid bastard,’ he said. ‘You’re alone. You’re miles from anywhere. No one can help you. We can work on you all day if we have to.’

  ‘I’ll be missed,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve got friends who’ll go to the police.’

  ‘No, they won’t. The police are after you too. They’re all set to top you for murder.’ He stared into Adam’s eyes for several seconds. Then he continued. ‘You’ll talk in the end, that’s for sure. The joker on your right can do some very painful things with a razor, without killing y
ou. You won’t be dead but you’ll wish you were. Right, Sid?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Sid chuckled with pleasurable anticipation. ‘I can arrange your face so your own mother wouldn’t know you.’

  The man in khaki resumed. ‘You talk now, you’ll save yourself a lot of grief. We might even let you go in a couple of days, when it doesn’t matter.’

  What did that mean? Adam wondered. What would change in a couple of days?

  ‘OK, let’s try again,’ said the man. ‘For a start, where’s the logbook?’

  Several areas of Adam were hurting badly. Should he admit that a logbook had fallen into his hands? It was probably just an account of black market dealings. What the hell did it matter? He could say he’d had it and lost it. But then, if they forced the whereabouts out of him, there’d be danger for Leo at the Marine Research Unit. And also for Jane. He rejected the idea of telling them anything. He’d try one more bluff.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ he shouted. ‘You’ve told me there’s no bloody whisky! I’m telling you there’s no bloody logbook! I came here to buy booze for my mate who runs the club!’ A desperate idea came to him, and he continued more quietly, but urgently. ‘He knew I was coming here. That’s his money you’ve taken. If I don’t get back with the Scotch, his men’ll be coming after you!’

  The man in khaki looked at him with contempt. ‘Balls!’ he said. He turned to the man on Adam’s right. ‘OK, Sid, he’s all yours for half an hour. Just remember, I don’t want him dead, and I don’t want him unconscious.’

  Sid was reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t croak. I’ll just take off a few bits he won’t miss much.’ He took out a thin leather pouch, from which he produced a cut-throat razor. He opened the razor out. ‘Only he might go mad and start jerking about. Better cuff him.’

  ‘Right,’ said the leader. He spoke to the third man. ‘Get the cuffs, Stan.’

  There was a first-aid cabinet fixed to the wall. The ginger-haired thug on Adam’s left went and opened it, and took out a pair of handcuffs.

  As he did this, Adam’s mind was racing. His passive policy would have to change. And fast. Once they had him handcuffed, all hope was gone. This was the moment he had to act.

  He put both hands under the table, heaved, and tipped it over onto the man sitting opposite. At the same time he jumped up and threw a punch at Stan as he returned from the cabinet, then spun round and smashed his fist into Sid’s face.

  It should have been no more than a doomed act of defiance. But then the V2 struck.

  There was a deafening explosion, accompanied by a crashing of wood and turf and other flying debris, and a scalding tornado of wind, as the giant rocket, launched at London from Holland minutes earlier, missed its target. It landed on the firing range twenty-five yards from the hut where Adam was being tormented, and detonated on impact.

  The explosion blew out the nearest side of the shack and brought down most of the roof. A section fell on the man in khaki, pinning him to the floor. A large piece of the ‘Danger: Live Ammunition’ notice felled Sid. Adam’s punch had already put the third man on the floor, and now he was covered with debris.

  Demonstrating that there is sometimes a reward for virtue, the mighty blast left Adam dazed, but unhurt. He staggered briefly, and then the sight of the ginger-haired thug pushing off the debris and getting to his feet swiftly cleared his mind.

  Ludicrously, Adam headed briefly for the door. Then he realized that escape would be much easier via the space where the wall used to be. He ran through the gap, and carried on running.

  He had a twenty-yard start on the ginger-haired Stan, who was trying to pull something from his pocket. Sid and the chief thug were slower to move, but seemed to be conscious.

  9

  SITTING ON A bench at the edge of the field, the man in the dark suit had witnessed the effects of the explosion but, since it was on the other side of the shack, he’d stayed unruffled. He remained seated, pulled out a walkie-talkie radio, spoke into it with calm urgency, and then returned it to his inside pocket.

  He saw two figures emerge from the shattered building and head towards him. One appeared to be chasing the other.

  Adam hadn’t looked back, so he wasn’t aware that there was only one man following him. For all he knew, all three thugs could have recovered and might now be on his tail, perhaps with guns. So Adam just had to keep running and try to reach a place where there were people, ordinary people, whose presence should deter the villains. Here, in the open fields, he was at their mercy.

  His thought was to get back to Chalksea station: there might be people there by now. Besides, it was downhill. So he was running back along the path that would take him past the bench on which the man in the dark suit was sitting.

  Adam was a natural athlete but the beating he’d taken had temporarily sapped his strength. His limbs were heavy and sore, he was fighting for breath, and there was a burning pain in his side. His progress was getting slower as he drew level with the bench. And then his progress ceased altogether, as the man stretched out his rolled umbrella and hooked the handle neatly round one of Adam’s flying ankles. Adam tumbled flat out onto the grass.

  His pursuer drew up, registering both surprise and triumph. Then he stooped over Adam and put his hands round his throat. As he bent over, the man in the dark suit swung his umbrella in a wide arc and hit him hard on the back of his head. In itself, the wooden handle would not have enough weight to cause much damage but the lump of lead buried inside caused the man to drop like a stone.

  Adam sat up, bruised and bewildered. He looked back and was relieved to see there were no more pursuers. He peered at the man on the bench, convinced he’d seen him before. It had been pretty unkind of this character to trip him up but, on the other hand, he had dealt with his enemy very effectively.

  Adam looked the man in the eye and said, ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘You looked as if you could do with a lie down,’ the man replied. ‘Besides, it’s time you and I had a chat. I’m afraid you’ve been keeping bad company.’

  Adam’s defence mechanism was alerted. ‘Are you police?’

  ‘No,’ said the man. ‘What happened there? I mean, before the bomb?’

  ‘This man and two others lured me to that Home Guard place. Then they started beating me up.’

  The man clicked his tongue. ‘Tch. People behave very badly these days.’

  ‘Then the bomb knocked two of them out, and I was able to run.’

  ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, as they say.’ The man pondered. Then he produced a polite query. ‘You say they lured you there? How exactly did they do that?’

  Adam thought quickly: he was in danger of saying too much. ‘I was thinking of joining the Home Guard.’

  The man smiled tolerantly. ‘Really? With the war almost over? A bit like joining the Swiss Navy.’

  Adam sat on the grass, wondering what to do next. Common sense said he should get up and move off fast. His other two tormenters could still recover and come after him. There was no reason why he should stay here, answering this chap’s questions. He should be getting back to London. But they’d taken his money and his return ticket. And the man on the bench had an air of confidence and authority that was somehow reassuring. Besides, Adam was exhausted. So he carried on sitting there.

  By now, south-east Essex was reacting to the V2. Air-raid sirens were heard and then the urgent bell of a police car coming up the lane, followed by a Civil Defence van. From the opposite direction came an ambulance. All the vehicles stopped near the entrance, and people began getting out.

  First through the gate were two policemen, one with sergeant’s stripes on his arm. They saw the man on the bench, and came over to him. Now it was too late for Adam to run.

  ‘Mr Hoskins?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Yes.’ The man on the bench nodded genially, then produced a card and showed it to them. ‘A good quick response, Sergeant. Well done!’

 
; The sergeant beamed. ‘Thank you, sir. What’s the situation?’

  ‘Big explosion on the firing range over there. Almost certainly a V2, falling short. Another of Adolf’s triumphs. I doubt if anyone was out there, getting hurt. But two men were injured in that building when it collapsed – we don’t know how seriously.’

  ‘There’s an ambulance standing by.’

  ‘Well, try and get to them first. And be careful. I’m pretty sure they’re professional criminals. If they can move, they’ll have made themselves scarce. If they’re still there, they could be dangerous.’

  ‘We’re armed, sir.’

  ‘Good. If you catch them, nick ’em for GBH. Likewise this character.’ He prodded Stan’s inert body with his umbrella. ‘All three were assaulting Mr Carr here.’

  The penultimate word hit Adam like an electric shock. It had been bad enough when the man in khaki had thrown in his recent name, which he wasn’t supposed to know. Now here was another stranger casually using the name he was born with, the name he’d tried to leave behind. Adam wondered how he should react. But his brain was too tired for policy decisions.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ve got back-up on the way. We’ll just make sure this comedian doesn’t go anywhere. Cuff him to the leg of the bench, Fletcher.’ The unconscious thug was secured. ‘Good. Now we’ll go and sort out the other two. What about this gentleman, sir? Is he injured?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Hoskins. ‘He’s coming with me. He’s needed back in London as soon as possible. I’ll commandeer that ambulance to take us to the railway station. The ambulancemen can clean him up on the way.’ He turned to Adam. ‘You never know, you might even get a nurse.’

  ‘Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant, and the two policemen walked off towards the wrecked pavilion.

  Adam mustered a bit of spirit. ‘What if I don’t want to come with you?’

  Hoskins smiled. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have any option, old chap.’ He opened his jacket to reveal not only a light blue waist-coat but also a shoulder holster, from which protruded the butt of a small hand-gun. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘you’ll be better off with me. This place will soon be swarming with policemen, all in a position to charge you with a hundred different offences.’