by Mick Bose
Miranda was standing behind her husband. She pressed her hands on his back. Karl grimaced and bent his knees to stand up. Maggie stepped around and put her arm on her father`s shoulder, who held on to her without complaining. With an effort, he raised himself up from the bed. Flanked by the two women on either side, Karl shuffled towards the door.
To Maggie, the journey down the staircase was excruciatingly slow. Finally, they made it down to the landing. Maggie put her father`s shoes on for him, ignoring his attempts to do it himself.
They hadn’t packed any clothes. There was no time. She imagined Becker would be asleep in the shade of some tree by now, or he’d crept into the barn to have a rest. If he drank the jug. If he hadn’t… Maggie put the thought out of her head.
“Let`s go,” Maggie said.
She helped her mother to make Karl stand up, then the three of them walked towards the door. The rifle was on her back, safety catch off in case she needed it, but was hoping she wouldn’t have to. It had been a while since she used the gun.
They approached the doorway and Maggie pulled it open. She smiled when she saw the porch was empty, Lucky and the buggy standing outside. The Myers` stepped out onto the porch. Then she heard a voice that chilled her to the core.
“Where are you all going?”
Standing behind them in the far-right corner of the porch, head bowed as if he was tired, eyes hooded but defiant, was the man she never wanted to see again. Paul Becker.
Maggie stared at him. He was dressed in a brown uniform, with a cap, the shoulder bag strapped to his back.
In a flash, Maggie stepped aside from her father, removed the gun from her back and pointed it at Paul.
“If you take another step, I will shoot you,” Maggie said. Paul moved around, Maggie shifted with him, keeping the gun trained.
Miranda and Karl had stepped back, and Miranda had managed to open the porch door. Her parents shrank back against the door, as far as they could. Becker ignored them. Slowly, he crept towards Maggie, who didn’t move. A gasp was caught in her chest, she could barely breathe. But she kept the gun trained on him.
Becker took another step forward. He shook his head, but kept his eyes fixed on hers. She could step down, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off him. From the periphery of her vision, she saw her mother open the door and stumble inside with her father.
“Maggie,” Becker whispered. “We could have been good together. Why?”
“Stop where you are, Paul,” Maggie shouted. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot!”
Becker spread his hands, a wry smile on his lips. The same smile he used to charm her before. It made her feel sick now.
“Then why don`t you shoot me?”
Maggie didn’t say anything. Becker shifted to the left, so Maggie had to move to her right.
“You know why you can`t shoot me, Maggie?”
Maggie stayed silent.
“You can`t shoot me, because you like me. I haven’t harmed you in any way. You have to shoot me in cold blood. Can you do that Maggie?” His voice had dropped to a whisper.
“You killed eight people. One of them a woman.”
His face changed. When he spoke it was through clenched teeth.
“There`s a war going on, Maggie. Do you know how many of my countrymen have died? Who cares about them?”
He advanced another step closer to Maggie. She flicked her eyes to the left. Becker had positioned himself in a straight line between her and the door. At the window, she saw her mother`s scared face staring out. It took an instant to flick her eyes back to Becker, but it was too late.
Becker dropped to the floor. Suddenly, Maggie had an unobstructed view of the front door. If she fired, the bullet could go into the house and she had no way of knowing how far down the hallway her father was. Instinctively, she lowered the rifle muzzle. For a big man, Becker moved fast. He had almost rolled himself into a ball and Maggie saw a blur of movement coming straight for her feet. Gun muzzle pointed to the floor, Maggie fired.
The gun recoil kicked against her right shoulder and the shot was like an explosion in the silence. She heard Becker scream, and then he was against her, pushing her legs down the porch stairs. Maggie struggled for balance, but there was no way she could stand. She fell backwards and in desperation, pointed the gun down the best she could and fired again. The shot flew over Becker and thudded harmlessly into the floor.
Maggie rolled down the stairs, Becker on top of her. She fell on her back, feeling the breath leave her chest. He was astride her, pinning her arms to the sides. His teeth were bared in a mask of hatred. He raised one hand and slapped her across the cheek so hard Maggie felt her head snap to the side. She tasted blood and her head swam with pain and dizziness. He raised his hand to hit her again, but there was a blur of movement and Maggie heard a shout. Something slammed into Becker from the side.
“Leave her alone, you bastard!” It was her mother.
Becker didn’t move from his position. With a casual flick of his arm, like swatting away a fly, he pushed Miranda to the floor. The elderly woman went sprawling into the dust. Maggie tried to shout but couldn’t. Becker was pressing on her abdomen and the pain was incredible. She felt his hands tap her gown pockets and remove her house keys.
Maggie fought under him, but she was trapped. She heard a voice cry out her name hoarsely.
“Maggie!” It was her father. He had raised himself up on his walking stick and was slowly making his way down the porch. The look of anguish on his face seared across Maggie`s heart.
A red mist of anger descended over Maggie. She screamed at Becker, bucked her hips and pushed. Her clawed fingers dug deep into his uniform and hit him in the chest. It was all futile. Casually, he stood up, dragging Maggie up by the front of her dress. The dress ripped and Maggie flew at him, spitting and kicking, trying to scratch at his eyes. He brushed her hands away and hit her again, this time with his fist. The impact crunched Maggie`s jaw and she stumbled back, sprawling into the dirt. The world swam before her eyes. Nausea gripped her stomach. She felt herself being lifted up and she hung from Becker`s shoulder. She heard the porch door rattle, then she fell again, sliding from his shoulder onto the wooden floor. Her hips and spine jerked in pain, and she cried out. Another body landed next to her, but she couldn’t tell who it was. Then she heard the door slam and a key turn in the lock.
Slowly, the blackness cleared. Liquid was pouring down her nose, she cleaned it with her sleeve. It came away red with blood. The pain in her back and head was terrible. She looked to her side and a sob escaped her lips. Her father had a red gash over his forehead, lying unconscious next to her. Becker must have hit him hard. Miranda was holding her husband`s head, tears rolling down her face. She had a bruise on her temple as well, but seemed otherwise unharmed.
Maggie held her face and forced herself to stand up. She could hear Lucky neighing outside. She fumbled with the door knob—it was locked. She went to the kitchen and looked out the window.
Becker was on Lucky`s back, his bag on his shoulders, galloping westward towards Cleveland. Becker was going hell for leather, dressed in that brown uniform… suddenly it came to her.
There was an airstrip in Cleveland. It was new. The air strip was close to Lake Erie, too. What if Becker was going to the airstrip, dressed in that uniform?
Maggie sat down on the stool, panting. Becker was going to the airstrip with the explosives, but why? To blow it up? Whatever the reason, she had to do something to stop him.
CHAPTER 30
The mid-afternoon sun was high, the heat relentless, shadows non-existent. Tunney pulled at the chafing collar of his tunic uniform. Hotter here than NYC, he thought to himself. They had a hot and bumpy ride to five farms so far, and all of them had drawn a blank. Now Lindquist and him had come back to the base in Cleveland. Tunney opened the door of his tiny room on the first floor of Cleveland`s first precinct office. He pulled the curtains down, giving the room and himself some much needed shade, sw
itched the fan on and sprawled on his chair. Lindquist took the other seat opposite the desk. He shook a packet of Lucky Strikes and gave one to Tunney. They both lit up.
“Mother of Mary. I need a soda,” Tunney said.
“Shall I get some, Major?” Lindquist asked.
“Yes, and while you are at it,” Tunney tried to remember. “Can you find out where a farm called Clay Tree Farm is?”
“Clay Tree Farm?”
“Yes, and don’t look at me like that,” Tunney snapped. He rubbed his forehead. The heat was getting to him. “I`m sorry. The lady who owns it or whatever, acted strangely when I mentioned Becker to her. It might not lead to anything, but hell, we have to consider all our angles.”
Lindquist nodded. “You got that right, sir.”
The phone rang. Tunney stared at it for a second. He was about to pick it up when Lindquist reached out a hand and plucked the receiver.
“Inspector Lindquist. Who`s speaking?” He nodded his head a few times, then covered the receiver.
“Sir, there`s some banker downstairs who wants to speak to you. Says it could be something important.”
Tunney frowned. “Why the hell can`t he say it on the phone?”
“He says he would rather see you in person.”
Tunney grimaced. “Alright, send the asshole upstairs.”
The men straightened themselves at the knock on the door. Tunney was still tying his tunic buttons when Lindquist opened the door, letting in a small balding man dressed in a black three-piece frock suit and trousers. Sweat glistened on his mostly hairless scalp.
“Come in, please,” Tunney drawled. “What’s your name?”
“Mike Bennett,” said the little man. He adjusted the round glasses on the bridge of his nose. He looked scared. “One of my clerks was at the spectacle shop close to our bank today. He mentioned that the police were looking for a tall, wide-shouldered man, who also has different-coloured eyes?”
Tunney hunched closer on the table, his attention suddenly focused. “Yes?”
“Well, it`s a strange thing, you see. I was at the farmers market two weeks ago. One farmer owes us money and I happened to tell his daughter that if we weren’t paid in time, I might be forced to send the debt collectors around. Then this large man stepped up from nowhere. He challenged me and said he would make sure the debt collectors never came back.” Bennett fumed at the memory. “I mean, the impertinence of the man. Really! I was just politely reminding…”
“Mr Bennett,” Tunney stopped him. “Tell us about the man.”
Bennett said, “Oh? Sure—yes, sorry. So this man was threatening and rude. And when I looked into his eyes, his left eye was still, not moving. It also had a yellowish-green colour to it. Very odd indeed. His right eye was brown and seemed to be working normally.”
“What’s the name of the farmer?”
“Karl Myers, at Clay Tree Farm.”
Tunney stood up. “Do you know what this man has to do with the farm?”
“That’s the funny thing you see, when I went there—”
Tunney cut him short again. “You know where the farm is?”
“Yes I—”
“Then let`s go,” Tunney snapped, making his way out of the door. Lindquist put two hands underneath Bennett`s shoulders and almost lifted the diminutive banker off the chair.
*****
Miranda grabbed Karl`s legs and with Maggie, they made him sit up against a wall. It was no good. He was still unconscious and began to sag down. Maggie looked at her mother in desperation.
“Mama, I need to get out there to stop him.”
“But how Maggie, I—”
She stopped at the sound of a motor outside. There was a loud hoot of a horn, and the bang of an engine before it was cut. Footsteps scuffled in the dirt outside, then climbed up the porch. Fists banged on the door.
“Who is it?”, Maggie shouted.
“Major Tunney, US Army, Military Intelligence Department,” a voice shouted.
Relief flooded Maggie. She got up and rushed to the door. “The door is locked. He`s taken the keys. You need to…”
“Stand back,” the voice ordered from behind the door.
Maggie went back to the floor next to her parents and helped Miranda move Karl a little further away.
“Have you moved?” The voice was impatient.
“Yes,” Maggie shouted.
A heavy boot kicked the door, then again. Then two sets of boots kicked the door again. The door was heavy, meant to withstand a barrage such as this. The kicking stopped, and Maggie heard something smash through the glass on the window to the left. The sound repeated, and she realised a rifle butt was being used to the break the glass.
The man who stumbled in through the broken window wore the tunic uniform of an army officer. He held a Beretta pistol in his hand, and from beneath sweaty eyebrows, a pair of intelligent slate grey eyes glinted ferociously. His moustache was well trimmed and somehow fitted his face. Maggie recognised him immediately as the officer she had met in Cleveland town square.
*****
Tunney stared Maggie and Miranda, his pistol pointing downwards. She looked as if she’d been in a fight. On the side of her face a large, angry bruise was spreading up her jaw. She held herself like her back or side was injured.
“What happened here, Miss…”
“Myers. Officer Tunney isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tunney said, feeling foolish that he hadn’t remembered her name.
Maggie stepped up to him. From close up, he could see the damage on her face. Her jaw was swollen and turning purple. She held a tissue up to her nose, and it was streaked with blood. Tunney frowned.
“Who did this to you, Miss Myers?”
“I owe you an apology, Major Tunney. I did know Paul Becker. He was living here as a farmhand. But I wasn’t sure if it was him, and I had to check for myself before I told you. Maybe you can`t understand that, but I couldn’t have turned an innocent man over to the law. I was wrong. He is a bad man.” Anger overcame Maggie again as she told Tunney everything.
Tunney interrupted her before she could finish. “Describe those metallic tubes to me again?”
“They had a rubber gasket on one end and a clock on the other.”
“Those are explosives,” Tunney said.
“I thought so too.”
“Where did he go?”
“Westward, over the hills. It`s Cleveland that way.”
“Not towards the east? As in, towards Willoughby or Mentor?”
Maggie shook her head. “No. But he was wearing a brown uniform with a cap. The uniform had a patch that said he was a guard at the airstrip in Cleveland.”
Airstrip? Guard`s uniform? Tunney tried to understand.
She said, “There is an airstrip in Cleveland. What if he’s headed for there with his explosives? He told me he used to be a pilot. He crash-landed once and injured his left eye. That’s why it’s that colour.”
“He’s a pilot?”
“Yes. He said he flew aeroplanes in England.”
The world swam in front of Tunney`s eyes. An abrupt realisation was hitting his brain like the rattle of fire from a Vickers machine gun.
Maggie opened her mouth, trying to say something.
Wave after wave of nausea was hitting Tunney. He turned and looked at Lindquist, whose face was contorted like his.
“The airstrip. It`s right next to Willoughby. That`s his plan! To fly into Willoughby,” Tunney shouted, interrupting Maggie. Lindquist already making his way to the door.
“Wait,” Maggie shouted behind him. He was starting to run when he felt a hand grab his sleeve and pull him back. The jerk was strong and forced Tunney to stop. Fury etched every corner of Maggie’s face.
“You are not leaving my father in this state. He needs to be taken to a hospital. And I’m coming with you to the airstrip.”
Tunney tried to think. His pragmatic mind told him Maggie would be useful in identifying Becker. Neither
Lindquist nor him had ever seen Becker.
An army truck was arriving, having followed them with several soldiers in the back. “Your parents can travel in the truck, and we can take the jeep,” he said.
“Which one is faster?”
Good point. He thought of the potholes on the dirt road. The truck could do better on these roads. And faster.
Maggie said, “Major, please put my parents in the jeep, so the driver can take them to Cleveland Hospital. You and I can travel in the truck. It will be quicker. But we need to hurry, he might be there already.”
Tunney stared at Maggie for a second. Did she just give him an order? He opened his mouth and shut it, then nodded in silence.
CHAPTER 31
It had been a while since Becker had ridden a horse and he was forced to slow down. He didn’t want to fall.
Maggie had injured him. He checked the wound. Blood oozed from the bullet hole. He pressed it hard with his shirt and checked his back. There was an exit hole and despite the bloody mess, it was no more than a flesh wound in his lower left side, just above the hip bone. In and out. He took his jacket off and cut both the sleeves from his shirt. He wrapped them around his torso tightly as he could, covering both the front and back wounds. For now, that would have to do as a dressing.
He’d lost a lot of blood and the pain was affecting him. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. He got dressed, put his bag on his shoulder and the Remington rifle on his back. Back in the saddle, he dug his heels in the horse`s side and broke into a gallop.
He calculated the distance. He could make twenty-five miles in an hour. That would get him to the airstrip on the edge of Lake Erie in an hour. The alarm could well be raised by then, he thought. He needed to hurry. He had the rifle now, which was good. Once he was airborne, he knew they couldn’t stop him.
He urged the horse on, and it responded. He approached the hill that rose and curved around the airstrip. They cantered up the hill, but he pushed the animal harder. White froth flaring from her nostrils, Lucky broke into a gallop. Becker winced. The wound was seeping still and he needed to get a proper bandage on it sooner than later. But it could wait.