DEATH ON WINTER'S EVE

by Doug Dollard

  “I need to talk to you,” I said, approaching where she lay curled up on the bed sobbing softly. She gazed up at me, a look of suspicion in her eyes. I had overlooked how young she was. Twenty two, maybe twenty four. But it’s life’s experiences that mature us, not age. Wellington had her share of those.

  “I need your help with something but I’ll understand if you decline.” Slowly she sat up, wiping the tears from her face with the palms of her hands. The gash on her forehead had stopped bleeding.

  “How does your head feel?” I asked, concerned by the apparent seriousness of the cut.

  “It looks worse than it is,” she answered clinically.

  Apparently my expressions of sympathy were going to break against her cold indifference. I decided to pursue an alternate course and get right to my proposition.

  “I need your help breaking into Wilton Park,” I told her. If I had expected to see her slide into shock I would have been disappointed.

  “You want to confront Commander Whitley,” she countered, immediately grasping my intent.

  “I don’t see another way unless you have a better plan,” I answered. “Whitley is the key to this. If I can persuade him I’m not a threat to the Allied invasion I think we can work out a deal that we can both live with.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  It was a fair question and one I had wrestled with for several hours.

  “I don’t think we could be any worse off. Do you?”

  Wellington pondered this for a moment and the nodded her head.

  “I’ll keep you out of this to the extent he’ll allow it,” I promised her.

  Again she nodded her ascent though this time there was a note of fatalism I had not seen before.

  With an apparent accord reached we settled down to making plans. I asked dozens of questions that Wellington answered truthfully to the best of her ability. Half an hour later we were finished and I had the outline of a plan I intended to implement the next morning. My greatest concern was for Wellington’s safety. She would have to go with me and I couldn’t be certain I could protect her if things went awry. And things always went awry.

  “There is considerable risk,” I told her truthfully.

  “I don’t care. I can’t go on like this. I do care for you Michael and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” If her eyes were any indication she was telling me the truth. I felt something strange happening to me that I hadn’t felt for a very long time. I pushed the feeling aside. This was not the right time for either of us.

  It was growing dark by the time I had worked out the details of a plan to gain access to Wilton Park. We both needed a good night’s sleep. I took some blankets from the linen closet and laid them on the living room floor. Wellington had the bed and our relationship had taken a bad turn that morning. I had feelings for her but I knew it would only complicate things if I allowed these to get in the way.

  I started a large fire with the split logs I found stacked on the hearth. The fire would keep the cottage warm until dawn and besides I liked the sounds of wood popping and hissing as pockets of trapped gas and wood resins caught fire. I stripped off my clothes and crawled under several layers of blankets, hoping to stay warm the remainder of the night.

  I drifted off sometime after midnight, my thoughts a tangle of events, fears and desires. Sometime later I felt Wellington crawl under the covers beside me.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she protested. I could feel her naked breasts against my chest as she moved in against me, her nipples hard and erect.

  I was instantly awake and fighting back autonomic rush of adrenalin and a surge in my heart rate.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea Mary,” I protested, though my voice was horse and barely a whisper.

  “I just want to lie beside you Michael. I need to know I’m safe at least for tonight.” She lay there quietly, her chest resting firmly against mine, her loins planted against my hip, her knee pressed up against my groin. She smelled of lavender and soap and that pungent scent women have when they are on the cusp of making love. Her breathing was deep and rapid, her heated breath softly flowing across my face like a warm summer breeze. Tenderly she reached down and touched me, her hand finding me more than receptive. Gently she eased one leg across my hips, careful not to press against my wound. With her hand she guided me into her, sliding me deep inside the warmth of her body. Slowly, quietly we made love, our bodies moving rhythmically as one.

  Her face was poised inches above my own, her dark brown curls touching my cheeks, her lips caressing mine with each motion of our bodies. She tasted of sweet berries though I could not fathom why.

  Placing my hands in the small of her back I rolled her over and she moved her legs high up on my hips. The scent of her, the texture of her skin, the sweetness of her lovemaking filled me with a passion I had not experienced in years.

  We reveled in each other’s bodies, our love making slowly reaching a crescendo that brought us both to the pinnacle of explosive pleasure. When our love making was over Wellington lay again beside me, her passion sated, her body slick with sweat, her breathing slow and strong.

  Together we fell asleep, intertwined with each other, our concerns for tomorrow and the tensions which still existed between us reserved for another day.

  Chapter 51

  CONFRONTING WHITLEY

  The next morning I awoke to find I was alone. I worried Wellington had changed her mind and departed before I could dissuade her. She needn’t have worried. I was of the mind to scrap our whole plan and attempt an escape to America. And then I heard the bathroom toilet flush and knew she had not had a change of heart after all. She padded into the living room naked and slipped quickly beneath the covers, her skin cold against mine.

  “Warm me up,” she insisted. For the next twenty minutes I did just that.

  Having given Wellington detailed instructions as to her role in this morning’s confrontation with Commander Whitley I spent the next hour cleaning my RAF uniform. I was going to need it if I hoped to avoid drawing attention when we entered Wilton Park.

  At seven thirty we got into Nash’s black Plymouth and headed back toward Beaconsfield. The drive took us just under two hours giving me just under forty minutes before I planned to intercept Whitley. The roads into the area were protected by the military and all vehicles entering the area had their occupant’s credentials checked. That’s why I needed Wellington. She still had her military identification and with any luck her name would still be on the list of approved personnel.

  The morning started out clear but the skies grew overcast as the morning progressed. By the time we reached the first outpost the weather had deteriorated into a cold and misting rain. I worried it might derail my plans but there was no sense heading back to Danesfield without trying as long as we were here.

  The soldier at the outpost guarding the entrance to Wilton Park took Wellington’s military identification to check it against a list of authorized personnel as I anticipated. He spent some time at that effort and I began to worry her name had been removed from the list. Finally he returned and saluted, waving us through.

  Wellington was not as familiar with the area inside the gates and it took some time for us the find our way to the appropriate area. When we finally found what I was looking for the rain had ceased to be replaced by a light mist that hung listlessly in the frigid air. We parked off the side of the road behind some trees so the Plymouth couldn’t be easily detected from the road.

  I got out and Wellington stayed behind. We had an argument about her role in this before we left Danesfield. In the end she agreed to remain in the car until I intercepted Whitley. I was counting on her memory of the immediate geography surrounding the White House. She was certain we could intercept the trail that ran in a three mile loop around the White House at its furthest point. I hoped she was right.

  It was nine forty five by the time I reached the spot where Wellington believed I stood the best chance for in
tercepting Commander Whitley. The bushes and trees were dripping with icy water and the mist soaked into my clothes making even a short wait one of cold and misery. At ten seventeen I heard a dog bark not far away and I hunkered down to wait.

  Several minutes later I saw a shadowy form emerging from the mist heading directly toward where I squatted in the bushes. When he was within a few meters I stepped out onto the trail with Sid’s Webley pointed squarely at Whitley’s chest.

  Momentarily startled Whitely pulled up short and stopped, staring directly into the barrel of the .455. Bringing his walking stick in front of him he placed both hands over the handle and shifted his weight to the shaft. Sensing his master’s displeasure Willie began to growl.

  “Easy boy,” Whitley commanded. Willie lowered his head and ceased growling but stood his ground. If Whitley were surprised to see me he hid it well.

  “Are you planning to shoot me Mister Riley?”

  “I’m considering it Sir James. You’ve made it considerably difficult for me these past few days. I’m hard pressed to find a reason not to shoot you. We’re going this way Sir James,” I indicated the path ahead through the woods toward the car.

  Whitley moved in the direction I had pointed walking a few paces ahead of me with Willie close at his feet. I slipped the Webley back into my jacket pocket. I had used it only to impress upon Whitley the seriousness of his situation. As we walked Whitley began to defend his actions.

  “You put the entire plan for the Allied invasion of Europe in jeopardy Mister Riley. I’d say that was ample cause for the actions I have taken.

  “I was never a threat to the Allied cause Sir James. When I finally realized what had happened to me all I wanted to do was disappear.”

  “Disappear where Michael? Where would you go? You have knowledge you must admit would place our landings in Northern France at risk. Even if your intentions were to keep your knowledge secret you could not guarantee our adversaries would not find you and pry that knowledge from you however gallantly you resisted. I’m afraid you are very much a risk we cannot allow to roam free.”

  We were off the path now, pushing through undergrowth and patches of wet snow. Whitley was struggling, his injury plaguing him as he maneuvered over the rough ground. Occasionally his walking stick would sink into the soft forest floor retarding his progress. Willie was especially unhappy having to walk through the detritus of rotting leaves and dead tree branches.

  “You’re making assumptions about the risk I pose without much evidence Sir James,” I argued.

  “I considered that. But the transcripts of our conversations prove otherwise. You always spoke in the past tense, never the present or the future. I don’t know what you are other than a grave threat to the Allied cause.”

  “Then what would you have me do Sir James? Take my own life? Allow you to lock me away until the end of the war?”

  Whitley laughed congenially as if my proposal was the obvious rational solution.

  “And when does the war end Mister Riley?” He asked ruefully, as if this were a game he enjoyed playing.

  There was no sense in prevaricating now. I was all in and it was time to call Whitley’s hand.

  “The beginning of May, 1945. The Russians capture Berlin at the end of April and Hitler commits suicide in a bunker underneath the Chancellery. The remaining German forces surrender unconditionally on the seventh of May and the fighting in Europe comes to an end. The war in the Pacific goes on a bit longer, until August when Japan surrenders unconditionally after the Russians declare war on them and attack their troops in Manchuria, and we drop incredibly powerful bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” Whitely hesitated in mid stride as if caught off guard but immediately resumed his labored gait.

  “Interesting,” he mused, his tone thoughtful. “August is not so long a time to wait in the scheme of things. After all, both our militaries require service for the duration of the war. Your incarceration would only be a year and a half if the war truly ends when you predict.”

  Sir James was right of course, if that were all there was to it.

  “We both know that wouldn’t be the end of it,” I countered. My knowledge would be an invaluable asset to anyone who knows what I am. There will always be a need for information Sir James, even after the war.”

  “You make a fair point but I do not see as you have an option. You have chosen our confrontation on a secure military facility. We are surrounded by armed soldiers and unless you are disposed to shooting your way out of here I suggest it would be in your interest to surrender peacefully.” It was one of the few mistakes Whitley had made. Marines don’t surrender. Ever.

  We had reached the Plymouth now and I directed Whitley to get into the back seat. He did as I asked, Willie following dutifully behind. When he spotted Wellington seated in the driver’s seat his expression changed to one resembling disappointment.

  “I would have thought Lieutenant, you would have followed my orders. Things would have been so much better had you not gone off the reservation.”

  I climbed into the passenger’s seat beside Wellington, placing the Webley on the seat between us and turning to face Whitley.

  “That’s enough commander. We’re not here to discuss Wellington’s loyalty.”

  “Oh but you’re mistaken. Loyalty is precisely why we are here.” He removed his cap to lay it across his knees, his walking stick resting beside his legs. Willie jumped up on the seat to take his place beside him. Wellington watched him in the rear view mirror but did not turn to face him.

  “We must work this out Sir James, for the benefit of everyone.”

  “I’m listening?”

  “You can make this all go away commander.”

  “And why should I do that Mister Riley?”

  “Because you know I’m not a spy or a saboteur and that I mean no harm to the Allied cause.”

  “You may mean no harm but your presence poses an unacceptable risk. You may have entered this facility by deception, and unless you plan to hold me hostage I assure you leaving here will not be as easy.”

  It appeared I had been mistaken about Sir James’ intentions. I had gambled we could reach some accommodation but he was imposing impossible conditions. Surrendering, as Whitley had so indelicately put it wasn’t an option I was anxious to take. Whitley was the key. We could either reach an agreement or I could shoot him.

  Whitley must have been reading my thoughts because he immediately spoke up.

  “From what I have seen of you Mister Riley I don’t believe you are capable of shooting America’s Allies. But of course you are in a position to prove me wrong.”

  “I’ve killed two men already Sir James. I’m not ill disposed to killing people who are attempting to kill me.”

  “So you killed Nash Rumpole as well,” he mused. “Impressive.” Wellington shot me a worried glance but said nothing.

  “They were Major Chandler’s men. Why is he interested in me?” I asked.

  “The major works for the Secret Intelligence Service. Among other things they are tasked with protecting His Majesty’s secrets. Apparently your mention of thermonuclear fusion has brought you to their attention.”

  I had forgotten I had mentioned this to Sir James before I became aware of my dislocation in time. It was reasonable to assume British intelligence would be concerned with anyone who spoke openly about atomic energy.

  “I assume killing those two agents makes it impossible for me now?”

  Whitley seemed to consider the import of what I had just told him. His expression did not suggest he was struggling with remorse.

  “The deaths of those men was unfortunate. As their deaths occurred in service to their country and they will be buried with full military honors and that will be the end of it. I can assure you no charges will be made against you or Lieutenant Wellington in the matter of their deaths.”

  “If I surrender and agree to your terms,” I stated his unspoken conditions for such a blanket absolution.


  “And why should I trust you Sir James?”

  “As I have said repeatedly, your choices are limited.”

  “You can not be so reckless as to believe I would help you Sir James. Any change to the stream of history could have incalculable repercussions. The risk is not with me. It is with those who would use me to advance their own agenda.”

  Wellington shot me a look of bewilderment, as if I were speaking in a foreign tongue.

  “Are you familiar with the Novikov Principle?” Whitley asked.

  I shook my head. It was a concept I had never encountered before.

  “In your absence I have done quite a bit of research though the field is not well documented. In essence the Novikov Principle supposes that every change to the stream of history has already been incorporated, and consequently your revelations, however prescient change nothing. Or another way to look at it is that your contributions to the stream of history are necessary for that history to unfold as it was intended.”

  “I don’t accept that,” I countered sternly. “Everything I know could be used to alter history as I know it.”

  “Then pray don’t tell us Mister Riley. Keep your secrets. My concern is that you do not fall pray to the forces arrayed against the British Empire and its Commonwealth.”

  “And just how do I accomplish that Sir James?”

  “We are not all brutes like Major Chandler. He serves his purpose and we ours. If you can bring yourself to trust me I believe there is a way out for both of us. And of course Lieutenant Wellington as well.”

  “You want to incarcerate me for the duration.” Whitley’s expression was all I needed to see to confirm this was his intention. It wasn’t how I wanted this to go but I could see little alternative. We had little reason to trust one another. But we each had leverage. He could charge Wellington with Nash’s murder and me with Sid’s. For my part I held secrets that could alter the course of history.