Spies on Bikes
Page 33
‘They’re still running up the stairs, sir,’ said the Eavesdropper. ‘I can’t hear Doyle giving chase. They must be well on their way, sir.’
‘One hundred and sixty-four steps to freedom,’ said Sir Charles.
Mike confirmed that the soldiers from the redoubt were about to ‘blow’ the bottom door.
‘Doyle won’t know what’s hit him.’
8
The explosion lifted the tramcar off its rails, sent a Gladstone bag, Thwack! Into the redoubt.
‘Bloody hell!’ said the marksman. ‘Where’s my tin hat?’
‘The silly bugger’s gone and blown himself up,’ said the photographer, ‘or someone’s dropped a lighted fag in a box of bangers.’
‘Hi! That’s my hat, give it here. I’m the soldier, you’re the photographer.’
‘I’ll buy it off you.’
‘You’ve got no money, you haven’t even a bob.’
‘I have now, look … ‘
Pieces of paper, as if the column was a tree shedding its leaves, were falling all around them.
‘It’s snowing …’ said the Photographer.
‘Money …’ said the Marksman.
In between smaller explosions, powerful enough to make them duck but insufficiently scary to rein in their acquisitiveness, the two men went at the floating dollar bills the way seagulls go at fish and chips.
9
Clouds of black smoke puffed out of the Monument’s top and bottom doors, as if someone inside the column was working overtime on a pair of enormous bellows. Smaller puffs of smoke, creeping out from its air vents, gave it lots of little legs; making it look like a vertical millipede.
‘I can’t hear them, sir … nothing … sorry, sir,’ said the Eavesdropper.
‘The explosion’s destroyed the microphone,’ said Mike, ‘that’s why.’
Everyone in the tramcar had been cut by flying glass; through binoculars Sir Charles scanned the top of the Monument.
‘I think I can see them … damn the smoke; one large figure and two small ones. I think … can’t see … too much smoke. Did you see them, Mike?’
Mike shook his head.
‘Sergeant Small?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir. What’s all them floaters? It’s like being at a wedding when folk throw confetti?’
Samples floated through the tramcar’s shattered windows.
‘Dollar bills,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I’ll be damned.’
‘Would that be the money, sir, the American courier was giving the Irish bombers?’
‘I do indeed think that’s what it is.’
‘Speaking as an officer of the law, sir, we’ll have a job getting it back, sir. If this courier bloke had given them pound notes it would be “Mrs Mulligan’s washing”, all over again.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘A local case, sir, happened a long time ago. Mrs Mulligan hung out her washing. It was purloined.’
‘What’s that to do with this?’
‘In the Force, sir, when something is purloined and never seen again, it’s “Mrs Mulligan’s washing”. Say “Mrs Mulligan’s washing” to a bobby, sir, and he’ll nod his head, knowing at once that you mean: “It’s no good bothering, waste of police time.” By now, any notes falling outside the cordon will be stuffed in bras and knickers, underpants and unsavoury places I’d rather not think about. Do you take my drift, sir?’
‘I do indeed, Sergeant. Can anyone see the boys?’
Flashes of gunfire penetrated the smoke. Where were they coming from? Who was pulling the trigger? Who was the target? Whoosh! Bang! What the hell had Doyle stored in the column? For many minutes after the main explosion there were mini explosions.
10
Lady Elizabeth rose early; bad ‘vibes’ were stopping her sleeping. In the Great War she knew Charles had been hurt because of a pain in her arm.
George and Jack were in danger, Harry had told her. The vibes she was getting made her ‘feel’ something awful was happening to them. Why didn’t Charles ring? No one in Newcastle would answer her calls. Did they not know she was the daughter of a duke?
In the reading of tea leaves Phyllis was nonpareil.
‘Cups or mugs?’ said Lady Elizabeth.
‘Mugs, milady,’ said Phyllis.’
‘They are best?’
‘More room to swirl, milady.’
‘I understand. Shall I pour?’
‘Begging your ladyship’s pardon, I’ll pour. You see, it’s my parlour, so I’d best be Mother. When I bakes a cake I follow a recipe. It might be in my head or in a book, but I follows it. When I read the “leaves” I follows a recipe. A full cup, milady, or a half?’
‘What does the recipe say?’
‘Follow your inclines,’ said Phyllis.
‘That’s allowed?’
‘Under the circumstances …’
‘A full cup?’
‘A good choice, milady. More leaves, you see.’
‘Does it matter where we pour the tea?’
‘I have my lucky basin. It belonged to my mother and her mother before that; family lore says it was touched by Merlin, but I don’t believe that.’
‘I seem to remember it is important to drink the tea.’
‘Not all of it, you don’t, milady, just enough for the “leaves” to read your fingerprints. You remember, milady, when I read the “leaves” for the groom and the boot boy? I told the groom he should stay away from water and the boot boy he was going to fall in love.’
‘But the groom fell in love and the boot boy drowned and you couldn’t understand how you’d got it the wrong way round.’
‘They’d switched cups, milady, hadn’t they? Trying to be clever, they were, you see. They weren’t serious about the “leaves”. They weren’t believers. You and me, milady, knows the power of the “leaves”. “Leaves” is the kitchen’s crystal ball.’
‘It’s nice tea. Earl Grey?’
‘Yes, milady. I always finds the “Earl” gives a good window into the future.’
‘George and Jack are prisoners inside Grey’s Monument. Earl Grey’s the earl who invented the blend. I wonder if that’s an omen. One more sip. I’ve had no breakfast.’
‘Worrying about George and Jack, milady?’
‘Yes.’
‘Worry never was good for appetites, nor for cooks. If people don’t eat they don’t need cooks, milady, and, if that happened, I’d be doing goodness knows what. Vibes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good or bad, milady?’
‘Mixed, but more good than bad.’
‘Pour the tea into the basin, milady … slowly does it, we wants lots of leaves left in the mug. Leaves is words left by the “Great Mystery” for us to read.’
Phyllis took the mug.
‘What do you see?’
‘The globe in Sir Charles’s study.’
‘Not a column?’
‘No.’
‘That’s disappointing.’
‘The globe is on fire.’
Marigold joined them without knocking.
‘Found you at last; I’ve been searching for you to tell you the news. Lizzie, your Prime Minister has been on the radio, Great Britain is at war with Germany.’
11
No longer having the strength to play the part of the leader who never shows weakness, Sir Charles sat in the tramcar with his head in his hands.
A crunching of feet stamping to attention on broken glass made him look up.
‘The boys are safe, sir,’ said Hamish, ‘battered and bruised but …’
Mike and Sergeant Small caught him before he fell.
‘Medic!’ shouted Mike.
’It’s for you, sir,’ said a soldier handing Sir Charles a field telephone.
‘Freddy, no, I’m not. I’m on a field telephone in a tramcar opposite Grey’s Monument. While you’ve been out of action a lot has happened.’
‘I know all about it. Are the boys safe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Splendid. Splendid. Wonderful, wonderful news.’
‘You sound awfully chirpy for a chap recovering from a bash on the head.’
‘It was never as bad as you thought. When Jack hit me and I ended up in hospital being looked after by that man, Crozier, I played dead Indian. A chap has to make use of the cards he’s dealt. We’ve had our eyes on him for quite some time.’
‘You never told me … the fellow operated on me for haemorrhoids.’
‘I know, I know … just because the chap is an IRA sleeper doesn’t mean he’s not a good doctor. He tried to keep me dopey. When you told him I was as important as Lord Nelson, you made me a target, old boy. A nurse working in the “special wing” made sure the tablets he prescribed were harmless. She’s an MI5 operative, like yourself, fluent in German. You might know her, she’s Lord D’s eldest.’
‘Pamela?’
‘The very same.’
‘Pleased we’re keeping things in the family.’
‘It’s the only way to run a tight ship.’
‘Where’s Crozier now?’
‘In a police station. He was about to give me an injection when he was arrested.’
‘A lethal dose?’
‘That’s what I wondered. Three big chaps wearing white coats took him away. When he knew the game was up he started name dropping. Told them he knew Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great.’
‘Do you think he’s mad?’
‘Aren’t all fanatics? The Pied Piper is in a coma. The knock on the head he received from Marigold was a lot more serious than mine. The chap in charge of your local railway station is missing. By the by, now that war’s been declared … ‘
‘Freddy, what did you say?’
‘Now that war’s been declared …’
‘When?’
‘You don’t know? Chamberlain was on the radio, oh, fifteen minutes ago. There’s talk of bringing Winston back into the government.’
‘That’s a step in the right direction.’
‘By the by, CB’s rounding up the Hitler Youth … can’t have young Nazis wandering all over the place, spoiling our green and pleasant land, goodness knows what damage they might do. They are now enemy aliens. It’s official.’
‘What do you know about O’Neil?’
‘Can’t lock him up. He’s an American.’
Sir Charles confided his new knowledge.
‘MI5 didn’t know about that.’
‘At last there is something I know that you don’t.’
‘Never mind that, how are we going to deal with him? The Americans look after their own, you know.’
‘Which is why I’m leaving Marigold and Mancini to deal with him. He’s their problem.’
‘Charlie, I’ll have to go. The Hitler Youth are attacking the hospital.’
Before the line went dead, Sir Charles heard an explosion and small arms fire.
‘Sergeant Small …’
‘Sir?’
‘I need a car, now.’
‘What’s happening?’ said Mike.
‘The Hitler Youth are attacking the hospital.’
12
Mike drove Sir Charles back to the Vicarage in the Chief Constable’s car. En route they passed an army lorry full of soldiers.
‘I wonder where they’re going?’ said Mike.
‘Same place as us, I’ll bet. Heaven help us. Did you see what they were armed with?’
‘Pitch forks, ’said Mike. ‘If they think the Hitler Youth can be harvested like hay they are in for a shock.’
‘Faster, Mike, faster.’
A mile from the hospital the army had set up a road block.
‘At least they have rifles,’ said Sir Charles.
Two soldiers approached the car. When they saw Sir Charles’s army uniform and rank, they came to attention.
‘Stand easy,’ said Sir Charles. ‘What the hell is going on? Why the road block?’
‘It’s the Hitler Youth, sir. Once they knew we was at war with them they turned nasty.’
‘Very nasty, sir,’ said the other soldier.
‘What have they done?’
‘They’ve attacked the hospital and the Vicarage, sir.’
‘It’s the mushroom poisoning, sir. They’re after revenge.’
‘The devils are in groups, sir. They’ve stolen cars. The ones we’ve captured have rubbed mud on their faces, proper little camouflage experts, they are.’
‘They’re making for the coast, sir.’
‘The masts at Boulmer?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s what the officer said.’
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘CB, sir. I mean Major Clarkson-Ball, sir, begging your pardon, sir. The Nazis are armed, sir. They are in no mood for taking prisoners.’
‘We’ve heard a rumour, sir, that they’ve killed the major.’
‘Are they a second front, sir?’
‘People are saying Hitler sent them here to guard a landing ground for paratroopers.’
‘Rubbish. Give me your rifle.’
‘It’s not loaded, sir, no ammo for it in the armoury.’
As they sped off Sir Charles said, ‘Clearly, England is not prepared for war. If a couple of dozen teenage Nazis can cause this much mayhem, God help our chaps when they come up against panzers.’
‘The German is a good soldier,’ said Mike. ‘He’s well trained and well led.’
‘Hitler’s taught them to jump over six foot walls and not give a bugger. This is going to be a long war, Mike. Heaven help Germany if she loses. If they thought the Versailles Treaty was too harsh a punishment the penalties imposed on them for a second defeat will demand they be left destitute.’
‘Heaven help us if they win.’
‘America would never allow that to happen.’
‘I wonder if the Nazis have killed CB.’
‘We’ll soon find out.’
13
At the Cottage Hospital windows had been broken. A wheelchair lay on its side. A Wolsey saloon car was on top of a flower bed, its doors open, as if its occupants had left in a hurry. What with unseasonal storms and the Hitler Youth, the lupines were having a rough time.
Two nurses, all white starch and efficiency, were bandaging a wounded soldier. He looked as if he’d live. Broken glass all over the place. In their time in France both men had seen a lot worse.
Had the Hitler Youth attacked The Hall? Where was Freddy?
‘Charlie!’ A booming voice.
‘Freddy!’
‘How’d you like the uniform? No time to change, you see. It’s the uniform of a patient. In the Guards you wear a red tunic, in the Cottage Hospital you wear this flimsy thing that barely covers the vitals. The Nazis paid us a visit to collect their pals still alive after the mushroom poisoning scare … funny business that. They’ve killed CB, you know. His motorbike’s up the road. By the by, The Hall’s safe. As soon as this show started I sent up a platoon to look after Elizabeth and the Americans. It would be a blot on the escutcheon, if the Hitler Youth killed HMG’s American guests.’
‘It might have provided them with a casus belli.’
‘They’ll need a kick up the arse before they help us in this war. They’ll know what life is about if they ever have to run an Empire.’
‘What happened to CB?’
‘Funny business. We chaps were paying our respects to Pruney, the hearse was taking her home, support CB in his hour of need, you know. I nearly didn’t join the line-up … not dres
sed for the job but, knowing CB, I reasoned the more the merrier, no levity intended, but you take my drift. When he sees me, the head of MI5, bowing his head, I’m thinking, it’ll give him a boost … status, Charlie, status, the pecking order meant a lot to CB. It would do you no harm, Charles, to take a leaf out of his book.
‘The hearse taking the poor gal back home … CB wanted her “home” before the burial … the hearse was just about to leave when the Nazis arrived … bad timing but CB always was unlucky … they attacked us with grenades … all hell broke loose. Those of their pals recovering from mushroom poisoning joined them … chaos, absolute bedlam … that’s when they commandeered the hearse. To get as many of their own in … well, they removed … to call a spade, a spade, they chucked Pruney out. The coffin broke open. Terrible, terrible, I never knew she’d lost her head … there was no holding CB back, went after the hearse on a motorbike … blown up by a stick grenade. He’s all over the place. See those crows on the roof … I’ve a pretty good idea what they’re dining off … terrible … terrible.
‘The Nazis are all over the place, damn them. It’s guerrilla warfare, Charlie … a shameful incident at the post office. The Nazis blew up its switchboard … destroyed our communications … all the lines are down. We found the postmistress and her fancy man, starkers, under a bed. He was tying his Long Johns to a curtain pole, thought the war had started and wanted to surrender. If German paratroopers ever do land, Charlie, we’re done for. If London’s not to be the next Warsaw, someone’s going to have to put a bit of backbone into our people.’
14
The gates to The Hall were closed.
‘We never close the gates,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Mike, toot the horn.’
A bell-cheeked soldier appeared from behind a bush eating a pie.
‘What … you want?’
Mike got out of the car.
‘What do you want?’
‘Open the gates.’
He looked at the police car.
‘Police, are you? There’s a war going on, mister. Its soldiers what fight wars, not Bobbies in plain clothes.’