Sleeper

by J. D. Fennell

  Will’s eyes dart around the room, searching for another exit, an escape route that he may have missed, but there is nothing. They are trapped.

  ‘Come away from the door,’ he says.

  Anna and Sam look at him with questioning expressions.

  ‘What is it, Will?’ demands Anna.

  ‘Dalton has tricked us. He’s a double agent.’

  Anna’s face pales.

  Sam presses his ear to the door. ‘Someone’s coming up the stairs.’

  Anna and Sam stand beside Will.

  The lock turns and the door is pushed open. The two heavies enter with pistols pointing firmly at Will.

  Will takes three deep breaths.

  Frost steps in, walks between his men and crosses the room, his face grim and his fists clenching in and out as if he is preparing for a fight. He is a beast of a man, remarkably unharmed after his fall at the bell foundry. It will obviously take a lot more than a fall to down this monster.

  Will can feel Sam shrink behind him.

  Frost stands before Will and stares deeply into his eyes.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son.’

  Will can feel his heartbeat quickening.

  ‘You’ve had quite the adventure, my boy.’

  Will bristles. ‘I’m not your boy.’

  ‘Not any more…’ Frost runs his eyes greedily up and down Anna. Looking back at Will, he says, ‘You have good taste.’

  Will eyes flare in anger.

  Outside the siren continues to wail, lights flash in the sky and the falling bombs draw closer. Frost turns his head and calls to the librarian who stands sheepishly in the doorway.

  ‘Mr Stringer, join us, please.’

  The librarian hesitates and then steps cautiously into the room. ‘I really ought to be going now,’ he mumbles ‘It is rather late and mother will be worried.’

  ‘A moment of your time. That is all.’

  Stringer clasps his hands together and turns to leave, but Dalton steps in his path. He reluctantly approaches, eyes down.

  ‘Look at them,’ says Frost. ‘Do you recognise them?’

  Stringer nods and then points to Sam. ‘Not that one.’

  Frost looks warily at Sam.

  Will shifts uneasily and Frost catches his discomfort in the blink of an eye.

  ‘And what were they doing at the library, Mr Stringer?’

  ‘Researching history. Greek history and the Renaissance period, a speciality subject of mine, actually. I…’

  ‘Researching history,’ interrupts Frost. ‘Quite.’ He looks at the notebook in Will’s hand. ‘William, I presume you have made some headway on finding the location of the Stones?’

  Will swallows, but does not respond.

  ‘As I thought.’

  ‘May I go now?’ Stringer says with a tremble in his voice.

  Frost continues to stare at Will and ignores Stringer. ‘I don’t blame you for what you did. Considering your circumstances, I would have done the same.’

  Will swallows. He does not know why, but somewhere in his fractured memory is a dark truth, that he does not want to face. He breathes slowly through his nose and retains his composure.

  ‘Colonel, may I go?’ says Stringer.

  ‘This is a free country, is it not?’ says Frost.

  Stringer nods, backs away and then stops. He coughs politely, ‘There was a small matter of remuneration.’

  ‘About that…’ says Frost, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pistol.

  Instinctively, Will and Anna duck, pulling Sam with them. The shot is explosive, the bullet hits Stringer in the centre of his forehead. A spray of blood splashes across Dalton’s face as Stringer crumples to the ground.

  Sam cries out and Anna puts her arm around him and pulls him to her.

  ‘Where are the Stones, William?’

  Will is breathing deeply, trying to hide his terror. ‘I should have finished you off at the bell foundry.’

  ‘Your mistake. Didn’t you learn anything from me? Now, tell me where are the Stones. If you do not, I will kill your friends one by one until you do.’

  Will’s mind is racing. He and Anna cannot take them all on.

  ‘You,’ Frost gestures at Sam. ‘Come here.’

  Trembling, Sam looks down at the floor.

  Frost sighs impatiently. ‘Wykes, fetch the boy.’

  One of the heavies grabs Sam by the arm and hauls him from Anna’s clutches.

  ‘Hey!’ cries Will. He rushes forward and pulls Sam back, but a firm grip takes hold off his hair and he can feel Dalton’s gun barrel against his temple.

  ‘On your knees, little one,’ says Frost.

  Sam is too frightened to move. Wykes kicks his legs from underneath him and Sam falls at Frost’s feet. He raises the pistol.

  ‘One by one, William.’

  ‘Tell them Will,’ cries Anna.

  Will feels a crushing panic as Frost squeezes the trigger.

  ‘St Paul’s Cathedral!’ he says. ‘They are in St Paul’s Cathedral.’

  Frost looks through the window and across the river at the great cathedral.

  ‘You will have to do better than that, Will.’

  ‘I don’t know where precisely but I can find them, I swear. Please don’t hurt him.’

  Frost smiles, clearly enjoying Will’s fear and pleading.

  ‘He’s telling the truth!’ says Anna, ‘Please…’

  After a moment, Frost puts the pistol back in his coat pocket.

  ‘Very well. I will give you the benefit of the doubt. We shall make the journey to St Paul’s together.’

  Frost walks to the window and takes out a torch and binoculars from his coat pocket. He begins to flick the torch on and off, signalling to someone. Will watches as Frost peers through binoculars at two tiny blinking lights on Tower Bridge.

  Anna has a better view and is trying to interpret the message. After a moment, she frowns, looks at Will and shakes her head.

  Wykes leads the way downstairs followed by Anna, Sam and Will. Dalton, the other heavy and Frost follow behind with their guns ready.

  At the bottom of the stairs Wykes stops and raises his arm. Will can hear the sound of a clattering and creaking vehicle approaching. It sounds familiar. Wykes approaches the door and opens it.

  Dalton pulls Anna and Sam into the shadows. Frost squeezes Will’s shoulder and jabs his ribs with the barrel of his gun. ‘Do not open your mouth, or try any of your tricks.’

  Through the gap in the door Will sees the vehicle drive past. It’s wobbling and trembling are unmistakable. It’s Eli’s old post-office van. The van stops at the nearby postbox. Will hears the van door opening. Someone is whistling and then: ‘Nice evening for an air raid,’ says a voice. It is Eoin, but he is speaking in a cockney accent. Will holds his breath and exchanges glances with Anna in the gloom.

  ‘Late to be picking up the mail,’ says Wykes.

  ‘People still send letters, even in wartime, mate,’ says Eoin, in a jovial tone.

  ‘Those people are working you into the ground.’

  ‘We all have to do our bit.’

  Will hears the creaking sound of a door opening. The postbox. There is a shuffling noise and then it slams shut.

  ‘I’ll be off then.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ says Wykes.

  Will tenses and Frost tightens his grip.

  The van starts up and drives off. Why is he leaving? Eoin must know they are here.

  Moments later the sound of the van disappears into the night swallowed by the drone of approaching bombers.

  ‘Start walking,’ says Frost.

  Outside the searchlights swing through the skies like swords in battle. Whistlers fall from the bombers and hit the ground without exploding. Time bombs, thinks Will. Tonight, London would become a minefield.

  ‘Colonel,’ says Wykes, pointing back in the direction where they had entered the wharf, ‘There is another message.’

  Frost f
rowns and eases his grip on Will’s shoulder. ‘It can’t be,’ he says, looking through the binoculars.‘I don’t recognise the code.’

  Will looks at Anna. She has understood it.

  ‘Agents of Beaulieu. Duck!’ she whispers.

  Is the message from Eoin? It must be. Wisps of smoke are escaping from the slot in the postbox.

  Anna pulls Sam to the ground. Will drops too, covering his ears, as an explosion rocks the ground and fills the air with masonry, smoke and dust.

  There is a moment of quiet calm before the groaning and swearing starts.

  Will coughs and looks up. Clouds of black smoke swirl from the decimated pillar-box. At ground level, the smoke is thin and he can just about make out Anna and Sam. They seem unhurt.

  ‘Hold hands. We’re getting out of here,’ says Will. The smoke is thickening. There is no sign of Frost, or his men, but he can hear them shifting close by.

  The bomb was small, more diversion than destruction. Will covers his mouth to stave off the thick, black choking air and leads his friends away from the warehouse groping the walls for support and searching for a way out.

  A gunshot rings out, piercing the smoke above their heads. It is followed by the sound of heavy footfalls close behind.

  Someone is following them.

  Chapter 36

  The Light That Had Seemed So Bright

  Will blinks the smoke from his streaming eyes and covers his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He can feel Anna’s soft hand holding on tightly to his. An image from the past flashes in his mind. He stops, tightens his grip and recalls a small hand holding tightly on to his. But the image dissipates as quickly as it arrived.

  Whose hand was that?

  He pulls Anna forward and she in turns pulls a coughing and choking Sam.

  ‘Cover your nose and mouth with something,’ Will rasps, his voice almost inaudible. He presses on, pulling them all behind him. Reaching forward, his fingers graze the rough bricks of a warehouse building. Using it as a guide he leads them through the black fog away from Frost and his men.

  The smoke begins to thin and he pulls them clear. There is precious little time, but they need a moment to recuperate, so they sag against the building, gasping in the glorious clean air.

  Mindful that someone is close behind them, Will scans the area for an exit. He hears the Thames lapping against the walls of the quay and sees the moon glinting off the water. Ahead is Tower Bridge. They need to cross it to get to St Paul’s. There is a pathway along the river leading to the bridge, but it is too open, too exposed. They would be easy targets for whoever was following them.

  He glances around. At the corner of the wharf building is a slit-like alley leading to the rear of Butler’s Wharf. It might be a route to Tower Bridge Road. It is a risk and could take longer, but it would have the benefit of cover. It seems to be the best option.

  ‘This way,’ he commands.

  They turn a corner into a street lined with walls and mounds of rubble, the bomb-ravaged remains of warehouses and offices for the once thriving docks.

  ‘Keep going,’ says Will. ‘I will catch you up.’

  ‘I’m staying with you,’ says Sam.

  Anna grabs Sam’s hand. ‘Come with me, Sam. Will won’t be far behind.’

  Sam looks up at both of them, unsure what he should do.

  ‘Please, Sam,’ says Will.

  Sam nods his head. ‘You better be quick,’ he says.

  ‘As quick as the wind,’ says Will and watches them run off, hiding for cover among the scattered mounds of rubble.

  He thinks again about the small soft hand from his memory, but his attention is diverted when he hears coughing and sees Wykes stumble into the alley. He is carrying a Browning pistol. He leans against the wall, clutching his chest and spitting onto the ground. Will keeps out of sight. He had hoped Wykes would follow the path up the river, but that would be too much luck to expect.

  Wykes opens the Browning’s magazine and looks inside. Then he searches his pockets once, twice, three times. He must be short of bullets. The Browning can hold thirteen rounds of ammunition. Wykes had fired a shot minutes back. That would mean he has twelve bullets, at most, remaining.

  Wykes pushes the magazine back into place and looks up the alleyway.

  Will darts out of view, but he knows he’s been seen. He curses his stupidity.

  ‘Is the bloke coming?’ whispers Sam.

  ‘Sam! What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I couldn’t leave you. This is my city, Will. We have to save it.’

  Will sees Anna in the distance behind the cover of a burned-out car, looking back. Sam had obviously let her run on and doubled back.

  Will peeks round and sees Wykes making his way toward the corner where they are hiding, but the smoke has slowed him, for the time being. Will darts back as a bullet flies from the Browning.

  Eleven bullets remaining.

  Will gathers up rocks and rubble. ‘Get ready to run, Sam,’ he says, stepping out from the corner and tossing the rocks hard at Wykes. Pain sears through his injured hand and up his arm. He shudders and steadies himself. Two of the rocks miss by inches but one connects with Wykes’ knee. Will ducks behind the corner as Wykes fires again. Two bullets chip the brickwork above his head, spraying fragments of masonry into his face.

  Nine bullets remaining.

  Blinking the dust from his eyes, Will wipes his face and turns to Sam.

  ‘Go!’ he says and watches Sam run toward Anna, hopping dangerously over the rubble in the gloomy street. Will follows him and hears the crack of a third shot. A bullet whizzes past his ear and he tumbles to the ground, pulling Sam with him and rolling behind a pile of rocks.

  Eight bullets remaining.

  ‘Listen up, Sam. He’s short of bullets. I’m sure of it. In a minute, we’re going to make a run for it, but I’m going to try and make him use them up. After three I want you to run as fast as you have ever run in your life. Do you hear me?’

  Sam nods. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I will try and distract him.’

  Sam pales and clenches his fists.

  Will peeks over the rubble and sees Wykes struggling across the uneven terrain. At least the destruction provided them some advantage.

  He looks at Sam: ‘After three. Remember, just keep running.’

  Sam nods. ‘Just keep running… just keep running,’ he repeats.

  ‘One… two… three!’ Sam scurries off as Will stands up and tosses several more rocks at Wykes. To his relief, one strikes his shoulder with a satisfying thud.

  Warm blood seeps through the bandage on Will’s aching hand, but he ignores the pain and hurls two more rocks. Wykes stumbles back, raising his arm to stave them off, his face furious. He points the pistol at Will and squeezes the trigger. Will gasps and freezes.

  But there is no crack and no bullet. Only a click.

  Will and Wykes’ eyes meet with a shared disbelief.

  Wykes was down more bullets than Will could have hoped for. He wants to laugh, but he watches as Wykes begins to search his pockets frantically. He removes something from his pocket and smiles grimly. It is a bullet. Wykes’ gaze fixes on Will as he puts the bullet slowly into the gun.

  Will swears under his breath and runs, darting in between the shadows and rock piles.

  The moon is high and the skies flash with the guns of war.

  Sam is a short distance ahead, his little legs powering over the stones.

  Tower Bridge comes into view through a gap in two half-demolished buildings. ‘Keep running,’ he calls to Sam and flies past the smaller boy. ‘Faster Sam! Faster!’

  Will’s attention turns to rapid thuds and small clouds of dust that rise in quick succession at his feet.

  Someone else is shooting at him.

  He glances up at the bridge and swears the shots are coming from the top of it. Is it a sniper? He dives and rolls towards the burnt-out car and out of sight of the gunman’s range. He
turns, his stomach tightening at the sight of Sam who has not caught up.

  Will beckons to him with both arms. ‘Keep running, Sam,’ he shouts. ‘You’re almost here!’ And then, above the din, he hears an odd thudding noise like a tennis ball slamming hard against a wall. Sam stumbles backward.

  ‘No!’ cries Anna.

  Confusion sweeps through Will like a grey cloud. Sam has stopped and sways on his feet, his arms limp. He looks so small amongst the decimated dock buildings. His eyes lock on to Will’s and he smiles his lopsided smile. A small patch appears on his chest and begins to grow larger and larger.

  Horror shakes Will from his confusion. He feels a choking worse than the black smoke. Trembling, he raises his hands to his temples and tries to scream, to cry out, but no sound comes from his mouth. Grief swells through his body.

  Sam falls to his knees, his eyes never leaving Will’s, and then the light, that had seemed so bright, leaves them forever.

  Will can hear nothing but the blood pumping in his ears.

  A figure looms over Sam’s body. It is Wykes, smiling.

  Will’s grief crumbles like ash as rage sweeps through his every fibre.

  ‘I’ll kill you… I’ll kill you all!’ he cries and makes to run at Wykes, but Anna hauls him back, pulling him with all her strength.

  ‘Not now, Will. Later,’ she says, in hushed tones. Will resists, and cries out as her hand grips his softly.

  In the distance, he hears the cries of the Londoners who had not quite made it to shelter. London would fall if he did not find the Stones. He has to do this for Sam and take his revenge later. A cold rationality grips him. Wykes is advancing toward them. Will turns and flees with Anna.

  Chapter 37

  Across Tower Bridge

  Will’s grief builds to a simmering fury that fuels his desire for revenge. He desperately wants to make the sniper, whoever he is, pay for what he has done to Sam. But that would have to wait. Right now, Wykes has one more bullet and Will is under no illusion whose name is on it.

  They run from the ruins and out onto a main road. Will glances quickly around him. They are on Tower Bridge Road, he is sure of it. There is no one about. Cars and buses sit abandoned, parked haphazardly in the panic as people have scarpered, seeking shelter from the air raid.