Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  At 4.30 am Caplin drove through the silent police cordon and onwards, into the rows of lockup garages. If there was anything to find, it should still be here.

  Peter and Andrzej ducked low as the two black Wolseley cars glided to a stop. Whether Henryk had given up the address freely or under duress, it made no difference, the result was just as Peter had hoped.

  The eight MI5 agents eased cautiously out of their cars, guns raised. They had all heard about the tragic murder of Steve Davis and his men, it was an unhappy coincidence there were also eight men in this group.

  “Get the lockup doors open immediately men,” Caplin ordered, and they hurried to obey. Their aggressive boss was in no mood for messing about.

  The bolt cropper sliced through the padlock, and it was thrown on the ground. Caplin pushed past the men and yanked open the doors, he could wait no longer for the secrets inside to be revealed. Only then did a sickening dread sweep over him, as he spotted the string on the floor.

  Booby-trap!

  He spun round and leapt past his men, taking refuge behind a car. The men realised what had happened and knew it was too late for them to run. A couple of seconds later, they dived for cover as well. Still nothing happened.

  Peter and Andrzej looked at each other and if they could have actually seen their own faces, they would have seen Cheshire cat grins.

  John Caplin and his men plucked up courage and tentatively approached the garage. As confidence returned, they walked boldly in. Caplin had the strange sensation of being watched and turned to peer around outside. There was nothing to see in the dark, there could have been a troupe of can-can dancers on the roof, where Peter and Andrzej lay hidden, and he would never have seen them.

  Caplin’s men were carefully easing back the tarpaulin that covered the small pile of items they needed to inspect. They saw only the millisecond of brilliant flash, as the heap exploded. The box like garage had only one easy outlet, the open doorway. The roof and walls, although flimsy, were enough to direct the initial blast. Caplin was thrown across the open space, followed by the blood spray and body parts of his men. Seconds later, bricks and timber rained down around him, and the access road between the lockup blocks was dimly lit with flaming debris. The drifting smoke, dust and flickering shadows added a grim and macabre atmosphere.

  “Get the van round Andrzej, I want that man, dead or alive.”

  Peter leapt off the roof to the ground, and ran over to the prone body.

  The body groaned so, whoever it was, he was not dead, yet!

  “Are you John Caplin?” shouted Peter.

  It took several seconds for Caplin to register that he was alive and someone was speaking to him, calling his name, even. It was difficult to make out who it might be, his head rang like a bell. It had to be a rescue team, or the ambulance.

  “Are you John Caplin?” the voice shouted above the ringing in his ears.

  “Yes, I am. What about my men?”

  “Can you hear that ringing sound in your head?”

  “Yes I can.”

  “Well that is your men learning to play their harps. They are the least of your problems.”

  Andrzej jerked to a standstill, leapt out and opened the rear doors, as he rushed to help Peter lug Caplin into the van. Moments later Andrzej was behind the wheel again and speeding away.

  “Keep the noise down, use top gear and watch where you are going, there will be police on the way here in no time.”

  “They are already racing towards us,” shouted Andrzej as he double declutched back into second gear and accelerated hard. The engine was revving flat out, although the speed was only about 15 mph, nevertheless it seemed much faster in the glow of firelight.

  “Dodge them, collide if you have to Andrzej, but don’t ram or stop. “We must get clear then we will be safe.”

  Peter leaned out of his window and fired at what he believed to be the driver’s position of the nearest car. All he had to work with was the patches of dim light on the ground in front of the rapidly approaching vehicles.

  Andrzej had not turned on his lights and had shielded his eyes from Peter’s muzzle flashes, to preserve his night vision. Peter blinked his eyes shut as he fired. The approaching police were dazzled, and swerved away the moment the drivers realised this was gunfire without the bang. The silencer took care of that.

  As Andrzej expertly swerved and dodged the oncoming cars, Peter picked up a grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it through the windscreen of the last car. The heavy metal lump smashed through and seconds later, exploded inside. Instantly it was engulfed in flames and swerved behind the van. It was still rolling when the petrol tank exploded. There was so much blinding light the police could no longer see past the inferno, neither could they drive past, because the road was blocked.

  “Well done Andrzej! It looks like we got away without a single mark on the van. Great driving.”

  There was a metallic click and the touch of cold steel on Peter’s neck. His blood ran like ice in his veins, he had overlooked their passenger; John Caplin was in better shape than he had imagined. Lucky bastard.

  “Pull up and stop, Strom. We will wait for the police to catch up.”

  Andrzej stamped both feet as heavily as he could on the brake pedal, causing the cable operated brakes to bring the van to a rapid, skid free stop. Still, it was enough to cause Caplin to lose his grip and fall forward between the two front bucket seats. As he fell, his pistol fired.

  Peter snatched the weapon from Caplin’s grasp and punched him unconscious.

  “Quick thinking Andrzej, I thought he was going to blow my head off.”

  There was no reply!

  Grief swept over Peter as the futility of it all engulfed him. He had not expected the lad to last long on this mission, and in spite of his somewhat childish nature when they first met, he had become a reliable member of the team. He pulled himself together, he could grieve later if there was a better time.

  Peter dragged Andrzej across into the passenger seat and took the steering wheel, there wasn’t a second to lose if he were to stand any chance at all of escape.

  ***

  The police were now in pursuit once again, they had also radioed ahead for road blocks, giving a description of the black Morris van. After their previous experience with the fugitives, the backup squads were well armed. There was no doubt in their minds they would recapture the enemy, time was now on their side, and by god the swine would pay!

  With his headlights on, Peter headed deeper into the City, whilst looking for a place to hide from the police. He knew road blocks would be in position by now so he would not get far. He approached a road junction and could recognise where he was, even in the darkness. Turning off to the left, he stopped and pulled Andrzej out onto the road. He reversed the van in the road and headed in the opposite direction. This had cost him time, nonetheless, he had the glimmer of an escape plan.

  ***

  Sir Philip’s phone rang again at 4.40 am and he snatched it up.

  “Sir Philip Stern speaking. I want good news and no excuses.” He anticipated it would be Camp 020 with a further update.

  “Chief Superintendent Thomas Walters here Sir Philip. I have grave news for you.”

  “Speak, Thomas. Don’t tell me you let our German spy escape!”

  “Actually yes, we did, but it is much worse than that. It appears John Caplin and his seven agents went to the lockup, and triggered a booby trap. The whole jolly lot went up! We found the remains of seven bodies, and John was not amongst them.

  “As we closed in on the scene, a black van came out of the smoke and flames. The passenger was shooting at us and lobbed a grenade into one of our pursuit cars, setting it alight and blocking the road. By the time we got through, a few minutes later, the van had disappeared. We set up road blocks of course, but he had vanished.

  “We found a dead body on the road, the man had been shot at close range, but it was not John Caplin. I believe it was one of the German s
pies that John Caplin managed to shoot.”

  “Oh Thomas, this is frightful news. I had expected Camp 020 to call, telling me they had recaptured another of the spies, Henryk Robak, but I have a feeling that one has slipped through our fingers as well. Still, on the brighter side, John has not shown up dead, so I am sure he will be used as some bargaining piece very soon.”

  “I hope you are right Sir Philip, I really do.”

  “I appreciate your call Thomas, a horrible piece of news to break at this festive time. Goodbye.”

  Sir Philip leaned back in his chair and released a deep, sad sigh.

  ***

  A couple of hundred feet up the road from where he left Andrzej, Peter turned in and parked on the sales forecourt, amongst a dozen other vehicles, and switched off the lights and engine. Just moments later, the first of the police cars stopped at the junction, saw the body in the road and went to investigate. Following police cars drove along the road in both directions. With a choice of two directions, the easiest was left and the body didn’t walk there, so the van must have gone in that direction. Of course it had turned back and was hidden in plain sight, albeit in the dark.

  As he sat motionless in the van in the silence of the night, Peter pondered over the dilemma he now faced. Without Andrzej’s help, John Caplin would be difficult to manage.

  He listed in his mind all the challenges he faced, so he could organise and prioritise. He recognised that some problems shouted loudest, but were often the least important in the grand scheme of things.

  The loudest thought was simply to shoot Caplin, head back to Alderney and see Helga. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. But what if she no longer wanted him? The truth was, she was menstruating and emotional at the time, and she probably believed he was going to his death. That would be enough to make most women weep. She did say she couldn’t face another man after him, but people have short memories. Not him though, he never forgot and he couldn’t leave England, not even for Helga until his private mission had been accomplished. His thoughts flashed back to his flight to Alderney, he had planned and schemed his secret mission then, he was good at keeping secrets, and he alone knew the extent of his wrath.

  Of all his problems, escape from the police was the most urgent. Unless he escaped, he could do nothing about all the other matters that were dependent upon him, and him alone.

  He needed to get Anna and Henryk back safe. They were no longer useful in planting beacons and training others, but they mattered to him.

  “Fool, they will be the death of you, you know that!” he muttered to himself.

  Caplin was the only source of information about Henryk and Anna, and the only negotiating leverage Peter had, so killing him was not an option. The MI5 agent might also be his only way of escaping from his present predicament.

  The picture in his mind was clearer now and he knew what he must do.

  Caplin could wake up at any moment and that would make him difficult to handle, so he tied his hands behind him, using the agent’s own shoe laces. It was quite tricky to do that securely in the dark.

  Peter wrongly believed the agent had no idea what he looked like so would need to blindfold him. The only thing Peter had was the bag containing grenades and ammunition, which he emptied and, although a very tight fit over Caplin’s head it would do the job.

  With his prisoner securely bound, Peter searched the man’s pockets and found a slim leather wallet. It contained cash, a folded utility bill and a photo of his wife and baby daughter. The family made Caplin vulnerable, and the invoice gave his home address. These would be most valuable when it came to negotiations.

  Caplin’s thick black wool coat was soaked with blood, Peter knew how damaging shrapnel could be, so it was important to get the man to a doctor. The only one he knew of was Betty Marsh, and he doubted she would be inclined to help.

  Caplin stirred and struggled feebly as his recollection of events came to him. He soon went quiet though, when he realised he was bound and blindfolded.

  Peter ignored him and checked the time. It would be getting light very soon and escape was still the priority.

  An hour later, the first vehicles passed by, London was awake. Peter guessed that traffic was being allowed through the cordon. The City had to go about its business, even the war could not stop that. Then it dawned on him, the police were concentrating on small black vans leaving the area.

  He got out of the van and looked at the other vehicles parked near him, he needed to steal one of those. He chose a Morris 8 saloon car, because garages disabled their cars, to avoid them being stolen by German spies. The removal of the rotor arm from the distributor was the favourite trick, because they were unique to the model. He lifted the bonnet, found that the distributor cap was undone and the rotor arm was missing.

  The driver’s door window was the most worn, because hand signals had to be made frequently whilst driving, so Peter eased it down enough to unlock the door from inside.

  He fitted the rotor arm from his van, and set about starting the car by pulling free the wires from the ignition switch, and twisting them together. The pull to start button was mechanical, a long Bowden cable to the starter motor so the moment he pulled it, the engine cranked over and fired up nicely on full choke.

  While the engine was warming up, Caplin was dragged into the back of the saloon, and laid in a heap on the floor. He would be out of sight behind the front seats and, in any case, the boot was far too small to hold a body.

  Petrol is a serious weapon in a spy’s arsenal also, unlike other weapons, it is freely available. Because it is easily ignited, it is perfect for a conflagration or bomb. Apart from that, most vehicles carry a spare gallon can in the boot. Peter untied his can from the passenger seat of the van and transferred it to the car.

  Off he drove, into the traffic flow and headed out to east London, for the doctor. The police waved him through with no more than a cursory glance. It was not a black Morris van and it contained only one person. Because they had not found Caplin’s body, they were certain he was alive and would be kept that way for bargaining purposes.

  Petrol was very low in the tank, but Peter had expected this. Rationing meant that no more petrol went into the car than was needed on a test drive, and a spare fuel can from the sales office was carried in case the car ran out. There was no possibility of Peter buying more, he had no coupons.

  The engine missed several beats and picked up again. He had run dry and would have barely enough to park tidily up a side street. He chose an alley and spluttered to a halt at the far end.

  In the silence he heard movement, Caplin would do all he could to escape.

  “I suggest you lie still on the floor John, otherwise I will have to pay a visit to your wife and baby. I found your address on the bill in your wallet.”

  “You dare touch them, I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands!”

  “I don’t think you quite appreciate your position in all this John. I have been a bit preoccupied, avoiding capture by the police and I have not had time to dispose of you yet. I find it easier to ignore you than climb in the back with you, snap your scrawny neck and dump your body. I suggest you keep quiet and let me kill you in my own good time. Any trouble, and I will also murder your family for all the inconvenience you have put me and my team through.”

  “Please don’t kill me or touch my family and I will help you get your man back.” Caplin bluffed, but he was confident the men at Camp 020 would soon catch Henryk.

  “And what about the woman, don’t you have her?”

  “No, not yet, we are still looking for her.”

  Peter was astonished. Where was Anna? She was a reliable person and she knew how important the mission was. He decided not to say anymore for the moment, got out of the car with the petrol can and poured a quarter of it into the car. He needed enough to start the car and complete his journey but no more. It was too precious to waste and he might be forced to dump the car very soon.


  ***

  It was 8.00 am when Peter located a phone box and called the doctor. He remembered her number from inside her medical bag, a precaution if it was left at a patient’s home. It was not surgery hours of course, but she was up early and recognised Peter’s voice.

  “You’ve got a nerve phoning me. What the devil do you want?” She was blunt and on her guard.

  “I have someone important in the back of my car who has cut himself rather badly while shaving. I need you to clean the wound and sew up my friend. There are rather a lot of cuts to deal with, drunks and cut throat razors don’t work well together, so there is plenty of stitching to be done. I think my friend needs some penicillin as well, it was a particularly dirty razor.

  “I will pull up outside your address in five minutes’ time, and you can examine my friend.”

  “I will look out for you and come with you. I charge very heavily for house calls, so you need to have the cash ready, or I go home.”

  “I expected that and my friend will be quite willing to pay. You will also need a good torch, there is no electric light. Bring a couple of thick blankets as well, there is no bedding here either.”

  “I think I understand, I can do all that. See you in five minutes.”

  Peter was not sure if the doctor’s phone was tapped, so the conversation was deliberately imprecise. If it was flagged as suspicious, somebody would have to listen to the recording and decide to race over to the doctor’s home. In five minutes, she would no longer be there to catch.

  Peter could not take a chance on John Caplin seeing the doctor’s face or hearing her voice, so the medical work would be done in the back of the car, by torch light, under the blankets.

  Caplin’s back was probably peppered with shrapnel, like Peters’ had been in Peenemunde. He would have lost a lot of blood, but it would have clotted by now so, provided he didn’t lose much more blood and didn’t suffer from infection, he would survive.