‘I don’t understand,’ Skinner burst out.
Traynor paused.
‘Do you believe that time just passes away?’
‘Time?’
‘Yes, time. That the past is gone, the future not come and all we can know is the present, the moment that is just happening. Now.’
‘What else? That’s how we live, though in my case some of my past has gone from my mind for ever.’
Traynor nodded. ‘Yes. Now listen carefully. A few scientists today are beginning to examine the possibility that in areas where there has been a release of energy, extensive energy — great events, for instance — the past may, somehow or other, persist.’
‘How can it? That’s the maddest thing I ever heard. And what has it to do with Liz and Simon?’
‘You have a close relationship with Liz, don’t you, Skinner? Perhaps closer than is usual between father and daughter. Perhaps because of your lost memories. Isn’t that so?’
Skinner regarded the other man curiously and then turned to his wife. But he could get no support from her. She lay back in the chair, her eyes closed, apparently asleep.
‘I suppose that is so,’ he conceded reluctantly.
‘Has it not occurred to you that by bringing her near events, conflicts in which you were involved and which have affected you all ever since, you may have made it possible for her to relive them?’
Skinner shook his head in disbelief.
‘What events?’
‘In May 1940 a small group of Germans took over the Station. For a period of several hours they were in complete control. We are still uncertain how much the raiders found out about our work.’ He paused. ‘Besides, we have just had curious evidence about Liz and Simon from your wife?’ ‘Evidence of what?’
‘That the past is accessible to young and sensitive people. Not to you or I, Skinner. We’re too old and our perceptions are dulled. But for young people..
‘Are you trying to tell me that my daughter and Simon are back with whatever happened at the Station? Just because my wife speaks a bit of German in her sleep?’
‘And hears electronic noises and jangles while she’s awake. She told me earlier,’ Traynor replied. ‘Believe me, Skinner, we must act delicately. What is happening is too serious for doctors. Or policemen.’ Three minutes later they swept out of The Bull in Traynor’s car.
7
Graz sat menacingly on a chair he had dragged across to the Recreation room door, coldly watching his prisoners. A callous, professional soldier, thought the Commander, doesn’t give a damn that he’s just killed a man. He’d do it again. He turned towards the children — Liz turning over old magazines, Simon rolling billiard balls nervously from one hand to the other.
‘Want a game?’ he said to Simon who looked startled at the idea.
‘I — I beg your pardon, sir?’ he stammered.
‘This one doesn’t speak any English, does he?’ murmured the Commander.
‘No,’ said Simon. ‘I don’t think so.’
Graz stood up inquiringly but sat down scowling as the Commander said ‘Game. Spiel.’ And began to set up the balls for snooker.
‘Listen, Simon Randall,’ said the Commander as he drew back his cue and began the game. ‘I want the truth. How did you kids get in here?’
Simon leant on his cue. ‘We don’t know. There was this hole in the fence. We...’
‘I don’t believe a word — it’s your shot — the Germans paid you to cut an entrance.’
‘No,’ snapped Simon, and miscued.
‘Take it again.’
‘No.’ Simon stood back scowling.
The Commander began again, playing smoothly.
‘You see,’ he said. ‘It’s easy if you’ve got a clear conscience. Come on — tell me the facts. How did these Jerries get in without being spotted?’
‘I don’t know,’ Simon said. ‘I tried to tell you we saw Germans and you laughed at us. They appeared just after we fell... I mean after we came through the hole.’
Traynor miscued. It was true he’d laughed at that story. He played three strokes in silence, then failed to sink a ball. ‘I’m not really very good at this,’ he thought.
‘Yours,’ he gestured to the table and sat down.
Simon sank two balls. Confidence returned.
‘Honestly, Mr Traynor, Liz and I had nothing to do with these Germans coming here. Honestly.’
‘Play on. Tell me another thing. Who told you my name?’
‘A man at The Bull,’ Simon countered evasively. ‘It’s your turn. It’s very difficult to explain it.’
‘You’ve said that before, my boy, but it doesn’t help much.’ He sank his ball and the blue, then set his ball up and drew back the cue.
Simon leant forward and said quietly, ‘They’ve come to pinch our ideas on radar, haven’t they?’
The Commander’s cue went across the top of his ball which trickled slowly and aimlessly down the table. Graz laughed.
‘What the hell do you know about radar?’ The Commander glowered at Simon.
‘I saw the equipment in the big room and I know what radar looks like.’
‘Nobody, nobody at all except us and the Ministry top brass knows what we’re working on here. What’s your game? Answer me! ’
Their raised voices had brought Graz to his feet and the Commander softened his tone a little.
‘No,’ he said irritably. ‘You can’t take a point for that. You have to hit a red first.’ He indicated the track of the balls. ‘Take the shot again,’ and as Simon replaced his ball, the Commander turned with a grin and shrug to Graz. ‘Kinder,’ he said, dismissing the incident.
* * *
In the Operations room Gottfried sat in front of the radar unit trying controls, drawing and writing intently in his notebook. He had dismantled some of the adjacent equipment. A small pile lay at the end of the bench — a multiple
tube oscillator, circuits, sheets of figures from the technician’s table. His guard leant against the filing cabinets. Frank had filled the kettle and turned on the gas ring. It was a slow job getting boiling water out of this old thing. He set out cups and cartons of milk and a big enamel coffee jug. He picked up the coffee tin, took off the lid, turned to Gottfried.
‘No coffee,’ he said. ‘Must get some from the stores.’
Gottfried looked up.
‘Coffee? Yes, get some. Have you bread and butter? And that English marmalade?’
Bloody sauce, Frank thought. Poor old Traynor’s Dundee.
‘I think I can find some for you, sir,’ he said. He moved off to the back room.
‘Halt,’ said the guard, raising his pistol.
‘It’s in the CO’s office. He often has breakfast there.’
‘Good. Get it but be quick.’ The Kapitan waved him out and Fritz stood by the door as Frank disappeared for a moment, returning with a white jar of marmalade.
‘That’s the one. Must get some more coffee from the store cupboard.’ Frank indicated the back room door to Fritz.
‘Herr Kapitan?’ asked Fritz, raising his pistol.
‘OK. Er braucht mehr Kaffee.’
The door was heavy. Armoured, thought Frank, and he let it swing back once he had removed the key. But the room was no bigger than a small kitchen, cluttered with bits of gear and a couple of cupboards. A bench ran along one side below a tool rack. There were heavy insulated cables coming in from above a panel. Maybe not, thought Frank. Going in. They came in through the ceiling. The air was close and still.
He pressed, then tapped the wall below the cables. It felt solid and heavy. But the switch was behind the noticeboard all right and, when he pressed it, he heard the soft murmur of a servo-mechanism pushing the panel to one side. He was looking into a metal-lined cabinet. The cables ended in heavy-duty sockets. On the cupboard floor a mild steel frame supported a cylinder of blued steel. Frank peered at it and stepped nervously away to one side. It had a muzzle-like aperture facing the room. A shee
t of armour plate was bracketed to the opposite wall and on it two rectangular blocks bolted parallel with one another. He could see they were about the same level as the aperture and guessed that they might have held a target.
‘This is it,’ he said to himself.
He reached in and gripped the steel frame. It moved fairly easily and he reached inside it to take the cylinder. Its weight surprised him and, looking closer, he saw it was fixed by simple nuts and bolts to the cross girders of the frame. He turned them with finger and thumb.
‘Wonder if this thing’s lethal,’ he thought, sweating with the closeness of the room and the anxious responsibility of this job. He must somehow disconnect the power and he hadn’t a free hand. The cylinder slipped a little and he gripped it harder. A numb and cold pain grew beneath his skull. He was in the track of the beam.
It was then that the kettle boiled in the Operations room and the guard tapped on the door; then hammered hard.
‘Matrose,’ he shouted. ‘Das Wasser.’
Frank swayed from side to side. With a tremendous effort he thrust the machine back and fell to his knees, turned the switch and staggered towards the door. The panel closed smartly and in the storm of pain that swept through his head he had enough sense to pick up the coffee tin. The hammering on the door stopped. He slid back the catch and collapsed.
* * *
Liz had grown tired of the conversation about snooker and raids and even more tired of the funnies of 1939. She turned to the piano and played a thin note or two. From where she stood she could see a gap in the blackout and went and stood by it. If she leant on it she could look out into the starlight. The cloud cover had thinned. On the path outside the window her father was standing arguing with the real Mr Traynor she had seen at The Bull.
‘Simon,’ she screamed. ‘They’re here. Look. Look. Daddy and Mr Thing who we met.’ He dropped his cue and rushed over. ‘See,’ she shouted.
‘Yes. It’s them.’
Behind them Graz, pistol in hand, had leapt to the window. Liz wasted no words. She tugged Simon’s arm and they belted out and ran down the corridor. They had disappeared by the time Graz reached the main door. Behind him came Gottfried. They heard Liz shouting from round the comer.
‘Daddy! We’re here. Thank goodness you’ve come. It’s been so awful.’
When they turned the comer they saw her standing, fists clasped against her chest. She was screaming.
‘It’s me. It’s me. Daddy. Can’t you see me?’ Simon stood behind her.
Graz stepped towards the children ominously but Gottfried ordered him back.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘We’ll watch. The children will not run.’
They saw Liz turn to the boy.
‘What’s wrong, Simon? What’s wrong?’ she said.
‘They don’t seem to hear you.’
Gottfried stepped forward.
‘What is the matter with you two children? Explain please.’
‘It’s her father with Mr Traynor. There! Can’t you see? By the window.’
‘Are you mad? There is no one there.’
‘No one there?’ stammered Liz.
‘Not a soul.’
‘Daddy,’ screamed Liz at the top of her voice, and Graz clapped a great flat hand over her mouth.
8
‘Get her inside,’ Gottfried snapped, reaching out for Simon. ‘Come, you too. You’re not taking us on some wild ghost chase.’
He pulled him away from Traynor and Mr Skinner who was thumping the air with his fists. ‘It’s nonsense-moonshine,’ he was shouting.
In the Operations room they found Fritz uneasily guarding Liz. Tears poured down her face. Gottfried sank into a chair behind the desk and bent forward, head in hands. Simon had moved next to Liz.
‘What, my extraordinary kinder, the hell are you playing at?’ He glowered at both of them. They looked helplessly back. The truth was beyond comprehension but a version of it might do.
‘You see, sir,’ said Simon. ‘We saw Mr Skinner, that’s Liz’s father, and a man from The Bull outside the window and we rushed out to talk to them.’
‘And,’ cut in Gottfried, ‘what did you say to these visitors in the night?’
‘Well, all we could do was shout it’s us but they didn’t hear us.’
‘Not at all?’ asked the Kapitan.
‘Mr Skinner kept shouting it was moonshine.’
‘Perhaps he was correct,’ growled Gottfried.
He suddenly slapped his hands flat on the desk, and the children and Fritz jumped with surprise. A hard note came into his voice.
‘Now understand. I will have no more of these foolish games. I have important work to complete here and not much time. So nothing must interfere with it.’ He slapped the table again. ‘I hope you understand me well. Go with Fritz into the games room across the corridor.’
The children turned and moved off. Liz found herself looking into the back room. Frank was lying on the floor. With a cry of distress she broke away towards him crying, ‘Frank...’
Gottfried stepped round the desk brushing aside Fritz who had reached for his Luger.
‘What have you done to him?’ Liz looked up at Gottfried accusingly.
‘Nothing,’ he replied quietly. ‘Nothing at all. He looks very sick.’
‘He needs help,’ Liz announced emphatically.
‘Haven’t you got a doctor here?’
‘Doctors? God help us.’ He bent over, turned Frank completely flat on his back and gently felt his forehead where there was a red and sensitive-looking spot. ‘Perhaps he fell. He came in here to get coffee.’
Gottfried picked up the tin and smelled it. He looked round the small room with its work bench and cupboards and piles of metal junk; he opened the wall cupboard; saw it was full of tins of food, cutlery, plates and cups; he looked again at Frank.
‘Fritz, get this man into the games room and put a blanket over him.’
‘Ist er tot?’ asked Fritz in consternation.
‘Nein Dumkopf,’ snapped the Kapitan. ‘A blanket or some overcoats to keep him warm and alive.’ He swung round quickly as he heard a switch click and a soft hum from the radar set. A few angry steps brought him up behind Simon. ‘Who told you to touch that?’ he burst out. ‘Was it Commander Traynor’s orders to you? Speak up now.’
‘Why Commander Traynor?’ muttered Simon.
‘Did he tell you to interfere with it — destroy it? What’s that in your hand?’
Simon held out a piece of loose metal with solder patches and loosely connected leads. It had been lying on the pedestal of the set.
‘You are trying to dismantle it. Answer.’ Gottfried, however, was speaking with less conviction as he examined the loose piece. The set went on producing an oscillating flow of light across its screen. Both Simon and Gottfried examined it coldly.
‘Seen one of these before?’ Gottfried asked a little too slyly.
‘No,’ Simon answered, knowing that he could honestly say he hadn’t. The ones he had seen on RAF field days were as different as Phantoms from Spitfires.
‘But it interests you?’ Gottfried went on.
‘Well, at school we’ve done some experiments like this. It’s sort of radio set and receiver all in one, isn’t it?’
‘At school, eh?’ answered the Kapitan. ‘Your schools in England must be well ahead of ours in Germany.’
He sat looking stonily at Simon who turned aside. Fritz and Liz were helping Frank towards the door.
‘Can I go with Liz, sir?’ he asked, nodding towards the others.
‘No. I think best you should stay and talk to me a little. And Liz will make us some food.’ He called her over. ‘Liz, you will finish the job the sailor was doing. We still need food.’
‘But he’s ill. You did say I could look after him.’
‘All we need is something to keep us going. And your young sailor could do with a hot drink.’
‘But I’m no good at it — no good at all. I can’t
even boil an egg.’
‘Better and better. So we will have none of your depressing English boiled eggs. There’s the gas ring over there. Now get along to the kitchen.’
Liz moved off to the food cupboard, wondering desperately how to begin producing a meal when her mind was so full of worries about Frank and the strange appearance of her father and Mr Traynor.
‘If only I could have made them hear me,’ she thought desperately. In the background the Kapitan was saying to Simon:
‘And now I think you must help me in examining this equipment and no doubt you will tell me something of your experiments at school.’
‘I’d like to tell him about my domestic science experiments at my school with old mother pie-face,’ Liz muttered.
The stores cupboard yielded condensed milk and pilchards in tomato sauce, tin openers, pots and some cutlery. Liz piled a few tins on the work bench and examined them one by one.
‘Pilchards and tomato sauce, pilchards and tomato sauce, pilchards and...’ She picked up the tin opener and wrenched at one of the tins with irritation, unable even to make a dent. Across the Operations room she could hear the Kapitan talking to Simon.
‘Now then, we’ll try it again. Come, the transmitter, please, as I have shown you.’
A switch clicked and Liz could see bleeps of light jumping on the screen.
‘Now increase range.’
She saw the screen blur as Simon revolved the tuning dial.
‘The signal’s lost,’ said Simon. He bent round the set to look into it. ‘There’s a loose terminal in here. Needs a bit of solder.’
‘Well, then,’ said Gottfried. ‘Solder it.’
Simon turned away towards the work bench in the back room but as he went Gottfried raised his voice.
‘You find this pretty elementary stuff?’
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘Come now. I suppose in our best German schools we could muddle through to this. But you British seem very advanced.’
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