The object by the window that Paul had used to prop himself was an ancient TV—like Patrick’s, it was turned off at the moment—and this was facing a large armchair on the other side of the room. In the armchair, sitting upright, was the dim shape of Williams, Henry P., aged seventy-three, widower of Williams, Mildred R.
In the dark, we couldn’t see if his eyes were open, but we could hear him breathing; he was taking slow, deep, but trembling breaths. Maybe he was asleep after all? But before anything else, I had to know what going on with Paul. I was in deep enough already without going blindly into even murkier depths. I’d let Paul put me in harm’s way, however unlikely, and worse, I knew that I could end up being shafted for treason. I put my hand over the microphone, which I knew would probably cause noise on the other end, but I thought at least Straub and company couldn’t see me do it.
“What the hell is all this about?” I half-mouthed, half-whispered. Paul turned to me and covered his own mouthpiece, holding up his free hand in an attempt to let me know he was sorry.
“I’m sorry, Andy, honestly,” he said quickly, using the same barely audible voice, but his eyes were boring into mine with great intensity. “But could you do it? Could you let them storm in here like a goddamn drugs raid?”
“What?” I asked, confused, but glancing at the shape in the chair, half expecting this elderly man to get up and charge at us, fingers drawn into hooks that were aiming for our eyes.
“We owe these people this much,” whispered Paul. “Just, just a chance at going out with some dignity. Those assholes out there would kick the fucking door in, sling him over their shoulders and bundle him into the back of the van!” He shook his head at the thought, his jaw grinding. “One way or the other, this poor bastard is going to die for this country, whether he likes it or not. And we’re the gun dogs that led the lynch mob to him. Okay, I get that, it has to be done. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them drag him out into the street without at least giving him a chance to walk out of their own accord. I can’t fucking sleep as it is, Andy! I can’t sleep! I keep seeing …” He stopped, his eyes wide and pleading, and then held up his free hand, taking a deep breath and looking at the floor. “You understand. Tell me you understand.”
I stared at him, wondering if I actually did, but Straub’s interruption over the headsets saved me.
“Pointer, Winter, report. What are you doing? What is the situation?”
“We’re just checking the immediate area, Brigadier,” replied Paul, his eyes now back on mine. “Just checking that we’re okay to proceed, so we don’t run into any other unpleasant surprises.”
“All right. Proceed with caution, but also with efficiency. Can you see the target?”
“We can,” I replied, “I don’t know if he’s—”
“I can … hear you, you know,” came the voice from the darkness, and we both jumped back a foot with fright. The voice had been clear, but also breathy and trembling, like that of a man having to exercise extreme physical control. It was the voice of a man making a great, taxing effort.
“We’ve … we’ve made contact,” said Paul, trying to compose himself, hard enough in this new situation even without our nerves already being on fire.
“Roger that,” said Straub, “Proceed then, gentlemen. The clock is now ticking. They’ve—” And she broke off, as if she was hesitating to tell us something.
“What was that, Brigadier?” I asked, pushing the headphones against my ears. Straub paused for a second, and I could hear her sigh.
“They’ve started to walk,” she said, quietly. “This needs wrapping up, and fast. We have to get to Birmingham, as quick as we can.”
Paul and I shared a glance.
“Okay,” I said, but my voice was even weaker than before. “We’re on it.”
We moved slowly towards the armchair, our eyes more accustomed to the dark. Henry Williams wasn’t speaking, but I could hear those heavy, heavy breaths; it was like listening to someone who was trying to stop themselves from being sick. As we drew closer, he spoke again, and it was like the words were being pulled out of him. It was taking a great effort for him to speak clearly.
“It’s me, isn’t it? They’re … here for me this time.”
We immediately stopped dead in mild shock, mouths gaping like idiots. He knew … and yet here he was. Waiting.
“Mmm … I thought so,” Henry said, sadly … but also with what sounded like resolve. I noticed that, despite the city we were in, his accent wasn’t Scottish. He actually sounded English, and well-spoken at that. Posh, even. He shifted slightly in his seat, and as he did so, he caught the light. Now I could see two things; one, that his whole body was shivering violently, and two, that he was wearing clothes of a very unexpected nature.
Henry Williams was wearing what appeared to be full military dress uniform, right down to the beret. There was even a few medals on his chest, and his sleeve bore one of the few symbols of rank that I recognised; three chevrons. He wasn’t Mr Henry Williams, then. He was Sergeant Henry Williams, Retired.
And he knew what was coming, and had decided to meet it appropriately dressed.
I was so stunned by it all that I blindly tried to stick to the script.
“Sir, uh, we, we uh … here to, uh, evacuate …” I started, unable to meet his gaze as I fumbled my way through my words. Henry cut me off as he closed his eyes and weakly raised a hand, taking in a heavy breath through his nose as he did so. His shivers increased for a second, and he let out a little noise as he gritted his teeth and clamped them down. The shivers eventually lessened, but they didn’t stop. His head slumped forward slightly, and he then shook it slowly.
“I know you’ll have your … orders, young man,” he said, without looking up. He sounded unimaginably tired. “So it’s commendable that you’re trying to carry them out, even … when we both know what you’re saying is nonsense.” The words shivered from his lips, like a man trying to speak through hypothermia. He looked at me, and squinted; I could see his facial features more clearly now. A large nose on a broad, flat face. Small eyes under thick, grey eyebrows, eyebrows that matched the few remaining bits of thin grey hair on the sides of his head visible from the point where the beret stopped. “I know your face, don’t I?” he said. “The … fellow from the television? You were with the … Prime Minister.” I nodded in response, silent, but Straub barked in my ear.
“What’s he saying, Pointer? We’re getting static on our devices. Get him out of there.”
I ignored her, and looked at Paul for guidance, lost, mouth working soundlessly, moronically. Paul was staring at Henry, and slowly raising his hand.
“Sir …” said Paul, “I’m afraid I’m respectfully going to … have to … ask you to come with us. It’s … it’s for the good of the country.” He almost looked embarrassed saying the last part, and I felt I needed to back him up.
“It’s going to save lives,” I offered, and immediately felt the same thing that Paul did. It wasn’t embarrassment; it was shame. There was a dignity at hand here that neither of us possessed.
“Indeed,” said Henry, nodding slowly. “I saw the whole—” Henry stopped talking and gasped, then breathed out heavily, clamping down on himself again. He then continued once his breath was back. “The whole business, on the television. Chaos, utter chaos. Families … children mixed up in it. Dreadful business.” He felt around the left-hand arm of his chair, looking for something, and found the head of his cane. “Not … not really had a fantastic few days of it … myself …” He went to stand, and Paul and I darted forward.
“No!” Henry suddenly shouted, his voice cracking. I couldn’t tell if it was from effort or emotion. Either way, we backed off, and let him stand up unassisted. It was painful to watch. The shivers, combined with his own stiffness, made a process that would be mere seconds long for Paul or myself take nearly a minute for Henry as his shaking and elderly limbs struggled to support his weight. He looked like his body should be
audibly creaking, and when his head wasn’t bent downwards with effort, we could see the stress of the movement standing out all over his straining face. Between the arms of the chair and the use of his cane, Henry managed, eventually, to get himself into a standing position. His expression was pained, but his stance, once upright, was as proud as he could physically manage. Sweat ran down his heavily lined face.
“Not … normally … that hard,” he said, and looked us both up and down as he adjusted his feet.
“Knew … someone would be here eventually,” he said, nodding. “Knew this morning … when I turned on the television … and saw that thing. I knew that’s what … last few days had been down to. Was almost a relief … finally knowing what it had all been about.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, but my voice was almost a whisper. “What what was about?”
“Winter, Pointer, what’s taking so long?” barked Straub’s voice over the headsets, jolting us. “He’s upright, we can see it, let’s go! What on earth are you stood there talking for, what are you saying? Hurry up!”
“We’re coming,” snapped Paul. “We’re on our way, he’s just getting his breath.”
Henry’s eyebrows raised on his shaking forehead.
“Can’t … talk to a superior officer that way, young man,” he said, sternly. “Show some … respect.”
“Sorry,” said Paul immediately, nodding and holding up his hands. “Sorry. Can, uh … can you walk?”
“I think … if you two chaps would … take my elbows,” he said, nodding and holding them out slightly, “I should be able to, if we take it … steady.” Paul and I exchanged a glance, and then awkwardly moved to either side of him. We were having a hard time standing up ourselves, but if this guy could get himself upright then we could help him walk.
We each took hold of his elbows, and felt the violent thrumming in his limbs. It felt like trying to comfort a scared animal. Henry’s body jolted again, and would have fallen had we not been there to hold him up, but this time there was no calming breath; he took a rapid series of gasping gulps of air, like someone who has jumped into unexpectedly cold water. These slowly ebbed, dying down in speed and volume, as he got himself under as much control as he could, calming back down to his previous level. All we could do was stand there and try not to panic. I had to ask the question, and hated myself completely for doing so.
“Ready?”
Henry closed his eyes tightly, and nodded. We began making tiny, shuffling, and painfully slow steps across the living room towards the front door.
“Don’t like to … cause such a scene,” he said, eyes still closed as we walked. He sounded angry, but not with us. “It started … a few days ago. Thought it was my mind … finally going on me, the silence since … Mildred … getting to me.”
“You felt scared, didn’t you?” asked Paul, quietly. “You knew that something bad was coming, something really bad.”
“Yes,” said Henry, voice trembling. “Thought about the doctor … thought he could give me something … to give me back … perspective … but then that would mean another step towards a home and … won’t do it …” I could hear Straub in the background, giving orders to the others and not talking directly to me, talking frantically about getting ready to depart, prepping separate air transport with guard for Target One and the civilian team. They were ready for us. For Henry.
“So … I decided I wouldn’t … have it,” said Henry. “Decided to ride it out … even though I wanted to … get under the covers and hide … like a bloody Frenchman. But I wouldn’t do it. I refused to do it … and it got worse, and I still wouldn’t do it. I watched the television … I stood on the front porch … that was nearly too much, but … made myself do it a few times … but I couldn’t eat, it wouldn’t stay down or … my mouth was too dry to chew and swallow … but I wouldn’t hide.” He opened his eyes, and looked into mine. The determination there was like iron. “I wouldn’t hide,” he repeated, and the sad pride in his expression made me believe him.
“And then … this morning,” he said, as we drew within several feet of the front door, “when I saw them … on the news … I knew.” His shivers rose slightly, and Paul and I stiffened, but they descended again before they could get any worse. “I knew I was … like the chap last time. They were here … for me. And … I was … good lord, I was more scared than ever. Scared out … of my mind.” His eyes screwed up again, and when he spoke it was a harsh, grating whisper, but his head stayed firmly up. “I’m so scared now, gentlemen … and it is taking everything … I have not to scream. I want to collapse and curl … up.” His eyes opened, and he looked back and forth between us as he talked, eyes wide and fierce now. “But … as God is my … witness … I will not. I will not.”
We knew he wouldn’t. We knew why he was shaking so violently, why his bones felt as if they were going to break under our hands due to the sheer tension in his arms. Henry had been managing, through sheer force of will, to stop himself from breaking down into a terrified, feral state, to avoid becoming a wreck in the way that Patrick had before him … but the effort it took, and the toll it still had to be taking on his elderly body, were impossible to imagine. Every calm and rational sentence he was producing was a Herculean task, but he kept talking, just as he kept walking towards the door and his own fate.
I see that walk at night now, in my dreams. I finally see Patrick now, too. Sometimes it’s me and Paul and Patrick and Henry, all in a line, all walking towards Henry’s front door, and we can’t stop.
But Henry is the only one with his head up.
“So … I thought that … it was a case of … whoever got here first,” said Henry, eyes fixed on the door now. “You or … them.”
“It’s us, Mr Williams,” said Paul, his own voice shaking now. “And we’ll make sure you’re …” Paul trailed off, realising the contradiction of his own sentence.
“Looked after, yes,” said Henry, finishing for him generously, but everyone in the room knew the truth. We were at the front door, and I saw myself reaching for the Yale lock. I caught Paul’s eyes; he didn’t know what to do either. I hesitated, my hand on the metal.
“Are you … all right?” I asked. It sounded pathetic, and it was. Of course he wasn’t all right. What I meant was Are you prepared.
Henry closed his eyes again. He took a long time to answer, but then nodded, short and sharp. He lifted his chin, and breathed in hard through his nose. Then he opened his eyes.
“Mildred,” he said. There was another long pause. “Yes. Yes, I’m … I’m ready.” I looked at Paul again, who looked terrified.
“Civilian team coming out,” I said into the microphone, and popped the Yale lock.
“Roger that,” said Straub, the relief clear in her voice. “Be careful on the way out, Pointer, don’t blow it now.” Her businesslike manner disgusted me.
“Don’t worry, the gaps are … easier coming this way, it’s hard to explain,” I bullshitted, not caring. In that moment, I didn’t really give a fuck whether Straub believed us or not. Plus, it was mission accomplished, so what could she say? Once again, we had the lamb for the slaughter. Job done.
We opened the door to see a smaller vehicle positioned outside. It almost looked like the armoured trucks you see security firms using to pick up money from banks. I don’t know where it came from. It had an open door in the rear with a ramp leading up to it, and three or four armed soldiers surrounded the vehicle. A few feet back from the doorstep, three soldiers stood waiting to relieve us of our charge.
I heard Henry’s breathing quicken, and saw his chest begin to hitch and fall more dramatically. His panic didn’t continue to rise any more, however; the level that Henry was maintaining himself at had just risen, but he was still keeping it together.
“We’ll walk you all the way if you want,” said Paul, his voice shaking properly now, struggling to exercise any control of his own. “We can take you in.” Henry didn’t answer; he stared at the van wi
th his terrified eyes as wide as dinner plates and his mouth slightly open. He managed a small nod. Paul passed it on to me, and I complied. We continued with our shuffling, tiny-step-walk away from the house, and that was when I caught the faces of the soldiers.
Of course, I thought. This is one of their own.
As we neared the three waiting soldiers—who hesitated slightly, I thought—Paul spoke to the nearest one.
“He’d like us to take him in,” said Paul, firmly. The soldier looked at him, then Henry, then myself, and finally turned to Straub, who was stood, I now saw, a few feet back from the waiting truck. Her face was ashen, to my shock, but she was still running the show, still the pro. She was on a mission. I looked for David; he was nowhere to be seen.
“Let them take him,” she said, her voice coming to me both through the air and my headset. It was quiet, but hurried. Even Straub hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t going to let it affect her mission in any way, I knew … but she could afford to allow a veteran a simple request. “They know their job, it’s fine. Let them take him.”
Henry’s head turned, trembling but upright, to see where I was looking, and his eyes fell upon Straub. His right elbow began to raise out of my grip, until the fingers of his hand were touching his forehead. The street was completely silent.
Not breaking his gaze, Straub gently returned the salute. She then nodded solemnly, and looked at me, gesturing towards the truck. We walked up the ramp, leading Henry, to see padded bench seating inside, jutting out of similarly padded walls. I was glad to see that there were no restraints. At one end, a grille separated the cab from our compartment. Gently, we set Henry down on one of the benches, and as we did so the soldiers began to file in behind us, taking the remaining seats. I wondered if they would handcuff Henry for the journey. I wondered if they would give him something before the Stone Man took him. I decided that I would make sure of it; I decided that I would ask if he could be made to know nothing about it. I looked at Henry’s face as he was sitting there, eyes closed and trying to control his breathing, and wildly hoped that they wouldn’t be able to take him away early. I hoped that their theory was wrong, and that the real perimeters were already up, and they’d get him a mile or so down the road and have to bring him back. Then we’d have time. Then we’d at least have more of a chance to stop this terrible process. Somehow.
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