by Mick Bose
“I see,” Tunney said after a pause. “Well, if you remember anything, would you please let us know? We’ll be in the square most days, and you can speak to any soldier and leave a message for me. The police department will also help.” He looked at her keenly. “Ma`am, this man has killed eight people already, including a woman. He is ruthless, armed and very dangerous. Please be careful. And spread the word to anyone you know.”
Maggie`s breath came faster and she forced herself to stay calm.
“By the way,” Tunney said. “I should mention he carries a knife. A long curved dagger it seems, called a kukri.”
Maggie`s heart hammered against her ribs. She felt faint and made of show of fiddling with the parasol in her hand.
“Thank you Major…Tunney.” He smiled at the mention of his name, touched the peak of his cap again and did a small bow.
“Good afternoon, ma`am,” he said again.
Maggie walked away from the square, feeling Tunney`s eyes on her back. She got into her buggy and Lucky cantered away. Once she was out of sight of the soldiers, Maggie forced Lucky to go faster. Thoughts arrived and went from her mind like the dust clouds under Lucky`s hooves.
What was she doing? Shouldn’t she turn back, confess to the officer that Becker`s physical description met the man they were looking for?
But if Becker was the fugitive, what would he do when he saw the army coming? He’d managed to evade arrest so far. Wouldn’t he keep an eye out? A cold, horrible fear trickled down her spine as she again thought of her parents.
Her parents. Maggie slashed her whip on Lucky`s back, something she hadn’t done in ages. Lucky almost broke into a gallop.
She slowed down on her approach to the farm. If Becker was watching, he would expect to see Maggie returning from the city on her own, at leisure. She got off the buggy and looked around. There was total silence. She tied Lucky up and went to the stables. It was empty. So was the homestead. She called for her parents.
“Over here,” she heard her mother`s voice from the back.
Maggie went to the back porch quickly. Her parents were out in the garden, tending to their flowers that Miranda liked to grow. Maggie watched them for minute. Her dad waved at her, and she waved back.
“Have you seen Paul, the farmhand?”
“Out in the fields,” her father said. Maggie walked back to the barn slowly, thinking to herself. Paul could be anywhere on the farm.
On an impulse, she pushed the barn door open. It was dark inside. She climbed up the loft ladder and stepped over the makeshift bed to open the window. Warm sunlight streamed in. She searched around. The only belonging she had seen Paul carry had been the shoulder bag. She poked around in the hay, nudging the loose stacks with her foot. She found it in one corner, hidden underneath a mound of new hay. Something rattled inside. Maggie knew she shouldn’t be doing this, and if Paul happened to walk in, she wouldn’t be able to justify her actions.
She decided quickly and looked inside. She found a pair of Remington binoculars and put them to one side. A brown coat that looked like a uniform had “Airport Guard” sewn above the right breast pocket. Beneath the jacket, she also found a pair of pressed pants. Underneath it, arranged in neat stacks were several long thin cylindrical tubes. The lower half of the bag was full of them. She picked one up. It was about a foot long with a rubber gasket at one end. On the other, there was a small clock. Maggie frowned. She had held sticks of dynamite before, and these felt similar in weight, only slightly heavier. The rubber gasket, protecting one end of the tube puzzled her, as did the clock. Paul worked with metals, she reminded herself. A round object was left in the bag. She picked it up. This time she knew exactly what she was looking at. A compass. As she put the compass down, she saw the money. Neat stacks of one hundred dollar bills, tied by a rubber band. Maggie picked up the bundle of notes, her mouth open. How much was in here? Several thousand maybe.
From the floor of the barn, near the door, came a sound. A scrape. Like someone coming in. Maggie froze, then told herself to stay calm. She put the money and tube back carefully in the bag, then the uniform and compass. She put the binoculars on top and the bag back underneath the roll of hay.
Very slowly, she turned around. If someone had come in, they were being extremely quiet. Maggie was kneeling already, and now she lowered herself to the floor of the loft. She inched forward to the edge and peered below. A shaft of sunlight came in from the roof and lit up a square patch on the floor. She couldn’t see any movement. It was silent. Maggie thought to herself quickly. If Becker had come in, she could always pretend she had come in to make his bed, or to see if he wanted a drink.
She called, “Hello, anyone there?”
Silence. “Paul, is that you?”
Silence again. Maggie heard the scurrying sound again and saw a tail disappearing around the corner of a bale of hay. A rat. She breathed out in relief.
Maggie fled the barn and went into the kitchen. Her breath was coming in gasps. The coil of fear unleashed inside her. Those metallic tubes inside Paul`s bag. They looked like dynamite sticks—like explosives. He also had the knife on his back, exactly as Tunney had described it. She remembered what he had said. He only took it out when he was in danger and had to use it. Maggie shivered in fright.
As much as she hated the idea, the more she thought about it, the more she realised how likely it was that Paul was Major Tunney’s murderous spy. There couldn’t be two men with exactly the same physical description. Down to that knife. Paul had to be who they were looking for.
But why did he have the airport guard uniform and the compass?
CHAPTER 28
Tunney had taken off his tunic and was wearing his olive-coloured army issue cotton vest, the front hanging over the belt of his tapered trousers. He paced up and down the corridor, leaving the door of his tiny room open. The telephone was in there and it was ringing non-stop with reports of possible sightings. In the room next to his, equally cramped in space, two more privates were manning phones trunk-linked to the Detroit exchange. Calls came in via Detroit from New York, DC, the US Secretary of State and General March. The Army High Command was in panic mode.
He’d borrowed two packs of Dunhill from Colonel Walsingham. He finished one cigarette, threw it out the window, and immediately lit another. He inhaled deeply and blew out smoke, staring at the ceiling.
In the room at the Davenport Inn they found a blond wig, black shoe shine and a length of rope. They had also found a set of blood-splattered clothes. The bed looked slept in. It couldn’t have been more than one night. Where could he be? More importantly, how had he escaped? Somehow, he’d known about the surveillance on the hotel. Tunney kicked himself now for keeping the two men at the entrance of the cul de sac in such plain view.
Now, he had to start all over again. At least he knew Becker was definitely here. Willoughby had been informed of the latest development. Families had left Willoughby for nearby towns, transported by Army trucks. Becker could be in Willoughby, Tunney thought. But where? There was nowhere to live in Willoughby that wasn’t under army control. All the hotels, guest houses, hostels, motels in Willoughby had been turned inside out. Doors of family homes had been knocked on, special search permits shown, and searches carried out.
In Cleveland, every business, shop, hotel, even the student dormitory of the Cleveland College had been informed. Regular checks were being carried out every hour. Short of putting up posters, Tunney had done everything he could think of. The phone rang yet again.
“Thomas, how are you?”
Tunney relaxed at the familiar voice of Colonel Walsingham. “Fine and dandy, Colonel. No sign of the bastard as yet.” Walsingham already knew about the Davenport Inn.
“Well, Thomas, could he have hired an automobile? Hitched a ride on a truck?”
“Possible sir, we’ve checked with every automobile dealer in Cleveland. The only trucks here are the army issue ones. Cleveland train station, and those of surrounding towns,
are now flooded with our guys. He could walk, but won`t get far. Then there`s the lake. But we now have coast guards patrolling in four boats from our shores to the Canadian border.”
“Lake Erie has a long shore line, Thomas. You sure we have it covered?”
Tunney rubbed his head and sighed. “That`s impossible, Colonel. The coast guard is doing the best it can, around the clock. Four boats are all it has. We’re keeping track of all the boat dealers as well. You don’t think he`s going to try and swim it, do you?”
Walsingham managed a laugh. “Well, he swam the Hudson, but Lake Erie might be a tad too much even for him.”
“Besides,” Tunney added, “he won`t try and get across to Canada till he’s finished. By that I mean Willoughby.”
“Right,” Walsingham said. He paused for a moment. “I need to tell you about something Colonel Hall called me about.”
Tunney picked up his ears. Any news from the British Admiralty was worth having. “Yes?”
“It’s been noticeable for a while that the German artillery bombardment in France is rather half-hearted. Their advance into Champagne-Artois is stalled. The Fifth Army, according to intelligence reports, is hiding in twenty acres of forest outside the district border.”
“Hiding? What do you mean? We know they are there.”
“My thoughts exactly. But it becomes clearer when you read the messages that Room Forty in London have been intercepting in the last week. One of them says, ‘Seek cover from airborne weapons.’ Another, ‘Stand down until the Gurkha finishes his vacation.’”
The half-finished cigarette fell from Tunney’s fingers.
“Do you know what that means, Major Tunney?”
“Airborne weapons, you said. That gas, Lewisite, it can be dropped from air.”
“Yes, Thomas. Eighteen-pound artillery shells, filled with the liquid form of the weapon, dropped from aircraft. Just like the shells you saw in Camp Manhattan at Washington University.”
“The Germans know,” Tunney whispered almost to himself. “They’re waiting for him to somehow destroy Willoughby. That negates the threat of a major gas attack. Then the Imperial Army will begin their advance.”
“Yes. General Marshall is already starting to ship out some canisters from Willoughby. Becker, or the Gurkha as the Germans call him, knows the Fifth Army is waiting in the forests outside Champagne. He will attack very soon, I think. In the next forty-eight hours.”
“My God, maybe sooner. But how? Willoughby is now tighter than a nun`s rectum, Colonel. He needs to get inside somehow and detonate the explosives.”
“I don’t know how he`s going to do it, Thomas. But think of what you have seen him do already. He is capable of something spectacular, as you said yourself. And we better hope he doesn’t succeed. Find him, Major.”
With a click, the phone went dead.
CHAPTER 29
Maggie recalled what Tunney said, and the breath left her chest like she had been punched in the guts. A very dangerous man.
Maggie strode out of the kitchen and into the dining room at the back. Miranda was sitting in the rocking chair on the patio, watching her flowers move peacefully in the afternoon breeze.
“Mama, where is Papa?”
Miranda looked surprised at the urgency in Maggie`s voice.
“Upstairs, resting. Why?”
“Can you please go upstairs and get him ready? To go out. We need to leave right now. Something has happened in Cleveland. We need to be there.”
Miranda got up from her chair.
“What`s going on, Maggie?”
“I’ll explain later Mama. Just listen to me now, please.”
“Are we in danger?” she asked quietly.
Her mother certainly had a way of guessing things. Miserably, Maggie nodded.
“It`s that Paul, isn`t it? The farmhand.”
Maggie didn’t see any point in denying it. “Yes.”
At the foot of the staircase, Maggie paused. “You get Papa ready.”
“Where will you go?”
“Have you seen Paul today?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He was at the potato field, filling the cart.”
“Alright. I’ll be back soon. Get Papa ready and stay upstairs until I call you.”
Miranda clutched her daughter`s hand. “Be careful, Maggie.”
Maggie forced herself to smile. “Don`t worry, Mama. I know what I’m doing.”
Maggie turned to the cupboard under the stairs. Papa`s Remington bolt action rifle was hanging from its strap. Maggie took the gun in her hands and slid the bolt back. Papa looked after the rifle and oiled it regularly. She checked the magazine, five rounds all present. Maggie chambered a round and slung the gun on her back. She went into the kitchen and looked out at the barn—there was no sign of Paul.
She reached for a jug and poured some sugar syrup into it. She chopped mint leaves and sprinkled them over the syrup. Then she filled the jug up with drinking water. When it was almost full, she stopped. She tasted the drink. It was sweet, but she wanted it sweeter. She put a little more sugar syrup into it, then reached for her father`s sedative tablets.
Maggie took a deep breath. Five tablets were left. It was better than nothing. One of these had made Papa sleep all day. She crushed the tablets into a fine powder and poured some of the drink out of the jug, before putting the powder in. Then she stirred the jug vigorously.
Maggie put the rifle behind the kitchen door, where she could reach for it, but it wasn’t easily seen. She put her wide-brim hat on, tucked the string under her chin and picked up the jug. She went down the porch steps towards the potato field.
The sun was hot on her back as she walked steadily, careful not to spill the drink. She saw Paul as a speck in the distance as she approached the fields. He had his back to her, but when she was closer he turned, waving, and she held the jug up in reply. He stopped working as she came up to him. Maggie held the jug out and tried not to flinch as his hand touched hers. Even looking at him made her heart numb with a cold fear.
“Here, for you.” She smiled. Not too much.
The look in his eyes was inscrutable.
“Thank you,” he said, and took the jug from her hands. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I had some inside and thought you could use some as well. It`s a hot day.”
He nodded. “It sure is.” He lifted the jug up to his lips. Maggie looked on breathlessly.
He took a small sip and then wiped his lips on his sleeve.
“Leave the jug here, Maggie. I’ll drink it as I work, then bring it back.”
Maggie shrugged, fighting to stop an odd sense of dread biting away inside her.
“That’s fine.” She swallowed and looked around her. Most of the plants had been picked. The cart was full of black potato roots.
“You can’t have that much left to do,” she said, turning back to look at him.
“No, I don`t.”
“Good. See you back at the home.”
“Sure.”
She turned and began to walk away, feeling his eyes on her back.
“Maggie,” he called.
Maggie stopped, her heart thumping in her mouth. She heard his footsteps approaching. She forced herself to breath steadily and turned around. He was standing close.
“Yes?” she replied, taking care to keep her voice, and her face, neutral.
“Why did you go into the barn?”
Maggie felt a bolt of fear slice through her. He’d seen her. She didn’t know how, but he had. Maybe he’d come up to the stables to get something? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t deny it, to do so would only fuel his suspicions.
She held his eyes. “I came to look for you. To ask if you wanted a drink.”
His wide shoulders almost blotted out the sun. He stared at her for a few seconds, then nodded. Very slowly, he raised his hand and wiped it on his pants. Maggie stood very still, watching him. In a gentle, slow motion, he
cupped and caressed her cheek with his thumb and forefinger. A breeze blew across them, cooling their heated bodies. A bird called out in the silence. She could smell the earth on his fingers and feel the roughness of his skin.
Maggie stared at his right eye, then at his left. A curious feeling ran through her, a warm shiver that settled into a chilling cold in the pit of her stomach. She felt unreal all of a sudden, as if all of this was happening to her in a dream, and words seemed frozen in her mouth.
With an effort, she wrenched her eyes away from him and stepped back.
“I should get back. I have to make dinner.”
He was looking at her deeply, as if he was trying to see all the way into the darkness in her mind. Slowly he shook his head.
“Alright,” he said. “I won`t be long.”
From somewhere, Maggie found the strength to smile. “See you soon.”
When a screen of trees hid the potato fields and she couldn’t see him anymore, Maggie lifted the hem of her skirt and ran as fast as she could.
She burst into the kitchen and picked up the rifle.
“Mama! Mama!”
Miranda`s face appeared on the landing. Maggie waved at her. “Come down.”
“Maggie, your father seems weak today. He got dressed, but then wanted to lie down again.”
Maggie closed her eyes briefly. “Mama, we don`t have any time. We need to get out of here.”
“Then I need your help to get him down the stairs.”
“Wait. Let me get the buggy ready first. I’ll bring it right up to the porch and we can load Papa in easily.”
Maggie ran out the door again, gun slung over her back. She went into the stable and dragged Lucky to the buggy, hitching her up. When she got back into the hallway, breathless, there was still no sign of her parents. Maggie went up the stairs. In her parent`s bedroom, her father was sitting up, dressed. He still had to put his shoes on, but they were downstairs. His face was ashen and he looked tired.
“What the hell is going on, Maggie?” Karl asked irritably.
“I`ll tell you soon, Papa,” Maggie said, out of breath. She wiped her sleeve across her forehead. “Right now, we need to get going.”
