If The Bed Falls In

by Paul Casselle

  He entered the corridor from the stairwell via a set of double doors. Ahead of him he could see a policeman standing guard outside one of the private rooms. Joseph approached the policeman. The man looked at him suspiciously. Joseph stopped.

  “Please keep moving, Sir,” the policeman said.

  “What’s happening in there, then?” asked Joseph.

  “Just keep moving, Sir. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “How do you know that… with respect?”

  “What?” the policeman asked.

  “You are assuming that the man in there is a stranger to me,” said Joseph.

  “I didn’t say there was a man in there.”

  “No, you didn’t, but I knew there was. Therefore, it seems possible that it may be something to do with me.”

  “What?” repeated the policeman, “what are you talking about? Just keep moving.”

  “The man in there is a friend of mine, and I’d like to see him.”

  “Well you can’t. He’s under police guard. No one is allowed to see him.”

  “Not even his lawyer?” asked Joseph.

  The policeman stared at Joseph.

  “Are you his lawyer?”

  Joseph shrugged. The policeman leant in, bringing his face centimetres from Joseph’s.

  “If you don’t fuck off right now, sonny, I’ll fucking arrest you. You got that?”

  “Loud and clear,” said Joseph, “loud and clear.”

  Joseph smiled and carried on down the corridor. He didn’t look back.

  An hour later Joseph stepped from the gloomy, subterranean world of the London tube system into the bright leafiness of the suburban East London borough of Redbridge. He walked for around ten minutes, then turned into the driveway of a nineteen-thirties semi-detached house. He rang the bell. After a few moments the door opened. A pleasant woman, in her late fifties smiled at him.

  “Hello, can I help you?” she said.

  “Mrs Proctor?” he said. The woman nodded. “I’m a friend of Cyril’s.”

  “Oh, right… and your name is?”

  “T… Joseph… Joseph Miller.”

  “Well… Joseph… I’m afraid he’s not here… if that’s why you came. He doesn’t live with me. He works in central London. That’s why he had to move out… best to be near his work, I told him.”

  “He’s not here?” asked Joseph.

  “No.”

  “Has he been here… recently?”

  “He’s very busy. He does very important work for the government.”

  “Yes, but has he been here?”

  “He comes to see me, when he can. I don’t like to put pressure on him. He’s all grown up now… has his own life to lead.”

  “Yes, yes… I understand. When did you last see him?”

  “Not since last month, but he phones twice a week.”

  “Right,” Joseph said.

  “Would you like to come in? I’ve just put the kettle on.”

  Joseph looked up and down the street.

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  The house was well kept, but devoid of any sign of a male presence. It would seem that Cyril’s father was either dead or absent for some other reason. As they got to the front room, Joseph turned to Cyril’s mother. The TV blared away in the corner, and Joseph had to raise his voice over the sound.

  “Look, actually I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can I leave a note for him?”

  “Sorry about this,” she said, scuttling over to the television and turning the sound down. “I do like to keep up with the news. Keep abreast of what horrors are happening in the world.”

  She laughed. Joseph smiled and mimed writing.

  “Do you have something to write on?” he asked.

  “Of course, but as I say, I don’t know when I’ll see him.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll leave the note just in case.”

  The woman quickly found a pen and paper and handed it to Joseph. He wrote rapidly, folded the piece of paper and handed it back to her. As she took them, Joseph clasped her hands in his.

  “It’s very important that if he turns up, he gets this note right away.”

  She held the items close to her chest.

  “I’ll guard them with my life!”

  Joseph did not react to the levity. The woman turned to the TV screen; her cheeks a little flushed.

  “Oh,” she said, “there he is; the leader of the free world.”

  They both stood looking at the screen and watched President Harrington address the nation regarding the Berlin shootings.

  “Defence of our nation against terror groups who are sworn to destroy our way of life, has to be our uppermost priority,” he said. “So, I shall be asking congress to face this challenge head on. We must release funds to protect our people and to protect America. And that is why I am asking for an additional one trillion-dollar increase in our defence budget.”

  “That’s a lot of money!” said Cyril’s mother, “but after that terrible thing in Berlin, we need to fight these monsters.”

  Joseph nodded, but did not hear what she said. He squinted in thought and continued to watch the TV. The British Prime Minister appeared, and spoke about the tragedy of the Berlin shootings and that he assured the good people of Britain that the government will be taking every measure to keep them safe, regardless of the cost. ‘This government,’ he said, ‘will not put its people at risk. There may be some measures that may seem drastic, but it is the nation’s security that comes first. President Harrington and I will be discussing the situation tomorrow when he arrives for talks regarding free trade and global prosperity’.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Mrs Proctor. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She showed him to the front door.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Tom,” she said.

  Joseph stared at her.

  “Joseph,” he corrected.

  She blushed again.

  “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  Joseph took both her hands.

  “It’s very important that you remember the note. If Cyril turns up, he must get the note, okay?”

  Her face became serious and she nodded vigorously.

  “Do you work with him?” she said quietly. “Are you with the government too?”

  Joseph thought for a moment. The government was the last entity he would claim to be with.

  “Yes,” he said, “I’m one of the guys that keeps the world safe.”

  He walked down the path. As he reached the street, he looked back. Mrs Proctor was still standing at the open door. She waved goodbye; the note tightly grasped in her hand.

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  Chapter 29

  Joseph entered University College Hospital for the second time that day, and went straight to the lifts. He arrived at the floor on which Simon Morrison was being kept hostage. He stayed on the stair side of the double doors and peered through the glass. A policeman still stood vigilantly at the door, but it was a different man to the one that Joseph had encountered earlier. Someone cleared their throat behind him. He looked over his shoulder. A doctor, full of haste and self-importance ‘tutted’ dismissively.

  “Sorry,” said Joseph moving to one side.

  The doctor pushed by him and walked down the corridor stopping at Morrison’s room. He spoke to the policeman at the door, who took a cursory glance at the ID hanging from the doctor’s white coat, then let him into the room. Ten minutes later, the doctor emerged and re-traced his steps, came through the double doors and passed Joseph for a second time. He walked a few paces beyond Joseph, then turned and came back.

  “What are you doing here?” the doctor asked.

  “Waiting for someone,” answered Joseph.

  “Waiting for whom?”

  “A friend.”

  The doctor seemed dissatisfied, hesitated, then put his hand back onto the double doors
as if he was about to re-enter the corridor.

  “Forgotten something?” asked Joseph

  “No actually,” said the doctor, “to tell the truth I’m unhappy with you hanging around here. I thought I might have a word with that policeman.”

  He pointed down the corridor. The pressure from the doctor’s hand on the door, opened it a little. Joseph slid his hand under his jacket and rested it on his gun.

  “I’m just waiting for a friend, that’s all,” said Joseph, “I’m not doing any harm.” He looked the doctor straight in the eye. “This is still a free country, isn’t it?”

  The doctor scoffed and took his hand from the door.

  “If you’re still here, when I get back… well… there’ll be trouble.”

  He turned and started down the stairs.

  Joseph kept a careful eye on Morrison’s room for the next hour. A number of people went up and down the stairs behind him. Some came past him, some continued up or down the staircase. Nothing seemed to be happening, and Joseph wondered how he was going to get into the room to speak to Morrison. A voice came from behind him.

  “Okay, that’s it. I’ve had enough of you!”

  Joseph spun around to face the doctor he had conversed with an hour ago. The doctor put his hand on the double doors. Joseph grabbed his arm in a debilitating hold and thrust his gun into the man’s face.

  “Move,” whispered Joseph, then marched the doctor across the landing to a door marked ‘Store Room’.

  He pushed the man through the door, then released his grip. The doctor collapsed to the floor amid a selection of mops and buckets.

  “Please,” the doctor said, “I have a family!”

  “Are you as rude to them as you were to me?”

  “I… I…”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Joseph as he approached the man.

  “No, please don’t…”

  Joseph hit the man expertly on the side of the head with his gun. He slumped into an unconscious bundle. Joseph removed his white coat and put it on, then left the store cupboard and headed through the double doors.

  The policeman, on sentry duty, looked up as Joseph approached.

  “Where’s the other chap?” he asked.

  “Oh,” said Joseph, “he’s a bit overworked… he’s taking a nap.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” said the policeman.

  He looked half-heartedly at the ID on the coat, then reached over and pushed the door open. Ahead of Joseph was a single hospital bed, and sitting up and staring into space, was Morrison. Morrison swivelled his head towards the door and sighed as he saw another doctor. Joseph began to cross the threshold.

  “Wait a minute,” the policeman said suddenly.

  Joseph stopped and turned back. The policeman slowly reached out and touched Joseph’s white coat.

  “What’s that?” he asked indicating a blood stain next to the collar at mid-chest height.

  Joseph looked down at the mark which glistened freshly.

  “The last patient,” said Joseph, “Got a bit feisty, so I whacked him.”

  The policeman looked up in shock.

  “I’m joking. No, I spilled a blood sample. Clumsy idiot, that I am. Splashed my nice white coat.”

  The policeman emitted a relieved laugh and wagged a finger at Joseph.

  “You had me going there for a minute,” he said.

  Joseph entered the room and the door closed. He crossed to Morrison.

  “What are you going to do to me this time, doc?” asked Morrison.

  “How are you feeling?” said Joseph.

  “Getting there,” Morrison answered, “but still feel pretty weak.”

  Joseph looked hard at the patient.

  “What?” said Morrison furrowing his brow.

  “Do you recognise me?” asked Joseph.

  “Vaguely,” said Morrison.

  “Only vaguely?” asked Joseph.

  “Yes, I guess you’re one of the doctors that have been in here before?”

  “Okay…” said Joseph, “what I’m going to tell you is going to be a bit of a shock.”

  Morrison shifted away from Joseph, but was limited by the handcuffs that secured him to the bed.

  “My name’s… Tom. I’m a friend of Joseph Miller.”

  “Joseph Miller?” repeated Morrison quizzically.

  “The Spring.”

  Morrison’s eyes widened.

  “He’s alive?”

  “Yes,” said Joseph, “but he can’t carry out the mission. He needs you and me to do it.”

  “But I’m…” Morrison jangled his handcuffs and looked around the room.

  “He,” Joseph said pointedly, “is arriving in England tomorrow. The Spring has a plan, but we have to carry it out alone. Look, Simon, we are both marked men. They know who we are. The truth is we may get away… or we may not… but at least we can finish what we started.”

  Morrison nervously rubbed his mouth with his one free hand.

  “I’m not sure I can… I’ve lost… my… my nerve.”

  Joseph shook him violently by the arm.

  “Listen to me, Morrison. We chose this. No one forced us. We are doing this because someone has to, and no one else has the balls. Look,” Joseph sighed heavily, “the truth is we’re… fucked. Whether we go ahead or not… we’re fucked. So, do you want to go out in a blaze of glory and save the world or are you going to fade out from a fucking graze on your hand?” Morrison stared at Joseph. “Can I rely on you?… Well, Simon, can I?” The patient nodded. “You’re a good man, Simon. One of the best.” Joseph looked towards the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

  Morrison gave Joseph a single, strong nod. Joseph tapped on the door. A second later the policeman opened it.

  “All done, doc?” the policeman asked.

  “I think so,” Joseph said looking at Morrison. The man in the bed smiled. “Yeah,” said Joseph, “I am.”

  Joseph walked past the policeman into the corridor. He turned right to head back to the double doors and the stairwell. Ahead of him he saw two imposing men in suits. Between them was a staggering doctor bereft of his customary white coat.

  “Hey,” shouted one of the two men, “you there. Stay where you are.”

  Joseph spun the other way and ran. As he turned, he heard something clatter to the ground, but he had no time to investigate the noise. He reached the end of the corridor and found double doors and a corresponding staircase. Joseph leapt down the stairs taking two, three, sometime four steps at a time. He could feel the weight of his bulging belly wobbling in front of him; altering his centre of gravity and causing him to stumble. He could hear fast, nimble footsteps close behind him, and so tried to quicken his already untenable pace. He turned a corner and almost collided with an elderly patient being helped up the stairs by an orderly. Joseph had only two options. He could crash into the old man and send them both flying or he could try to side-step the obstacle. A further decision raced through his mind. If he side-stepped; did he go to the left or the right? Although the choice was arbitrary, it nevertheless had to be made. Without over-thinking the problem he decided on left, but a split second after making this choice, and starting the manoeuvre, he realised that the orderly was to the patient’s right and directly in his new line of travel. Joseph transferred his weight to his right foot, but his ankle buckled and his leg collapsed under him. He rolled painfully down a number of stairs, then slammed into a wall.

  He looked up, startled. The suited man, that had been in pursuit, stood over him.

  “Get to your feet slowly, Sir,” he said in a strong American accent. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  With difficulty, Joseph placed his right hand on the floor and pushed himself up. His left hand surreptitiously felt under his jacket, and his fingers explored the waistband of his trousers. The Walther PPK was not there. He looked around the immediate area. There was no sign of the gun.

  The second suited man arrived. Joseph assumed h
e had left the confused, bleeding doctor on a bench somewhere along the route. The two men bent down and took Joseph strongly by the arms. He was exhausted, in pain, but the righteous fight continued to limp through his veins. One of the men loosened his grip and patted Joseph down.

  “He’s clean,” the man reported.

  But before he could resume his full grip, Joseph made a final attempt at freedom, however to no avail. The two CIA agents were young, fit, and had hardly broken a sweat in the recent chase. Joseph was a physical wreck. Up until this moment, Joseph had found Tom’s physique simply an inconvenience, but right now Joseph believed Tom’s wreck of a body could ruin everything.

  As they dragged him away, Joseph’s ankle folded under him a second time. He found himself sitting on the floor with his head at waist height to the agents. He could clearly see the CIA-issue utility belts tightly fastened around their muscular midriffs. Each belt sported a set of hand-cuffs, a Motorola walkie-talkie, a bunch of assorted keys and a shiny new Glock.

  The two men yanked Joseph to his feet and marched him towards the lifts. Their tight grasp on his arms never lessened, and by the time the lift doors opened on the seventh floor, his fingers had begun to tingle due to lack of blood. They turned right out of the lift, and stopped outside an office marked with a laminated cardboard sign which read, ‘Mrs Martha Phillips – Deputy Head of Neurology’. One of the men lifted a hand and rapped efficiently on the door.