The Evader
Page 27
We slowed as we got caught up in amongst the red buses that seemed to want to stop every ten metres and the black cabs that were being hailed from the corners all around us. Our driver, who had driven us so expertly through the bombed-out streets of London, suddenly seemed to have a funny turn, slamming the brakes on the car so hard, that I almost threw up all over the back of his head.
“Here we are sirs,” he announced as he raced round, pulling at Captain Jameson’s door first, before I found a wheelchair-bearing private at my door, ushering me to sit in it. I stared at the whacking great building before me, that was built in a commanding triangular shape on the corner of two incredibly busy streets, rising up to at least seven stories high.
Windows ran along at every storey, from as far back as I could see on either side, until they met at the pinnacle of the point where we had parked. I suddenly found myself feeling quite daunted and almost overwhelmed, at the sheer size of the building at the subsequent importance of the people who resided inside of it.
Captain Jameson arrived alongside me, his cap now firmly on his head.
“Impressive isn’t it? Opened in 1885 for European travellers and the like. Today it’s owned by the military. Come on in.”
The reception area was awash with all different kinds of military insignia as they rushed all over the place in a blur, throwing pieces of paper at one another, while also sharing the collective cigarette smoke that hung in the air.
The vast majority of the people there, the women included, were dressed in the British Army’s colours of dark khaki green, but there were a few blues denoting an Air Force presence, as well as one or two black uniforms of the Royal Navy. They all seemed terribly important and busy, but a few men, dressed in normal civilian suits, albeit smart ones, simply sat in the corner of the room, smoking and observing, as if they were far too important as to get involved in the hustle and bustle of all this war work.
I wondered which one Captain Jameson’s Uncle Rupert was. I began sniggering to myself as he waved to one of them enthusiastically, receiving a less than half-hearted wave in return.
“This way,” he announced unperturbed, and quickly ushered me across the room and into the nearby elevator.
“Ever heard of the Flying Prince?”
“The rugby player?”
“Yes, well, after his three tries against the All Blacks in ’36, the team retired here after the match, only to find that the New Zealanders were already here!”
He continued to chortle at his unimpressive story all the way up to the sixth floor, where we eventually stopped. Looking at his watch, Jameson suddenly became very excited, “Come on, come on, this way, this way.”
He began gallivanting down the hallway, where there were fewer doors than one would have expected from a hotel.
He stopped at one door and stood staring at me as I was wheeled towards him.
“You might want to ditch that thing now.” He said with a changed air of respect and decorum, I wondered if he would have maintained that same air if he had actually looked at me properly and realised that I was perhaps the filthiest visitor ever to this building.
As he began to knock on room number 424, I felt an overwhelming sense of occasion, like this was the moment that would define the rest of my life, and those three little numbers, 4-2-4, would come to mean so much more to me than three numbers on a hotel room door.
As the door was opened, I was greeted by such a high concentration of khaki, that I didn’t think I would be able to make it through, and as I squeezed through the doorframe, I got more than one or two looks of discontent at the putrid figure that had just stumbled in.
“Jimmy!” called Jameson, “Jim! He’s here!”
From somewhere in the room appeared a small, but authoritative figure, a small pencil like moustache stretched out expertly across his top lip and a piercing stare that struck fear in every inch of my being.
As soon as he laid eyes on me however, the steely exterior was gone, and a broad smile exploded across his face, as if he was some long-lost friend that he hadn’t seen for years.
“So, you’re the one that killed that treacherous so-and-so Captain Long are you?! We’ve been trailing him for months and then just like that he’s dead? You caused a right raucous amongst our intelligence I can tell you!”
I looked at him quizzically for a moment as he controlled his laughter, before he launched into a barrage of monologue explaining that the Captain that I had managed to ‘dispatch of’ had caused the British Military an almighty headache, apparently rounding up hundreds of French soldiers claiming that the British and French had capitulated, and were now fighting the Communists in the rest of the country. Until that is, one night he was found murdered in a forest in Northern France.
I found myself laughing at the sheer hilarity of the entire episode. I had walked hundreds of miles, cycled hundreds more and these people were interested only in something that took a matter of seconds in the hours upon hours of my journey.
“I want you to come and work with us.” He suddenly announced, “here in British Military Intelligence, Section Nine. MI9 to all of us lot.” He threw his arms open widely and began pivoting on the spot, indicating that he meant the whole room and not just where he stood.
“You are useful to us Lieutenant, you know what it’s like. We need someone like you to help us coordinate our efforts.”
“There’s one thing that I’d like you to help me with before I agree, Sir.” I asked, courteously.
“Anything you want, Lewis.”
“I was with a Franco-American nurse, Cécile Brodeur. Someone turned her over, I’d like to find out who and whether she’s still alive or not.”
“Of course, Lewis. We can certainly try. But, two things first, from here on in, you are Captain Lewis, British Military Intelligence. Secondly, we have got to get you in that shower!”
Alfie Lewis returns in ’The Executioner’ available now on Amazon - Click here now!
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About the Author
Thomas Wood is the author of the ‘Gliders over Normandy’ series, Trench Raiders as well as the upcoming series surrounding Lieutenant Alfie Lewis, a young Royal Tank Regiment officer in 1940s France.
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