Where Death and Danger Go Page 20

  The engine roared. Quickly he leapt from the vehicle, returning to the corner of the inn and crouched in the shadows, his pistol in his grip. From the side of the blackout curtains he saw a light go on. Minutes passed but no one came outside.

  He waited a full minute. Surely the sound of the car starting would bring someone, he reasoned? If not Armstrong, then certainly the publican. No one came. Clement stood. He intended to drive the Lagonda to the edge of the graveyard then get the boy. He waited a further minute than dashed for the car. Pulling the door closed after him, he put it into first gear and drove around the corner into a lane that ran down the southern side of the inn, past the graveyard and back towards the river. In the muted glare of the headlights, Armstrong stood in the centre of the road, a pistol held at Morris’s head.

  Chapter 25

  In the strong moonlight, Clement could see that Morris’s face was one of sheer terror. Clement shifted his gaze to Armstrong. There he saw the maniacal sneer; ruthless, devoid of human compassion.

  Clement pulled on the hand brake, put the car in neutral and got out of the vehicle, leaving the engine running and the door wide. He stood facing Armstrong, the open door like a shield between them. Below the level of the car window, Clement gripped his Welrod. ‘It’s me you want, Hugh. Why don’t you let the Superintendent go?’

  ‘Where is the boy?’

  ‘What boy?’

  Armstrong laughed. ‘You must think we are fools! We have been planning this for years. Not you or anyone can prevent it from happening now.’

  ‘What is happening, Hugh?’

  ‘Beyond anything you can imagine.’

  ‘If it cannot be prevented now, why not tell me?’

  ‘I think you’d like that. All neat and tidy. Your friend, by the way, is dead. But I think you know that, too.’ Armstrong nodded in Reg’s direction. ‘He’s not very well mannered, is he? Used all sorts of obscenities. His pack,’ Armstrong said, kicking the bag at his feet. Clement recognised it immediately.

  He swallowed hard. As much as the sight of young Armstrong revolted him, Clement couldn’t divert his eyes. Before him stood pure evil, far worse than sadism, Armstrong had been brainwashed with twisted ideology at its most depraved that made him capable of anything. Despite every belief Clement held dear, he wanted to kill Armstrong. That, too, was what Armstrong wanted; for him to lose control, to lash out. If he did, Morris would die instantly. Stay calm, Clement told himself, his eyes flashing to Reg’s pack. Clement lowered his hand. Still clenching the Welrod, he hid the weapon behind his right leg and took a step sideways, running on pure adrenaline.

  Armstrong reached for Reg’s pack and threw it towards him.

  Clement reacted immediately, hurling himself sideways, rolling away from the car and towards the low shrubs that grew by the wall of the inn.

  Hugh Armstrong laughed aloud. ‘So you knew what was in it then?’

  Clement glanced at Morris who stood rigid with fear. Clement stood slowly, his eyes fixed on Armstrong.

  ‘Put the weapon down!’ Armstrong shouted, pushing the tip of his pistol into Morris’s right ear. ‘Do it or your friend here dies!’ Armstrong pulled back on the safety catch.

  Clement tossed the Welrod forward. It landed about six feet from where he stood and about ten from Armstrong. Keeping his eye on Armstrong, Clement shot a glance at Reg’s pack only a few feet away.

  Armstrong had seen his eyes dart to the bag. ‘Look inside, if you are sceptical about it. You’ll be disappointed,’ Armstrong added with mock insincerity. ‘You see I have taken the grenades and a few handy little gadgets, like knives and timer switches, plastic explosive and fuses. Nothing left now. So here is where you will die, Reverend Wisdom. With your friends. All together. And already in a graveyard. Convenient, don’t you think?’

  Keeping his eyes on Armstrong, Clement slowly reached for Reg’s pack.

  ‘Go on! Look! I told you, it’s empty!’ Armstrong shouted.

  Clement squatted by the bag, and with both hands opened the pack. Just as Armstrong had said, it was empty but Clement saw the edge of a notebook left in the side pocket. He swallowed. It was his only chance. If something went wrong, Clement knew he and Morris were dead men. Slowly, he reached in, his hand grasping the device. Keeping it within the pack, he selected red and slid his thumbnail along the edge hoping it would be enough to activate the fuse. He then stood and took a step forward towards Armstrong, carrying the pack.

  ‘Not a step closer or your friend here is dead.’

  Clement stopped. ‘Release Morris. It’s me you want.’ Clement flicked a glance at Morris. ‘Release him! Or shoot me. But if you shoot me, you will never know where I’ve hidden the boy.’

  Armstrong’s smile widened. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I have nothing to live for, Armstrong. Like you, my family is dead. And also like you, we fight for a cause. Different causes, but we honour them with our lives if necessary.’

  Clement saw Armstrong’s smile falter but the eyes were fixed on him, the pupils wide and unblinking. Clement watched those wild eyes that stared back. The smirk had faded, the game of cat and mouse was over. Now it was just death or survival. No henchmen, no authority figures, just the two of them.

  Armstrong’s grip on Morris slackened and Morris broke free, running forward towards Clement.

  ‘Now, the boy or you die!’ Armstrong said, his pistol now levelled at Clement.

  Clement stared at Armstrong. He said nothing.

  ‘Where is the boy!’ Armstrong shouted.

  ‘I’m here.’

  Clement swung around in horror. Michael stood in the middle of the road, facing them.

  ‘Come here,’ Armstrong yelled at the boy. The lad moved forward. Armstrong’s wild eyes shifted to Clement. ‘Move and I kill him!’ Armstrong pointed the pistol at the frightened child.

  Clement froze.

  Michael walked forward.

  As soon as Michael passed him, and while Armstrong’s attention was on the boy, Clement seized the moment. Throwing himself forwards, he grabbed his Welrod that lay in the dirt and fired a single shot at Armstrong. Armstrong saw the move and without aiming, returned fire. Both shots missed their targets. The boy stood rigid as Morris ran forward and grabbed Michael. Armstrong swung around and let off three more shots. Morris went down, grasping his arm, the boy now unprotected. Armstrong moved his pistol wildly, from Clement to Morris then to the boy. Armstrong ran forward and grabbed Michael with one arm, then ran towards the Lagonda. Clement raised his Welrod, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Armstrong’s shoulder. Clement heard the dull thud as the bullet tore into Armstrong’s flesh. Armstrong fell, dropping the boy, and lay on the ground, screaming. Clement stood and rushed for Michael. Scooping him up in his arms, Clement ran for the car.

  ‘Climb into the back, Michael and stay down!’ Clement got into the car and pushed open the passenger door. ‘Morris!’ he shouted from the car. ‘Get in! Hurry man!’

  Morris struggled to stand, his body swaying. He staggered towards the car, clutching his injured and bleeding arm. Collapsing onto the passenger seat Morris managed to pull the door closed. Swiftly engaging gear, Clement backed up the lane towards the High Street as a door into the inn opened and the Scot emerged. Clement could still hear Armstrong screaming as he turned the car onto the road from the lane. In the rear-view mirror, Clement saw the Scot bending over Armstrong. Two seconds later, the notebook detonated.

  Chapter 26

  Clement drove fast. Morris was losing consciousness, his head falling backwards.

  ‘Stay awake, Arthur. Once we are away from here, I’ll bind that wound.’

  In the early dawn light, Clement saw an open farm gate and, slowing the car, pulled into the field and switched off the engine. Getting out, he went to the other side and opened the door. He could see from Morris’s ashen face and the amount of blood on the door that Morris was bleeding heavily and losing consciousness fas
t. Clement pulled his belt from his trousers and wrapped it around Morris’s arm, drawing it tight above the wound.

  He needed to get Morris to a hospital and the boy to safety. Things were happening too quickly. Questions brimmed and flowed through his brain. Why had Morris not warned them? And what of Reg? How had Armstrong caught Reg? Don’t think about it now! he told himself. Morris was his priority and for the boy’s sake Clement needed to stay in control and make the right decisions. He blinked, forcing the horrific images of his friend from his mind. No matter what he knew he had to do, the appalling image of Reg was like a photographic negative that refused to disappear from his mind’s eye. ‘Where is your home, Michael?’

  ‘Wilstock House. It’s near Lode,’ Michael said. ‘My parents are away,’ the boy added, tears falling down his cheeks.

  ‘You’ve been very brave, Michael. I’ll look after you. You can stay with me for now.’

  Morris groaned.

  ‘Stay with me, Arthur. Tell me what happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Morris murmured, his breathing thready. ‘Just came from nowhere. Smashed the side window. Dragged me from the car. Hit me. I don’t know what happened then. I woke up in The Crown and Punchbowl.’

  ‘And Reg?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  The image flashed again. ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Clement.’

  ‘Hang on, Arthur. Take deeper breaths. Won’t be long now.’ Clement got back behind the wheel and drove off, fast. He glanced across at Morris as they sped south. The man was white. Clement checked the rear-view mirror. No one was following. ‘Not far now, Michael. You’ll be safe soon.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Michael said through the tears.

  ‘I’ll try to call your parents from the police station and ask them to return. You say they are in Portugal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What about your uncle, Michael. Perhaps you could stay with him again?’

  ‘No! He hates me! He only likes his books.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because he told me to go with them. He said I’d have fun at a farm. I didn’t. They locked me into that room. Only Isabel talked to me.’

  ‘The man in the dinghy with you, the night you left Trinity Hall College, was that your uncle?’

  ‘No. I don’t know who he is. He hit me.’

  Clement glanced at Michael then Morris. ‘I’m not taking you back there, Michael. Don’t worry. You can stay with me but I must get Superintendent Morris to a doctor.’

  Clement sped through the Cambridge streets, heading for St Andrew’s Street. As soon as Morris was in safe hands, Clement decided to call Johnny. He would locate Michael’s parents but until then, Clement decided, Cambridge Police Station was the safest place for himself and the boy.

  ‘What did you say your father does?’

  ‘He works for the government. They go away a lot. Papa flies the plane.’

  ‘Is your father in the Royal Air Force?’

  ‘No. He doesn’t wear a uniform. But he flies everywhere.’

  ‘Does he fly himself to Portugal?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Does he fly to other places, as well as Portugal?’

  ‘Yes. They went to Germany once before the war.’

  ‘Do you know why?’ Clement asked.

  Michael shook his head. The boy paused. ‘I’ve met Winston Churchill.’

  Clement flicked a glance at Michael; the boy’s importance was becoming all too clear.

  ‘Does your father work in London?’

  ‘Yes. In a big building near Westminster Abbey. He’s been to America!’

  Clement stared at the road ahead, his foot firmly on the accelerator.

  Clement drove the Lagonda into the police compound. Running into the station, he called aloud for the constable on duty. Within minutes, Sergeant Kendall had Morris inside the police station and the ambulance sent for. Taking the boy with him, Clement went to the meeting room on the first floor. He walked to the window and looked down at the street. Minutes later he heard the ambulance siren. Below him, Clement saw Morris being stretchered to the rear of the ambulance and put inside. It drove away. Clement turned to face Michael. ‘You’ve been so brave. You must be tired. Now that Superintendent Morris has gone to hospital, I’ll ask Sergeant Kendall to find you something to eat. And perhaps he can find a place for you to sleep.’

  ‘No. I want to stay with you.’

  Clement smiled. He’d never had his own children and he didn’t really know what to say to the little creatures but perhaps the shared experience had formed a bond between himself and the lad. Clement went to the telephone and spoke to the constable on duty.

  A short time later, Sergeant Kendall arrived with a tray of tea and some sandwiches. ‘Only for special visitors,’ he said to Michael. ‘I’ll arrange a stretcher bed for you lad, so you can sleep. You must be done in. I’ll put it up in here, if you like.’ Kendall left the room.

  ‘He’s a very caring man, Michael,’ Clement said. ‘Would you like to stay with him while I attend to a few things?’

  Michael nodded. ‘But you’ll be back?’

  ‘Yes.’ Clement tucked the lad into the stretcher and sat near the window sipping his tea. He felt exhausted, beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He glanced over to the boy who was already drifting off to sleep. Clement understood the effects of adrenaline withdrawal.

  A soft knock at the door made Clement look up. Sergeant Kendall entered carrying a fresh pot of tea. ‘Thought you may like a top-up, sir. How is he?’

  ‘You’re very kind. How is it you’re still here, Sergeant? You were on duty late last night. Have you been here all this time?’

  ‘Yes. I tried to get a message to you about the Lagonda leaving Tenison Street but you’d all gone. Thought I should stay on, just in case.’ Kendall’s gaze shifted to Michael. ‘He’s seen things no ten-year-old should. I have a lad about the same age. You always worry about them. War and childhood, they just don’t go together, do they?’

  ‘No, Sergeant. Would you do something for me?’

  ‘What’s that, sir?’

  ‘Go to Horningsea. Soon. A very brave man has died there. He’s tied to a tree in the graveyard of St Peter’s church. It’s a tragic and horrific sight, so please go before morning’s light. While you are there it may be a good idea to question the publican. Find out what happened to Armstrong and the man with him, the Scot.’

  Michael turned in his sleep.

  Clement sighed. ‘This poor child needs a safe place for a few days until his parents can be located.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that, sir. A police station is no place for the lad. He can stay with Mrs Kendall and me until his parents come. My boy would be happy as Larry if he had a playmate.’

  ‘You are a kind man, Sergeant.’

  ‘You leave it all to me, sir,’ Kendall said, and left the room.

  In the stillness, Clement glanced across at Michael but Armstrong’s whereabouts worried him. While Armstrong remained at liberty, the boy was in danger. In his mind Clement visualised Armstrong writhing on the ground. Dead or alive, the Scot would have taken him away. Hitcham Hall was the likely place. At least now, the Lagonda was safely in the police yard and no longer available for Armstrong to use. Clement’s mind drifted to the suitcases in the car’s boot. Reg had referred to them as Trojan horses. Now that the car was in police hands, he could make a thorough search of the cases and their contents. Standing, Clement tiptoed out of the room and went downstairs, then out to where the car was still parked.

  Walking around to the boot, he sprang the catch. Lifting each suitcase out, he closed the boot and carried them back to the meeting room upstairs. Opening the door quietly, he glanced at Michael who was still asleep, then gently placed the cases onto the table. He ran his fingers along every surf
ace and edge, feeling for wires, then opened them, lifting the delicate tissue wrappings out and tearing each open. Both cases still contained the evening apparel. With all the items removed from the case and from their wrappings, Clement ran his hand over all the surfaces and along the inside edges of both cases. He felt the ridge under the lining in both suitcases. He reached for his dagger. Carefully he sliced along the bottom edge of the lining. Lifting the fabric with the tip of his blade, he saw a large folded sheet of stiff paper. Grasping the corner between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, he slid it out. He could see from the corners it was a blueprint. Placing it on the table, he cut the lining fabric in the second suitcase. As with the first, another blueprint was concealed there. Pulling it out gently, Clement unfolded both then laid each on the table, placing them side by side. He stared at the prints.