All Clear (76 page)

Let it go through, let it go through
, he repeated silently.

“I have that number for you, sir,” she said.

“Yes, hullo, is Major Atherton there?” he said.

Too quickly. It was still the operator. “I have your number for you, sir,” she repeated. “I’ll connect you.”

He waited, thinking,
Any second now I’ll see Cess turning that corner, wondering where the hell I’ve gotten to
. “You’re through, sir,” the operator said, and in the next instant, an American woman’s voice said, “Major Atherton’s office.”

Thank God
. “Hullo,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I need to speak to Major Atherton.”

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s not here right now.”

Of course not
. “When will he be back? It’s urgent.”

“I don’t know, sir. I can have him ring you as soon as he returns. Is there a number where he can reach you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m in transit. Will he be back tonight?”

“Yes, sir. Do you wish to try again later?”

No. I need to talk to him now
.

“Yes,” he said. “And tell him I called. Tell him Michael Da—”

“I
never
,” a boy’s voice said, and he looked up sharply. A boy and a girl were coming down the street toward the phone booth. The boy was nine or ten, and the girl older. They were arguing loudly.

“You did
so
,” the girl said.

“I didn’t nick it,” the boy said. “She give it me.”

Oh, God
, he thought,
it’s Alf and Binnie Hodbin
.

They hadn’t seen him yet, they were so busy arguing. He had to get out of here. He hung up and was out of the phone booth and back in the car in a flash. He snatched up the map Cess had left on the seat and opened it out to shield himself from them.

“I
seen
you,” Binnie said.

Oh, Jesus
.

“You did
not
,” Alf said. They weren’t talking about him. They were talking about whatever it was that Alf had “nicked.” But his relief was short-lived. Because there was only one reason they’d be here, this far from the East End. They were on their way to see Eileen, or on their way
home from seeing her. Which meant she was still here. And if he didn’t get out of here, Alf and Binnie would see him, they’d tell Eileen he was alive, that he’d gone off and abandoned them.

He reached to turn the key in the ignition, but they were already even with the car. They’d hear the engine start and look over and see him. He’d have to wait till they were past.

“I’m going to tell,” Binnie said.

“You better not!” Alf said, and then, “Look!”

Oh, Christ
. They were running right at the car. He’d have to convince them he was Lieutenant Abbott and that he had no idea who this Mike Davis was. But when had anybody ever been able to put anything over on the Hodbins?

They ran straight past the car into the street. He peeked cautiously over the map. A staff car pulled up and stopped. The children ran up to the car window.

Oh, Christ, he’d been right about Eileen being a driver.

“Where’s Mum?” Alf asked. “She said to meet ’er ’ere.”

Mum
?

“She’s going to be late,” a woman’s voice—not Eileen’s—said. Ernest slid up on the seat to where he could see the children leaning in to talk to a blonde in an ATS cap and uniform. And now that his adrenaline wasn’t raging, he saw what he hadn’t before, that both children were wearing school uniforms and carrying satchels, and that their hair, or at least the girl’s, was neatly combed. They looked much too well cared for to be Alf and Binnie, in spite of the similarity in looks, in their voices.

“Your mother had to drive General Bates to Chartwell for a meeting,” the blonde said, and from what Eileen had told him about Mrs. Hodbin, he couldn’t imagine her driving anyone anywhere, and certainly not a general. “She told me to pick you two up and give you some supper.”

“Can we go to Lyons Corner House?” the boy asked.

“We’ll see,” the blonde said. “She also said to see that you did your lessons.”

“We haven’t any,” the boy said. “We done ’em all at school.” He turned to the girl. “Didn’t we?”

“Don’t be a noddlehead,” the girl said. “He’s got spelling, and I’ve got maths. But I’ve done my history lesson.” She pulled a paper out of her satchel to show the blonde.

The Alf and Binnie he’d seen that morning at St. Paul’s would never have done lessons in their life. Or have voluntarily gone to school.

It wasn’t them. He’d jumped to the conclusion it was because he’d
been thinking about Eileen. He’d broken off his call to Denys Atherton for nothing, damn it. He watched the children, whoever they were, pile into the car, waiting for it to drive away so he could go call again. He’d have to tell the woman he’d talked to that he’d been cut off. Maybe the interruption would turn out to be a good thing. Atherton might be back by now, and he’d be able to talk to him instead of leaving a message.

The car rounded the corner and was gone. Ernest got out of the car and started over to the phone booth. And there was Cess, trotting toward him, waving. “They told me you’d come over here to park,” he said, coming up to him.

“Did you hand the colonel over?”

“Yes,” Cess said. “Now all I have to do is report in to Lady Bracknell, and we’re free to go home.”

If only that were true
, Ernest thought, watching Cess as he went into the phone booth to call Bracknell. How was he going to call Atherton now? He might not have a chance to get away on his own for days, and he was running out of time.

“No luck,” Cess said, coming out. “I couldn’t get through.”

“We can try again on the way home,” Ernest said.
And next time I’ll see to it I’m the one who makes the call
. “An hour or two won’t make any difference now that the colonel’s been safely handed over.” He got into the car.

“Right,” Cess said. “It was a near thing, though.”

“A near thing? What do you mean?”

“After I’d handed him over and was leaving, who should I run into but Old Blood and Guts—”

“General Patton?”

“None other,” Cess said. “He looked straight at me, and I could tell he was trying to place me, and I was afraid he was about to remember he’d seen me at the reception and shout out ‘Holt!’ in that carrying voice of his. But luckily his aide came up just then and dragged him off, and I was able to get away with the colonel none the wiser.”

“And Patton didn’t see you with him?”

“No, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t remember where he’d seen me. But the sooner we’re out of here, the safer I’ll feel,” he said.

“My sentiments exactly.” Ernest started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“Besides, I’m starving,” Cess said. “Turn right. I know a little place on Lampden Road that has—Where are you going? That’s the wrong way.”

“I know,” Ernest said, racing down Gloucester Road. “I just thought
of something. If we hurry, we can make it to Croydon before the
Call
closes, and I can turn in my pieces.”

“Croydon?”
Cess yelped. “That’s
miles
, and I’m starved!”

“There’s a good pub there. Excellent shepherd’s pie,” he said, even though he’d never set foot in the place. “And a very pretty barmaid.”
And a phone booth down the street from the
Call
which I can call Atherton from while you’re in the pub
.

“I thought you said the
Call’s
deadline was at four.”

“It is, but the editor’s sometimes there late, and if he hasn’t finished setting the type, I may be able to persuade him to put my articles in.”

He shot along Cromwell Road and turned onto the road south.

“What about Lady Bracknell?” Cess asked. “We were to report in.”

“We can do it from Croydon. After we eat. If we phone him now, he’ll tell us to come straight home, and then you’ll really be starving.”

“All right,” Cess said, “but if he loses his temper, you have to tell him this was your idea.”

“I will. Thanks. It’s important I not miss this deadline.”

Cess nodded, and then, after a minute, said, “Do you really think the German High Command reads the Croydon
Fish and Chips Wrapper
or whatever it is?”

“The
Clarion Call
,” he said. “I don’t know. But we don’t know that they’re listening to our wireless messages either, or taking aerial photos of our cardboard camps and rubber tanks.
Or
that Colonel von Sprecht actually bought our little charade. Or, even if he did, that he’ll tell the German High Command. Or that they’ll believe him.”

Cess nodded. “The poor devil might not even live long enough to make it to Berlin.” He sighed. “That’s the hell of doing this sort of thing. We never know whether anything we’ve done has had any effect at all.”

And perhaps we’re better off
not
knowing
, Ernest thought, speeding through Fulham.

“Will we find out after the war, do you think?” Cess asked. “Whether it worked or not?”

“If it didn’t work, we won’t have to wait that long. We’ll know next month. If the entire German Army’s waiting for us in Normandy, then it didn’t.”

“True,” Cess said, and after a minute added, “History will sort it all out, I suppose. Will we make it into the history books, do you think? Von Sprecht and our encounter with that bull and all your letters to the editor of the
Bumpkin Weekly Banner
?”

If I can’t get through to Atherton, those letters to the editor had better
, Ernest
thought, driving into Croydon. He turned off the high street at the cinema so Cess wouldn’t spot the phone booth and drove past the
Call
’s office.

Mr. Jeppers’s bicycle stood outside it. Ernest had been lying to Cess about being able to make it to Croydon before the
Call
closed. He hadn’t expected the office to be open this late, but the printing press must have jammed again. Which meant he really
might
be able to get his articles in this week’s paper.

“I’ll drop you at the pub,” he told Cess, stopping in front of it, “and I’ll go deliver my articles. It may take some time. Mr. Jeppers likes to talk. Order for me,” he said, and drove back to the phone booth.

The operator put him through immediately, and the same young woman answered. “This is Lieutenant Davies,” Ernest said. “General Dunworthy’s aide. I telephoned earlier this afternoon, but we were cut off.”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“I need to speak with Major Atherton.”

“Oh, dear, he came back, but he’s gone out again.”

Damn
.

“Is it a medical emergency? This is his nurse. If it’s an emergency, I can try to contact Dr. Atherton.”

Dr. Atherton. He was a doctor. Which meant he wasn’t Denys. Historians posed as lots of things, but there were no subliminals for medicine. Even Polly’s driving an ambulance had been unusual, and all she’d had was emergency first-aid training. Which she’d done here. There was no way Atherton could have got a medical degree here since February.

“Sir?” she said. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. I think I may have the wrong Major Atherton. I’m trying to contact Major
Denys
Atherton.”

“Yes, sir. That’s Major Atherton’s name.”

“Tall man, dark curly hair, mid-twenties?”

“Oh, no, sir. Major Atherton’s fifty and has scarcely any hair at all. Is your Major Atherton an Army surgeon, too?”

No
, he thought grimly.
He’s an historian, and he’s not here under his own name
. Dunworthy would have insisted Research run a check on the names of everyone involved in the invasion buildup. Two soldiers with the same name would automatically attract attention, and historians were supposed to blend in, to avoid being noticed.

There’s no way you’ll be able to find him if he’s here under another name
, Ernest thought. He’d always known it was a long shot, but the knowledge
still hit him with the force of a punch to the gut. He hung up the receiver and then just stood there.

I should go take the messages to Mr. Jeppers
, he thought.
It’s even more important now that I get them into the
Call. But he continued to stand there, staring blindly at the telephone.

Cess was knocking on the phone-booth door.

Oh, Christ, he hadn’t just messed up rescuing Polly and Eileen, he’d been caught by Cess. He’d demand to know who he was phoning and why he’d lied about delivering the articles. He’d tell Lady Bracknell, and Bracknell would tell Tensing, and they’d have to cancel Fortitude South. They couldn’t take a chance that a German agent had infiltrated Special Means. And Eisenhower would postpone the invasion and try to come up with a new plan. And they’d lose the war.

Cess was still banging on the glass. Ernest opened the door. “Oh, good,” Cess said. “You remembered to phone Bracknell. I was going to tell you to, and then I forgot, so I came after you. You were right about their barmaid.
Very
pretty. What did Bracknell say? Were you able to reach him?”

“No,” Ernest said. “I wasn’t able to get through.”

POLLY RAN OUT OF THE ALHAMBRA AND THROUGH THE
firelit streets to Shaftesbury, and into dense fog.

No, not fog. Dust from the explosion. It smelled of sulphur and cordite and was completely impenetrable.
I’ll never find the Phoenix in this
, she thought, but as she felt her way forward, it began to thin and she could see the Phoenix’s marquee. Reggie must have been wrong—it was still standing.

But the street in front of it was roped off. And as she came closer, she saw that half of the theater’s front was missing, exposing the lobby and the gold-carpeted staircase. An officer in a white helmet was standing next to the blue incident light, peering at a clipboard. Polly ducked under the rope and ran over to him. “Officer—”