'Ooh,' Alice groaned, 'my back!'
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The road weaved and rolled before him, the sun burned his face, he was parched to the point of dehydration. There was no shelter, no place to hide, he was out in the open, exposed. His eyes darted this way and that, scanning the open landscape for anything, anything at all, that he should be wary of.
The distant sound of a car engine alerted him to danger; he looked around for anywhere he could hide, pulling a service revolver out from the back waistband of his trousers. The sound got louder, he moved to the side of the road and dropped down into the ditch, lying flat but all the time watching for danger. The car passed sending a cloud of dust over him, he covered his head with his arms trying to keep the drying, stinging dust of his face, out of his eyes. He waited; listening as the sound died away until he could hear nothing but the silence of the empty land.
The air cleared and he rolled onto his back staring up into the branches of a lone tree. A tree meant water; he sat up and scanned the land again. He had landed in a ditch that dropped down towards a creek, hidden from the road. He scrambled down and lay face down in the cool liquid, splashing it over the back of his head, then drinking, slowly; gulping the life-giving fluid would only make him vomit. He sat up to re-evaluate his situation. On balance his impetuous escape from the exercise yard had been fool-hardy, unplanned as it was. However, the guard had turned his back and, like every good POW he had to take the chance to escape, decking the guard and stealing his revolver, it was his duty and he always did his duty. Now he would get the opportunity to wreak his revenge on those who had not been brought to justice, for the demise of the Major.
He decided to follow the creek, it ran almost alongside the road and if he kept that in his sights he would keep on in the right direction and he would be out of sight of any cars or buses passing.
He stood by a tree on the outskirts of town. He needed to wait for businesses to close, for the good citizens of the town to head for their homes, the fewer people that were about would ensure he could complete his task without innocent people being hurt. The Major had always been insistent that sorties such as this had a target, they weren't for indiscriminate injury and death, this was a different kind of war. He now had to work out how to get his target: If he went up to the house there would be the woman, possibly the copper. He decided he would take his time, spend a day getting the lie of the land. It had been sometime since he had been here, things would have changed, he had to be sure he got this right and got out safely. After that, well he'd work that out later.
He waited until it was dark, then, keeping to the shadows, he made his way up to the residence of his target. There was a good amount of shrubbery to hid in, he could watch the comings and goings for the next twenty four hours, and he'd taken scraps from bins on his way up to the house, that would serve as sustenance for now, people were so wasteful.
The lights of the house were out, he reckoned he could afford to get some sleep, or at least doze.
He woke to hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel of the drive. Peering out from his hiding place he saw the milk cart, parked at the entrance to the property, he could hear voices as the woman spoke to the milkman and took the opportunity to help himself to a pint of milk from the back of the cart, disappearing into the shrubs again before the milkman returned.
He watched all day long, there were the usual comings and goings, the woman went out to shop, pushing a baby in a pram! This was a new development, there had been no children when he was last there, and his quarrel was not with them. She returned some time later, accompanied by the other woman, pathologist and colleague of his target. They were talking, laughing, he would put a stop to that, the pathologist could be a bargaining chip so could the woman; but that would involve the child and he had no quarrel with a child. The longer he stayed in his hiding place the higher the chance of being discovered. He waited, it was all he could do for now. He was patient, he had been trained to be patient and while he waited he could work out a plan. He needed to get to his target and take him out, but how? He couldn't walk around the town asking where he could find him, that would put the authorities on the alert, they would have been warned, after all he had blamed Blake for the Major's death all along. Sullivan may have done the deed but it was all down to Blake from the start.
'Bye, Jean,' the voice of the pathologist, what was her name? 'thanks for the cuppa and I'll give these to Lucien when I get back to the morgue.'
'Thanks, Alice,' the woman, Jean, called back, 'see you later, and Matthew!'
Alice, that was it, Alice Harvey. So she was going to Blake, he'd follow and even if he lost her; not likely; he knew where she was heading. He let her get well ahead of him then, keeping well into the hedges he followed her. He noticed she had a spring in her step, but if he remembered rightly she had been a frosty one.
He followed her to the hospital, finding places to duck into, cars to hide behind. The entrance to the morgue was at the back of the hospital, almost hidden from the road. He watched her slip inside; there was no one about so he slipped in through the same door and flattened himself against the wall. He slowed his breathing, his eyes flicked around him, he listened for any sound, voice or footstep; it was quiet, as quiet as, well, a morgue!
He crept across the corridor and put his ear to the door, no sound of conversation. He pushed the door open slowly and peered inside. Just her, her back to the door as she looked down the microscope. She heard nothing, so absorbed in her work was Alice, noting on a pad what she was seeing on the slide. Alice had learned to shut out Lucien's endless prattling and concentrate on her work. Now she was deep in concentration until she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel just below her right earlobe. She stiffened and swallowed, not even Lucien would be that stupid as to surprise her like that. He put his other hand on her shoulder and spun her round, shifting the gun to under her chin, his hand spanning her throat against the ends of her collar bones. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear, with defiance. He pushed her hard against the wall, standing so close he was touching her with his body, his face so close she could see the stubble on his chin and upper lip, short fair hairs barely discernable from a distance.
'Sergeant Hannam,' she said, blandly, 'how are you?' Only Alice Harvey could enquire after the health of a man who held her fast against a wall with a gun to her chin, ready to blow the top of her skull apart. She noticed he hadn't washed in a while, his uniform trousers and shirt were dusty from his trip.
'Where's Blake?' He grunted, pushing the gun harder into the soft flesh under her chin.
'Not here,' she stated the obvious. He pushed harder, both her to the wall and the gun to her chin. She stared into his eyes, but there was nothing there, no emotion, just a dead but deep pool of pure hatred. She briefly thought about grabbing the microscope and swinging it at him but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough, she would be dead as soon as she made the first miniscule move.
'Where is he!' He screamed into her face, spittle spraying over her face. She blinked, revolted. He closed his hand round the reveres of her blouse and whirled her round slamming her against the examination table, the edge banging against her lower back and bending her over. She thought at first he was going to abuse her but then noticed there was no sign of arousal, at least not yet. Her back hurt, that she did notice, but dare not show any sign she was in pain. She stayed silent, she wasn't sure where Lucien was but she didn't want Hannam to know that. He should have been here, in the morgue, but had obviously been called away.
'WHERE IS HE!' He bellowed at her, now so close she could see the fillings in his teeth. He pushed her harder against the table, and now she could not disguise the pain she was in. Her hands were braced against the table, creasing the envelope she had brought from Jean earlier.
'Write!' He told her nodding to the envelope, ' write on that, 'gone to old mine!'
she hesitated,
'NOW!' Why, oh why did no one walk past and hear him, his voice echoed round the room and possibly up the corridor, but it was a quiet day.
He turned her round and she took the pen out of her top pocket and wrote, shakily.
'Sign it!'
She signed her name, 'Alice Hope Harvey', more clearly than usual, but Hannam didn't know that. She hoped Lucien would realise what she meant. Her middle name was Elizabeth, not 'Hope', but Hannam was not to know that, either. She thanked God her brother had always said he had hoped he would have a little sister, years ago when they played at home. He always called her his hope, being almost ten years older than she was, and lonely.
'Got a car?' He grunted. She didn't answer, he looked around and saw her handbag on the side. He swung her round again, she would get dizzy at this rate. He nodded his head at the bag,
'Open it, tip it out!' He never seemed to stop shouting, 'Now!'
She did as asked, no point in getting her head blown off for refusing to tip her handbag out. Her car keys clattered on to the surface, along with her compact, lipstick, house keys and purse, Alice travelled light.
Hannam picked up the car keys with his little finger, keeping a tight hold of her blouse with the other hand, then gave her the keys. He moved his hand and grabbed hers, pulling it up behind her, and pushing the gun into her back, between her shoulder blades.
'Move!' He pushed her out of the morgue and, looking from side to side, propelled her outside to where cars were parked.
'Well?' He shook her, 'go on.'
Alice had no option but to follow orders and went to her car.
'Get in.' He urged.
She drove under his instructions to the old mine, well out of town. He kept the gun pressed against the base of her skull, if it went off it would make a hell of a mess, she thought.
She pulled up where he told her to, her car would be visible to any that passed, his plan was to show Blake where he was, no need for searching, but they would be out of town, and if he could entice him into the mine he would be trapped, powerless to help the woman, and easy target.
'Get out.' He ordered.
She opened the door, looking all around to see if there was any chance of running, but she couldn't outrun a bullet, all she could do now was hope that Lucien would understand, and follow, hopefully not on his own. He wouldn't be that stupid, please god, Tommy needed a father, Jean needed a husband, don't be reckless Lucien, please, she prayed, even though, like the doctor she had little faith in a higher being. She would never forgive herself if Lucien got himself killed rescuing her, Jean would never forgive her.
He shoved her into the old mine, she stumbled over the broken supports, the rusted rails and the fallen rock, and she didn't like small spaces any more than Blake did.
'Now what?' she dared to ask.
'Now?' he snarled, 'now we wait.' He pushed her into a tight spot and sat opposite her, the gun pointed at her torso and they waited.
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So now what?
In some ways I feel sorry for Hannam; Alderton was clearly bonkers, possibly suffering from PTSD; but a good soldier always follows orders.
