The Unlikely Spy

Police constables Gardner and Sullivan pedaled side by side through the dark streets of Louth, Gardner big, buff, and middle-aged, Sullivan thin and fit and barely twenty years old. Chief Superintendent Lockwood had ordered them to ride to a roadblock just south of the village and relieve two of the constables there. Gardner complained as he cycled. "Why do London's criminals always manage to end up here in the middle of a rainstorm, would you tell me that?" Sullivan was thoroughly excited. This was his first big manhunt. It was also the first time he had carried a weapon while on duty--a thirty-year-old bolt-action rifle from the weapons room at the station was slung over his shoulder.

 

Five minutes later they arrived at the junction where the roadblock was supposed to be. The place was deserted. Gardner stood, legs astride the frame of his bike. Sullivan laid down his bike, broke out his torch, and shone it over the area. First he saw the tire marks, then the shattered glass.

 

Sullivan shouted, "Over here! Quick!"

 

Gardner climbed off his bike and pushed it over to where Sullivan was standing.

 

"Christ Almighty!"

 

"Look at the tracks. Two vehicles, the one they were driving and ours. When they turned around, the tires were muddied on the apron of the road. They've left us a nice set of tracks to follow."

 

"Aye. You see where they lead. I'll ride back to the station and alert Lockwood. And for heaven's sake, be careful."

 

 

 

 

 

Sullivan pedaled along the road, holding his torch in one hand, watching the tracks gradually fade away. One hundred yards after leaving the site of the roadblock, the trail was gone. Sullivan rode for another quarter mile, looking for any sign of the police van.

 

He rode a little farther and then spotted another set of tire tracks. These were different. The tracks became more clear and defined the farther he pedaled. The vehicle that made them had obviously come from the other direction.

 

He followed the tracks to their point of origin and found the small path leading into the trees. He turned his torch down the path and saw the pair of fresh tire tracks. He turned the beam horizontally down the tunnel of trees, but the light was not powerful enough to penetrate the darkness. He looked at the track--too rutted and muddy to handle his bike. He climbed off, leaned the bike against a tree, and started walking.

 

Two minutes later, he spotted the back of the van. He called out but there was no reply. He looked more closely. It was not the police vehicle; it had London plates and was a different model. Sullivan moved forward slowly. He approached the front of the van from the passenger side and shone his torch inside. The front seat was empty. He turned the beam toward the storage area at the back.

 

It was then he spotted the bodies.

 

 

 

 

 

Sullivan left the van in the trees and rode back to Louth, pedaling as fast as he could. He arrived at the police station and quickly raised Chief Superintendent Lockwood at the RAF base.

 

"All four of them are dead," he said, out of breath from the ride. "They're lying in the back of a van, but it's not theirs. The fugitives appear to have taken the police van. Based on the tracks on the road, I'd say they came back toward Louth."

 

Lockwood said, "Where are the bodies now?"

 

"I left them in the wood, sir."

 

"Go back and wait with them until help arrives."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Lockwood rang off. "Four dead men. My God!"

 

"I'm sorry, Chief Superintendent. So much for my theories about them going to ground. They're obviously here and they'll do anything to escape, including murder four of your men in cold blood."

 

"We have another problem--they're driving a police vehicle. To get word to the officers manning the roadblocks is going to take time. Meanwhile, your spies are dangerously close to the coast." Lockwood walked to the map. "Louth is here, just to the south of us. They can now take any number of secondary roads to the sea."

 

"Redeploy your men. Throw everything between Louth and the coast."

 

"Indeed, but it's going to take time. And your spies have a jump on us."

 

"One other thing," Vicary said. "Bring those dead men back here as quietly as possible. When this is all over, it may be necessary to concoct another explanation for their deaths."

 

"What do I tell their families?" Lockwood snapped and stormed out.

 

Vicary picked up the telephone. The operator connected him with MI5 headquarters in London. A department operator answered. Vicary asked for Boothby and waited for him to come on the line.

 

"Hello, Sir Basil. I'm afraid we've got big trouble up here."

 

 

 

 

 

A stiff wind drove rain across the Cleethorpes waterfront as Neumann slowed and turned into a row of warehouses and garages. He stopped and shut down the motor. Dawn was not far off. In the faint light he could see a small quay, with several fishing boats tied up there and additional boats bobbing at their moorings in the black water. They had made excellent time up the coast. Twice they had approached roadblocks and twice they were waved through with no question, thanks to the van they were driving.

 

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