Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,11
down the gun and gagged the driver with the handkerchief. Von Hagen’s eyes flickered open. He gave Anthony a look of concentrated hatred, but the scarf stopped him from shouting out.
‘Get out of the car,’ said Anthony. ‘Remember, I’ve got the gun.’
The two men slowly climbed out.
‘Von Hagen, take off your clothes.’
The German’s eyes gleamed defiance. Anthony’s finger tightened on the trigger. ‘I want your clothes,’ he said levelly. ‘If I have to get them with a bullet hole in them, I will.’
Anthony was bluffing. He couldn’t risk the sound of a shot and he knew he couldn’t murder a man in cold blood. However, he hoped that von Hagen wouldn’t guess that. ‘Take them off!’
Von Hagen unbuttoned his overcoat and shrugged it off. His eyes measured the distance between them but the gun made him hesitate.
‘And the rest,’ said Anthony. ‘Jacket, trousers, boots . . . That’s the ticket. Sorry if it’s a bit chilly, but that’s life.’
Quite what he would have done if von Hagen had shouted, he didn’t know. Clubbed him, perhaps, and run for it. Anthony could see von Hagen itching to disobey, but he couldn’t risk the gun. Fortunately for Anthony, the German hadn’t worked out that he couldn’t either. After a few tense minutes von Hagen stood in his underwear with a pile of clothes beside him.
‘Now, gentlemen, step over to the wall. And, von Hagen, old thing, I’d like some privacy. Turn your faces to the wall and don’t look round. I will shoot.’
Anthony wanted to tie them up but he didn’t have anything to tie them with, apart from the belt of the driver’s overcoat, and it wouldn’t do for two of them. Besides that, he had a healthy respect for von Hagen’s courage. At a distance he could control matters. If he came too close, he was sure the German would attack. No; dangerous as it was, he had to leave the two men as they were.
As quickly as he could, he took off his clothes and scrambled into von Hagen’s discarded uniform. He had to put the gun down to get dressed, and that was dangerous. On three separate occasions von Hagen made as if to turn round, and each time Anthony stopped him. ‘Just stay there . . . I’ve got the gun . . . Watch it! The next time you move, I’ll shoot. That’s your last warning. Keep your faces to the wall!’ The snarl in his voice convinced him; he hoped it convinced von Hagen.
Anthony wasn’t proud of what he did next. All he knew was that it was necessary. Holding the gun by the muzzle, he stole up behind the two men and cracked the butt down hard on von Hagen’s head. He slumped to the ground. The driver, still gagged, turned wide, frightened eyes to him. ‘Sorry,’ said Anthony apologetically, and walloped him, too.
Once on the main road, with the entrance of the merchant docks in sight, Anthony did his best to copy von Hagen’s arrogant swagger and strode up to the entrance to the docks, trying to look as if he owned the place.
There were two soldiers on duty at the gates. They saluted as he walked through. So far so good . . . ‘Who is the senior officer present?’ Anthony barked at them.
‘Major Stabbert, sir.’
He nodded curtly and strode on. He might have to talk to the major, or perhaps, with a bit of luck, he could pull this off alone.
The tide was in, the dark water slopping against the quayside. That meant there should be at least one ship getting ready to sail. He walked along the wet cobbles, feeling a stab of joy as he saw the black bulk of a steamer, its funnel pumping out heavy gusts of smoke. A dockhand stood by a bollard, ready to cast off the hawser.
‘Halt!’ Anthony commanded in his best Imperial Army voice.
The dockhand stopped, coming respectfully to attention as he saw an Oberstleutnant approach. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘This ship. Where is it going?’
‘She’s for Korsor, sir. Zealand,’ he added helpfully.
Korsor! Perfect! If he could get to Korsor, he’d be safe in Denmark and as good as home. All he had to do was get on board.
‘Lower the gangplank.’
The dockhand stared at him. ‘Lower the gangplank, sir? But . . .’
‘I want to go to Korsor,’ Anthony snapped. ‘Lower the gangplank.’ He was an Oberstleutnant in the German Army, albeit on a very temporary commission, and no one was going to stop him.