Assault on England

Seven

It was after midnight when I got back to my hotel room and to bed to sleep. About an hour after I dozed off, I awoke suddenly. At first I had no idea what had awakened me and then I heard it again: a soft clicking sound. What was it? And was it inside the room or out?

I lay listening, wanting very much to go back to sleep and knowing that that was a luxury I could not afford. Many an agent has awakened dead, so to speak, because he was too tired or sleepy to check out a strange noise in the middle of the night.

I lay perfectly still, staring into the blackness. Silence surrounded me, punctuated by the traffic noise from the street outside. Was I imagining things, or dreaming?

Fifteen minutes by the luminous face of my watch. I yawned and struggled to keep my eyes open. A half-hour. Surely I had been mistaken. Sleep was pulling at me, dragging me down into its dark, warm pit. My eyelids closed, then popped wide open.

That sound again! That small clicking sound and this time there was no doubt. It came from the door to the corridor. Somebody was moving a key in the lock.

The sound was repeated. Whoever was out there was satisfied that I was asleep.

I eased silently out of bed. The only light in the room came from the window and under the door to the corridor. Now a shadow blocked out the narrow ribbon of light under the door. Yes, somebody was outside and coming in shortly.

I pulled on my pants and a shirt, slipped into my shoes as the tumbler clicked in the lock and the knob began turning. I moved to the chair where my jacket was hanging and reached for the shoulder holster under it. I pulled Wilhelmina free then moved back to the bed and drew the sheet up over the pillow. When the door eased open, I was crouched behind the chair.

A thick-shouldered man entered the room slowly, holding a hand gun in front of him. Another thinner man moved shadow-like behind him. They came into the room soundlessly and stood facing the bed. The thick-shouldered man nodded to the slim one and they aimed their guns at the bed where I had been lying. It was hidden in shadow and they thought I was still there. The guns, big and ugly, had long silencers fitted to their muzzles. Suddenly, three or four shots popped from each gun. I waited until they stopped firing and the bedding was a riddled mess, then I reached up and switched on the light.

"Surprise!" I said, holding Wilhelmina on them.

They whirled to face me, confusion on their faces. I had never seen either of them before.

"Drop the guns," I said firmly.

Apparently I wasn't very persuasive. The thick-shouldered one moved his gun and fired quickly, dropping to one knee. His shot chipped wood from the frame of the overstuffed chair I was using for cover. I ducked as he fired a second time. This time the slug slammed into the chair stuffing.

I hit the floor behind the chair, rolled once and came up firing on the far side. Wilhelmina, sans silencer, roared loudly in the room, the slug tearing into the wall behind the brawny gunman's head. I fired again quickly and the second shot caught the man in the chest, grand-slammed him against the wall. He slid to the floor, leaving a crimson mark on the wall.

The second gunman now popped off another round, chipping flowered paper off the wall behind me, and dived for cover behind the bed. I snapped off a crashing shot but missed my target by inches and shattered the leg of a night table.

I was back behind the chair now. I picked up a fallen ashtray, heaved it to my right and drew fire from my enemy. In the same instant, I moved back to my left, grabbed above my head at the light switch again, darkening the room. I scrambled quickly to the side of a large chest of drawers which afforded good cover from the bed.

The surviving gunman was on his feet, moving toward the door from the bed, firing toward me as he went. The slugs chewed up the wood on the front of the chest. I stayed down, but as he headed out the door I managed to fire another round at him. Unfortunately I missed.

I jumped to my feet and sprang for the door, just in time to see the gunman disappear around the corner in the corridor. He was heading for the back stairs.

I swore under my breath as I stepped quickly back into the room. I grabbed a small attache case and took out a spare magazine for Wilhelmina. I thumbed the old magazine out and then jammed in the new. Then I raced out into the corridor, past a small gathering of wide-eyed hotel personnel and guests, to the back stairs.

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and moved out into the alley behind the hotel, the second gunman was nowhere in sight. I ran to the mouth of the alley, looked right then left — and spotted him just turning a corner. I started after him.

I was gaining on him when we emerged into High Holborn, at Euston Square and he saw the entrance to the Tubes — the London subway — and dived into it.

I was there in a moment. As I reached the stairs, I saw him at the bottom, aiming his gun at me. He pulled the trigger but the only sound was a futile click. Apparently the gun had misfired. He swore and threw it down.

"Hold it!" I yelled.

But he disappeared around the bottom of the stairs. I stuck the Luger into my belt and followed.

We hurdled barriers and then I was racing after him along the station platform. An elderly man standing at the edge of the platform, waiting for a train gaped at us as we raced by.

At the end of the platform my man started climbing stairs to another level. He turned and I got a good look at him. He was young and tough; there was both anger and desperation in his face. He bolted up the steps with me close behind.

At the top of the stairs he turned and waited for me. As I closed the distance he kicked out viciously. I fell back a couple of steps and almost lost my balance completely. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, the gunman was already halfway down the platform. I ran after him, trying to regain the ground I had lost.

A train roared into the station but my man made no attempt to board it. Apparently he felt he had a better chance in the station. At the end of the platform, he plummeted down into another stairwell.

A train was just pulling away here. A middle-aged couple had gotten off and seated themselves on a bench. They looked up placidly as the gunman, after a glance back at me, began running again down the platform. But I caught up with him just past the bench. I made a diving lunge and brought him down.

We fell heavily, rolling at the feet of the couple on the bench. They sat there, watching with mild interest, as the man grabbed for my throat.

I broke free with a chop to his forearm, then delivered another chop to his neck. He fell backward. I struggled up on one knee and punched a fist into his face.

He grunted under the impact, but he was not finished. He kicked out at me as I threw myself at him, the blow knocking me sidewise to the edge of the platform. I almost went over.

He saw how close I was to the edge and decided to give me a little help. He kicked, aiming for my side, just as a train came into the station. I grabbed his foot and held on. He tried to jerk free, lost his balance and cartwheeled off the edge of the platform, nearly dragging me with him. His scream was drowned by the train as it roared over him.

The couple who had watched us so placidly were on their feet now, the woman shrieking like a stuck factory whistle.

I turned and headed quickly up the steps. I did not want to explain all this to the police. Not just at the moment.