TS01 Time Station London by David Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

inter-Family dispute.
    “No. We will have to dig them out on our own.”
    “How do we do that, Brian?”
    Brian shrugged. “Plain old detective work, I imagine. You might begin by checking a list of art treasures lost in the bombing. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

    When Brian entered the MI-5 office, half an hour later, he wore the usual conservative suit and tie. He settled in his office and reviewed several reports of suspicious persons in and around London, Portsmouth, Birmingham, and other industrial or port cities. The man with whom he had an appointment arrived ten minutes late.
    “Blasted traffic,” he apologized. “I could have walked it faster.”
    “Maybe you should have,” Brian suggested. “They say it is good for one.” But not for another twenty years. “Now, then, Mr. Gregory Thornton, I suppose you know why you have been called here.”
    Thornton gave him a puzzled look. “Frankly, no, I don’t.”
    “As the chappies down at the Yard put it, you’ve been called in to assist us with our inquiries.” Unobtrusively, Brian pressed a signal button with the toe of his shoe.
    Although Thornton did not outwardly react, the shock told in his voice. “What are you getting at? And whose inquiries, I might ask?”
    Wigglesby silently entered the office behind the seated gentleman and stood in readiness. “Why, ours, of course.”
    Growing agitated, Thornton leaned forward and put fire in his words. “And who, exactly, are you?”
    “I’m with the Home Office.”
    That brought Thornton upright, a scowl wrinkling his brow. “Then I’d advise you to be more forthcoming. I am well acquainted with the Secretary.” His mustache quivered.
    “Oh, not that Home Office. MI-Five, you see.”
    Thornton tried for bluster, only to fall short into splutters of outrage. “Wh—what in hell ever can the Domestic Intelligence Service want with me?”
    “That transmitter you have, for starters. The one hidden in the attic of your garage, hummm?”
    All color drained from Thornton’s face. “Oh, my God. I never thought… I mean, that’s exactly what I thought. That’s why I put it out there in storage. I am bonkers over amateur radio, you see. Or was, until the government asked us not to go on the air because of the war.”
    Maybe this one was genuine, Brian surmised. He seemed seriously upset over it. “Do you have any proof of this?”
    “Yes, of course. I still have my license. It’s here in my wallet. And I have my QSL cards. Been collecting them since I was a lad, using a crystal set and telegraph key.”
    “I see. I’d like to see those. The license now, and the cards later on. Are they dated?”
    “Oh, yes. Do you want me to bring them in?”
    “No. I’d like to see them where you keep them.”
    Thornton began to look more relieved. “They’re on the walls of my study. We can go there now. I’ve left the office for the day.”
    “Good,” Brian agreed. Out in the reception area, he paused at the desk of Sgt. Parkhurst. “I’ll be seeing Mr. Thornton to his home. Then I’m off to Coventry.”
    “Very, well, sir,” Parkhurst returned briskly.

    Time: 1310, GMT, June 14, 1940
    Place: M-43 Highway, London to Coventry
    Warwickshire, England

    Mid-June in the Midlands showed little difference to all of May. It rained less, only every other day, though the sun did not come out until eleven of a morning, sometimes later than that. Fully leafed out now, the trees made dark green swaying blobs. Brian drove himself, considering that he would be mixing business with pleasure, and would no doubt stay the night. The only problem with clear afternoon skies, Brian told himself, was that it not only brought out the sun, it brought the Germans as well.
    He received immediate reminder of that a few minutes later when an elderly man in a Home Guard helmet and WWI uniform too small for him flagged down Brian’s Austin.
    “Sorry, sir,” the elderly air raid warden greeted with apology. “The Jerries are