As if they were members of the family in front of them, Walter King laughed and chatted about their holiday. Ena, grim faced, looked over her shoulder. Two men appeared from the far side of the train. As they scrambled onto the southbound platform she recognised one as the MI5 officer, the other was Ben.
‘You’ve got the tickets.’ Startled, Ena brought her attention back to Walter. ‘Tickets!’ he said, ‘You should have two tickets.’ King looked around, his eyes darting all over the place, not settling on anyone in particular. He obviously hasn’t seen Ben or the MI5 man, Ena thought, and sighed with relief.
‘They’re in my handbag,’ she said, as pleasantly as she was able. ‘I can’t open it and take out the tickets with one hand. If you let go of me, for a second...’ He looked into her eyes, his own hard and cold. ‘There’s no one around,’ Ena said, ‘Even if there were, they wouldn’t risk trouble in a crowd like this.’
‘Tickets please!’ the ticket collector said to the father of the family in front of them. He handed over his family’s tickets and after the collector had torn the corner from each one, he waved the man and his family on. By the time King had let go of Ena’s arm, to allow her to open her handbag, the family was through the barrier and nearing the exit. ‘Tickets please!’
‘Hurry!’
Ena raised her eyes. ‘I can’t find them.’
‘You stupid--’ As the few remaining passengers passed through the barrier, King snatched Ena’s bag out of her hand and froze. Ena saw his Adam’s-apple rise and fall as he backed away from her. ‘You won’t pull the trigger,’ he goaded, his eyes fixed on the small revolver in Ena’s hand. She tilted her head to one side and gave him a wry smile as if to say, “Try me”. ‘So,’ he said, staring into her eyes and holding her gaze, ‘I am going to walk out of here.’ He continued to back away.
Looking past him, Ena saw a number of policemen, military men and civilians enter the station. Some stayed at the exit. Ben, the MI5 man, and several army officers were on the platform.
With a smirk on his face, sure that Ena wouldn’t pull the trigger, Walter King’s right arm shot up. ‘Heil Hitler!’ he shouted, turned, and charged through the cordon of officials.
Aiming blows at whoever came near, King downed a military policeman and a couple of security officers before Ben stopped him with a punch to the nose that sent him stumbling backwards, arms circling like a windmill, until he hit the ground.
King scrambled to his feet. With a bloody nose, he staggered forward like a drunk, and Ben knocked him down again. ‘Enough!’ he shouted, pushing himself up to a standing position. Suddenly, King doubled over in pain. Holding his left side with one hand, he raised his right hand in a gesture of surrender.
Something wasn’t right, Ena thought. And as Walter King reached into his pocket, she shouted, ‘Knife!’ A second later Ben wrestled him to the ground and the MI5 man took the knife.
The female intelligence officer appeared at Ena’s side, took the gun out of her hand, and bustled her along the platform. The last Ena saw of Walter King, who she thought she had killed several years before, and who would have killed her if she hadn’t produced Commander Dalton’s gun, was the back of his head as he lay face down on the platform of Rugby station.
Moving quickly, the two women crossed to the waiting room. There was a Closed sign on the door, which opened as they approached and closed immediately after they had entered.
‘Commander Dalton?’
‘Congratulations, Ena.’ Dalton laid his hand on Ena’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She winced from the pressure. He didn’t appear to notice. ‘Thanks to you, we’ve got them.’ Them? Ena wondered if Freda had been on the train after all.
‘Excuse me, sir, they’re bringing the other one out,’ an intelligence officer said.
Commander Dalton let go of Ena’s shoulder and turned back to the window, where they watched police and military intelligence make their way to a carriage further along the train. An army officer alighted first, followed by a policeman handcuffed to the prisoner. A wave of panic went through Ena and she struggled for breath.
‘Ena?’ Commander Dalton called, walking away from the window. Ena didn’t move. He called her again. ‘Would you come away from the window? I need to speak to you.’
‘One minute--’
‘Now!’ The commander ordered.
Ena left the window, not to join Commander Dalton, but to make a bolt for the door. ‘Stop her!’ Dalton shouted. As Ena reached the door, the female intelligence officer threw herself at it, blocking the door and knocking Ena out of the way.
‘I’m sorry that was necessary,’ the commander said, stooping down to help Ena up.
Ena pushed him away and put her hands up as a warning. For what seemed like minutes, but could only have been seconds, they stared at each other. ‘All right!’ Ena said, at last. ‘But can I speak to him?’
‘Not possible,’ Commander Dalton said, and took her by the arm. With the commander on one side and the intelligence officer on the other, Ena watched Henry Green, the man she was in love with, being dragged from the train in handcuffs. When he passed by the waiting room window, a few feet away from her, Ena lifted her arm and placed the palm of her hand on the glass, but Henry didn’t look, didn’t see it.
The door to the waiting room opened and a young army officer entered. ‘Your car is here, sir. Yours too, Miss Dudley.’
Her head pounding, in a state of shock, Ena took a faltering
