D-Notice Bill Walker (online e book reading txt) 📖

me where you were. They want you to come in and talk to them, Michael.” Ferguson stopped pacing and listened. “Michael, are you there?”

“I’m sorry you had to take the brunt of this, John. But there’s something strange going on with all of this, something I’m convinced is tied in with what happened to my dad. They’re hiding something—the D-notice confirms it.”

“Never mind all that,” Ferguson said, pacing again. “If you want to keep your bloody job, you’ll tell them everything you know with a pretty-please-and-a-cherry-on-top. As for me, I want nothing more to do with this. As far as I’m concerned, the Royal South Wessex can bloody well rot.” Ferguson slammed the phone down and screamed, “Bloody gits!”

Suddenly exhausted, Ferguson trudged back toward the bedroom. It was then that someone began pounding on the door. Sharp, insistent, and as relentless as before. Livid, he stormed toward the door and flung it open. He noticed that the lights in the hall were out, obscuring whoever it was standing outside his door.

“Bloody Christ! I’ve had it with you bastards. I told you all I know.” Ferguson squinted into the gloom. “Where’s Welles, anyway? The shit too lazy to come himself this time?”

Before he could say anything else, a silenced automatic pistol was thrust into his face. It fired once, sounding like a loud cough. A spot of red flowered on Ferguson’s forehead and he toppled to the floor. A moment later, the pistol coughed once more, and a heavily accented voice intoned, “The Eagle flies....”

Michael hung up the phone and sighed, running his hand through his now unruly hair. He felt as if the four puke green walls of the room were closing in on him. Nothing made sense, not a bloody thing. And yet, there was a glimmer of hope that somehow it would all fit. The key was Cadwallader and Soames. Would they still have the things his father left in their care? After all, it had been forty-three years. Coming out of his thoughts, he heard Erika singing in the bathroom, her husky voice barely able to hold the tune. He recognized it as something by Duran Duran. A moment later the singing stopped.

“Michael?”

He looked up and caught sight of her standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a damp towel. A wave of hot soapy air filled the room, raising the humidity to the saturation point. He didn’t notice. Every drop of water stood out on her skin like tiny liquid diamonds, and her hair, now wet and scraggly, hung over her smoldering eyes, making her look like some world-weary waif.

“The bath’s free,” she said, running a hand up her arm.

Without realizing that he was doing it, Michael stood up and walked toward her. It felt as if some outside force were operating his body and he was along for the ride, watching as if through a pair of reversed binoculars. A heart-stopping moment later he stood in front of her, inhaling her scent and losing himself in her eyes. He could hear his heart beating in his ears and his head felt as if it were filled with wet cotton. He saw something in her face, a longing that matched his own, and yet a part of him wanted to run, wanted to hide from her. He raised a hand to touch her and stopped himself. What was he doing? Was he daft? They’d only just met. It was then that he realized that the room had returned to normal perspectives and the look he saw in her face had fled. Had it really been there to begin with, or was it just post-adolescent longing? Feeling awkward, he fumbled with the bathroom door.

“Why don’t you order up some food. I’ll just be a minute.”

Erika watched Michael disappear into the bathroom, her mind a tangle of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Michael was clearly attracted to her. That much was obvious. The problem was she was beginning to reciprocate those feelings, and that was not something she’d bargained for.

Mein Gott, what am I to do? There’s no room in my life for this.

She sighed and waited until she heard the sound of the shower, then went to the phone, picked it up and dialed.

“Ja, it’s me,” she said.

And then she began to speak in rapid German.

The remnants of their carry-out fish and chips lay on paper plates strewn on one of the twin beds. Michael sat back against the headboard, his arm thrown over his eyes, his breathing deep and regular. Erika watched him; her expression neutral.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“Mmmmm.... Just trying to sort everything out.”

“What’s a D-notice, Michael?”

He dropped his arm and looked at her with tired eyes. “You heard me?”

“I didn’t mean to.... Your friend, he is angry with you?”

“Scared was more like it.”

He spent the next few minutes telling her about his conversation with Ferguson.

“So, what does ‘D-notice’ mean?”

Michael sat up and crossed his legs. “It’s a restriction the British government places on information it deems ‘injurious to the public good.’ Sort of like ‘Top Secret’ or ‘Eyes only.’”

“And you think our fathers were involved in some way?”

“I’d almost bet my life on it,” he said, his eyes burning with a fierce light.

A flicker of worry crossed Erika’s face. Michael touched her hand, a brush of flesh against flesh. “I said...almost.... I’ve got to find out what happened to my father...and why. And to hell with the bloody government!”

“It was wrong of me to come here and ask you to become involved in my problems,” she said.

Michael shot her a look of disbelief. “What?”

“Let’s forget the whole thing.