Ormerod's Landing Read Online Free PDF Page B

up to?' the Superintendent said, eye ing him cagily from the desk. 'All this top secret stuff. You've got to see this Brigadier Clark. He was the one you kept an eye on during the Staff College conference wasn't it?'
    Ormerod shrugged. 'That's him, sir,' he said. 'Can't think what he wants. Probably thinks I'll make a good batman or caddy. I traipsed around the golf course with him. He'll have another think coming if that's what he's after. God, I could hardly walk for a week after that.'
    'Well, he wants to see you, so you'd better go,' Lowe laughed. 'This could be one of those things when we don't see you until after the war George. You'd better pay the tea club and empty your locker.'
    'The tea club's paid and there's nothing in my locker except a spare pair of shoes. I don't keep a lot there. After all, you never know when you might not return from Battersea Park in this job.'
    The Superintendent frowned. 'Oh come on, George. We're doing as much as we can. It's not very spectacular, I know, police work, but people still steal, kids still go missing, and the peace, such as we have, has got to be maintained.' He stood and thrust his head towards Ormerod, like a bull. 'Most of the manpower of this country is now sitting on its arse waiting to see if the Germans make the next move. Personally I'd strike back now, while they're taking a breather. Invade in the Brittany area, around Brest. Get around the back of the bastards. Strike first.'
    Lowe was one of those who really believed it, despite the fact that at that moment elderly men in quiet hamlets where there had been no violence since the Conqueror were sharpen ing pitchforks and seriously hoping to annihilate a Panzer division. Ormerod had no inclination to argue, indeed he was not sure he did not agree. He went out and took his spare shoes from his locker, just in case, and then went home.
    On the following morning he took the underground to West-
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    minster. He was early so he walked through the park to the War Office. The bombing of London had not started in earnest for the Luftwaffe were attacking Biggin Hill and other airfields from which the British fighter planes were taking off to intercept the bombers. It was a promising summer morning with the trees and flower beds shining with sun and freshness. There were pyramids of sandbags all around. The pelicans squatted ponderously on the lake. Around the park were anti-aircraft guns and people walked about, their gasmasks either in oblong cases like picnic boxes or in tubular tins. Policemen wore their newly-issued, cumbersome revolvers a little selfconsciously.
    Although he was a Metropolitan policeman, Ormerod never felt at home in Central London. He was never sure where anything was for a start. He produced his warrant card, asked a policeman the whereabouts of the War Office and was treated to a supercilious grin for not knowing. If he had asked at random, and without showing his authority, he might very well have been taken for one of the mythical German parachutists the entire nation was hunting.
    There appeared to be a complete regiment guarding the War Office and it was some time before he could persuade anyone to let him in, although a cheerful milkman breezed right through the defences while Ormerod stood waiting; soldiers and policemen kept coming to have a look at him while he stood awkwardly in a waiting room, bare of any decoration except for a poster warning against careless talk which announced : 'Walls Have Ears.' He pursed his lips as though to stop himself divulging a thousand secrets.
    A frowning corporal of military police came in. The man had a bright red face as if he were always shouting and a small moustache like gold wire.
    'Department Four BX,' recited the corporal. 'That's where you're heading. Part of MIR, see. Military Intelligence Research. Got your authority, have you?'
    The man knew full well that he had both his warrant card and the authorizing letter because he had already asked for