A Matter of Honor

“I’ve booked one provisionally,” said the colonel, “but they’ll need your internation

al license. I forgot Scott has got mine, along with all my other papers.”

“You stay put,” said Romanov, “and make sure Scott doesn’t try to get off that coach.” Romanov ran to the Avis desk at the same time as Adam was being wheeled into a little cubicle to be examined by the duty registrar.

The young doctor leaned over his patient for several minutes. He had never seen a wound quite like it before. He examined him carefully, before making any comment. “Nasty lacerations,” he said finally, cleaning Adam’s shoulder wound. “Can you circle your arm?” Adam turned the arm in a full circle and straightened it out again. “Good. No break, at least.” He continued to clean the wound.

“I’m going to put some iodine on the open cut, and it may sting a little,” said the doctor. He cleaned up both elbows before placing a plaster on them.

“That didn’t happen today, did it?” he asked, staring at Adam’s half-healed shoulder.

“No,” said Adam, without offering any explanations.

“You have been in the wars lately, I’m going to give you an antitetanus injection.” Adam turned white. “Funny how many grown men don’t care for the sight of a needle,” said the doctor. Adam groaned.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he suggested as he placed a large bandage over the top of the shoulder. “Do you have someone to collect you?” the doctor asked finally.

“Yes, thank you,” said Adam. “My wife is waiting for me.”

“Good, then you can go now, but please report to your GP the moment you get back home.”

Romanov sat in the driver’s seat and watched the coach clear customs. He followed it out of the main gate and on to the A2 in the direction of London.

“Are we going to intercept them on the way?” asked Tomkins nervously.

“Not this time,” said Romanov without explanation. He never once allowed the coach out of his sight all the way into the capital.

Adam walked out of the hospital and checked to see that no one was following him. The only people in sight were a man in a blue duffle coat walking in the opposite direction and a nurse scurrying past him, looking anxiously at her watch. Satisfied, he took a taxi to Dover Priory station and purchased a single ticket to London.

“When’s the next train?” he asked.

“Should be in any moment,” said the ticket collector, checking his watch. “The ship docked about forty minutes ago, but it always takes a bit of time to unload all the passengers.” Adam walked on to the platform, keeping a wary eye out for anyone acting suspiciously. He didn’t notice the dark-haired man in a blue duffle coat leaning against the shutters of the W. H. Smith’s stall reading the Evening Standard.

Adam’s thoughts returned to Robin getting safely home. The London train drew in, packed with passengers who had been on the boat. Adam moved out of the shadows and jumped on, selecting a carriage full of young hoods who were apparently returning from a day at the seaside. He thought it would be unlikely anyone else would wish to join them. He took the only seat left, in the far corner, and sat silently looking out of the window.

By the time the train had pulled into Canterbury no one had entered the carriage other than the ticket collector, who discreetly ignored the fact that one of the youths only presented him with a platform ticket for his inspection. Adam felt strangely safe in the corner of that particular compartment even when he noticed a dark-haired man in a blue duffle coat pass by the compartment door and look carefully in.

Adam was jolted out of his thoughts by a noisy claim made by one of the gang, who, during the journey, had given every appearance of being its leader.

“There’s a foul smell in this compartment,” he declared, sniffing loudly.

“I agree, Terry,” said his mate who was sitting next to Adam and also began imitating the sniff. “And I think it’s quite close to me.” Adam glanced toward the young man, whose black leather jacket was covered in small shiny studs. The words “Heil Hitler” were printed right across his back. He got up and pulled open the window. “Perhaps some fresh air will help,” he said as he sat back down. In moments all four of them were sniffing. Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff. “I think the smell’s getting worse,” their leader concluded.

“It must be me,” said Adam.

The sniffing stopped, and the youths stared toward the corner in disbelief—momentarily silenced by Adam’s offensive.

“I didn’t have time to take a shower after my judo lesson,” Adam added before any of them had found time to recover their speech.

“Any good at judo, are you?” asked the one sitting next to him.

“Passable,” said Adam.

“What belt are you?” demanded Terry belligerently. “Go on, tell me, a black belt, I knew it,” he added, sniggering.

“I haven’t been a black belt for nearly eight years,” said Adam casually, “but I’ve been recently awarded my second Dan.”

A look of apprehension came over three of the four faces.