Jeffrey Archer: Only Time Will Tell

It saddened Harry that when he returned to England he wouldn’t be able to contact any of his old friends, and he’d have to be cautious even when he got in touch with his mother. But the moment he stepped ashore, his only purpose would be to join one of His Majesty’s war ships and enlist in the fight against the King’s enemies, even though he knew that whenever that ship returned to port he would have to remain on board, like a criminal on the run.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a lady. He gazed in admiration when he first saw the Statue of Liberty looming up in front of him through the early-morning mist. He had seen photographs of the iconic landmark but they had not given a true sense of her size as she towered above the Kansas Star , welcoming visitors, immigrants and her fellow countrymen to the United States.

As the ship continued on its way towards the harbour, Harry leant over the railings and looked towards Manhattan, disappointed that the skyscrapers didn’t appear to be any taller than some of the buildings he remembered in Bristol. But then, as each minute passed, they grew and grew until they appeared to soar up into the heavens and he had to shade his eyes from the sun as he stared up at them.

A New York Port Authority tug boat came out to join them and guided the Kansas Star safely to its berth on number seven dock. When Harry saw the cheering crowds, he began to feel apprehensive for the first time, even though the young man who was sailing into New York that morning was far older than the fourth officer who’d left Bristol only three weeks earlier.

‘Smile, Tom.’

Harry turned to see Richard looking down into a Kodak Brownie Box camera. He was peering at an upside-down image of Tom, with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop.

‘You’ll be one passenger I sure won’t forget in a hurry,’ said Kristin, as she walked across to join him so that Richard could take a second photograph of them together. She had exchanged her nurse’s uniform for a smart polka-dot dress, white belt and white shoes.

‘Nor me you,’ said Harry, hoping that neither of them could sense how nervous he was.

‘Time for us to go ashore,’ said Richard, closing the shutter of his camera.

The three of them took the wide staircase down to the lower deck, where several passengers were already streaming off the ship to be reunited with relieved relatives and anxious friends. As they made their way down the gangway, Harry’s spirits were lifted by how many of the ship’s passengers and crew wanted to shake him by the hand and wish him luck.

Once they’d stepped on to the dockside, Harry, Richard and Kristin headed towards immigration, where they joined one of four long queues. Harry’s eyes darted about in every direction, and he wanted to ask so many questions, but any one of them would have revealed that this was the first time he’d set foot in America.

The first thing that struck him was the patchwork quilt of different colours that made up the American people. He’d only ever seen one black man in Bristol, and remembered stopping to stare at him. Old Jack had told him it was both rude and inconsiderate, adding, ‘How would you feel if everyone stopped to stare at you just because you were white?’ But it was the noise, the bustle and the sheer pace of everything around him that most caught Harry’s imagination and made Bristol seem as if it were languishing in a bygone age.

He was already beginning to wish that he’d accepted Richard’s offer to stay with him overnight and perhaps spend a few days in a city he was finding so exciting even before he’d left the dockside.

‘Why don’t I go through first?’ said Richard, as they reached the head of the queue. ‘Then I can pick up my car and meet you both outside the terminal.’

‘Good idea,’ said Kristin.

‘Next!’ shouted an immigration officer.

Richard walked up to the desk and handed over his passport to the official, who glanced briefly at the photo before stamping it. ‘Welcome home, Lieutenant Tibbet.’

‘Next!’

Harry stepped forward, uncomfortably aware that he had no passport, no identification and someone else’s name.

‘My name’s Tom Bradshaw,’ he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘I think the purser of the SS Kansas Star telegraphed ahead to warn that I would be coming ashore.’

The immigration officer looked closely at Harry, then picked up a sheet of paper and began to study a long list of names. Finally he put a tick by one before turning round and nodding. For the first time, Harry noticed two men standing on the other side of the barrier, wearing identical grey suits and grey hats. One of them gave him a smile.

The immigration officer stamped a piece of paper and handed it to Harry. ‘Welcome back, Mr Bradshaw. It’s been a long time.’

‘Sure has,’ said Harry.

‘Next!’

‘I’ll wait for you,’ said Harry as Kristin made her way to the desk.

‘I’ll only be a moment,’ she promised.

Harry passed through the barrier and entered the United States of America for the first time.

The two men in grey suits stepped forward. One of them said, ‘Good morning, sir. Are you Mr Thomas Bradshaw?’

‘That’s me,’ said Harry.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the other man grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back, while the first man handcuffed him. It all happened so quickly that Harry didn’t even have time to protest.

He remained outwardly calm, as he had already considered the possibility that someone might work out that he wasn’t Tom Bradshaw, but in fact an Englishman called Harry Clifton. Even so, he had assumed that the worst they could do was serve him with a deportation order and have him shipped back to Britain. And as that was exactly what he’d planned to do anyway, he didn’t put up a fight.

Harry spotted two cars waiting by the sidewalk. The first was a black police car, with its back door being held open by another unsmiling man in a grey suit. The second was a red sports car, with Richard sitting on the bonnet, smiling.

The moment Richard saw that Tom had been handcuffed and was being led away, he leapt up and began to run towards him. At the same time, one of the police officers began to read Mr Bradshaw his rights, while the other continued to grip Harry firmly by the elbow. ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.’

A moment later Richard was striding by their sides. He glared at the officers and said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you,’ continued the first policeman, while the other ignored him.

Richard was clearly amazed by how relaxed Tom appeared, almost as if he wasn’t surprised to have been arrested. But he was still determined to do anything he could to assist his friend. He leapt forward and blocked the officers’ path and said firmly, ‘What are you charging Mr Bradshaw with, officer?’

The senior detective came to a halt, looked Richard in the eye, and said, ‘First degree murder.’

My thanks go to the following people for their invaluable advice and research:

John Anstee, Simon Bainbridge, John Cleverdon, Eleanor Dryden, George Havens, Alison Prince, Mari Roberts, Susan Watt, David Watts and Peter Watts