Scorched Earth - Robert Muchamore Page 0,61
in the dark. ‘Hope it didn’t hurt.’
‘Thought you’d be downstairs, with Laure,’ PT said, as he inspected his big toe. ‘Was Mr Penis out of order after all that champagne you drank?’
‘Laure doesn’t like me staying overnight, in case the boys blurt something to her mother-in-law,’ Luc explained.
‘You wanna make some cash?’ PT asked, as Luc dropped his trousers.
‘How?’ Luc asked.
‘You and me don’t have much in common,’ PT began, ‘but money – or rather the lack of it – is one of them. Paul’s inherited from his folks. Edith was left property by Madame Mercier; Marc’s got a rich girlfriend. But the war will end sooner or later, and you and me’ll have no money and no family.’
Luc looked intrigued. ‘Keep talking.’
‘I tracked down Pierre Robert today,’ PT explained. ‘I think he’s reverted to being a full-time gangster, no Milice uniform.’
‘Milice don’t work where they live,’ Luc pointed out. ‘The resistance would crucify them.’
‘Robert’s associates run a black-market food racket. Food goes out of a little depot, money winds up across the road to a place called Bistro le Baron. I got up in the boss’s office today and there’s a guy with a ledger. He sits there counting piles of money, all day long.’
‘Definitely interested,’ Luc said. ‘Is it just about the dollars, or is killing Commander Robert still part of the plan?’
‘I loved Rosie and watched her die,’ PT said. ‘I’ve worked out a plan that should enable us to do both.’
‘Why pick me?’ Luc asked.
‘Exactly like Henderson said earlier: if it comes to a scrap, there’s nobody I’d rather have on my side.’
‘Just the two of us?’ Luc asked.
‘Three would be better. I’ll ask Marc in the morning. So are you in or not?’
Luc nodded slowly. ‘I’ll look at your plan when I’m not boozed up. If it’s any good I’m in for sure.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Wednesday 16 August 1944
Paul slept solidly and woke feeling rested, with morning sun warming his bare midriff. He found Marc, PT and Luc sitting on the living-room floor, around a low coffee table.
‘Morning,’ Paul said, before looking at Marc. ‘Sorry about your bed.’
Marc waved a hand dismissively. ‘Couldn’t make you sleep on the floor after all you’ve been through. You really knocked that champagne back. How’s your head?’
Paul smirked. ‘Not great, but it was a good night. So what are you guys plotting?’
PT explained about finding Pierre Robert and that they’d worked up a plan to take him out and rob the gangsters’ cash.
‘You can come if you want,’ PT added.
But Paul didn’t seem enthused. ‘Killing Robert won’t bring my sister back,’ he said dourly, as he settled on a couch. ‘You guys do what you have to, but I’m not interested.’
Marc nodded sympathetically. ‘You’re better off resting, after all you’ve been through.’
‘Henderson’s still holed up in his room with Maxine,’ PT explained. ‘It’s a bit early, but we want to sneak out of here before he starts asking what we’re up to.’
‘I’ll try and cover for you,’ Paul said. ‘Where’s everyone else?’
‘Joel and Sam are still sleeping off the booze,’ Marc said. ‘Edith’s chasing a rumour that there’s gonna be some bread on sale in the market and Jae’s riding her bike back to Beauvais.’
PT, Luc and Marc made final preparations as Paul went to the kitchen. He took the last of the hard black bread and smeared it in the synthetic gloop that the German food scientists tried to pass off as jam.
Although the Nazis were increasingly focused on the Allied advance, there were still Gestapo teams out hunting the resistance. Henderson made sure there were enough guns and ammo stashed to put up a fight if the front door got kicked in, but their supplies of automatic weapons, grenades, ammunition and explosives were stored under a drain cover in the building’s basement.
The cache wasn’t huge, and the boys had to travel light because there was a chance they’d be stopped at a checkpoint. Large bags were the most frequently searched, so Luc carried a large suitcase filled with clothes. The idea was that he’d join any checkpoint queues first. Hopefully, Marc and PT would get waved through while the Germans searched his bag.
The road they lived on ran 100 metres down a steep hill, before reaching the banks of the Seine less than 50 metres from a road bridge. There were often a couple of taxi-carts standing around here, but the boys were out of luck.
‘Always the way when you’ve got stuff to carry,’ PT moaned.
‘You said Robert didn’t