Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,36

guide to take you through the mountains there’s every chance that they’ll escort you up to some remote spot, steal anything worth having and push you off a cliff. Especially if you’re travelling alone.’

‘Sounds like a bag of laughs,’ PT said, burying his face in his hands. ‘Where do I sign up?’

‘Must be better than me putting a bullet through the back of your head,’ Henderson observed.

‘What’s my other option?’

‘We all make bad decisions,’ Henderson said. ‘Especially when we’re fifteen years old and on the run. I’m prepared to wipe the slate clean. You can come with us.’

‘Come where?’ PT asked.

‘I have a very important job to do before we can leave France,’ Henderson said. ‘I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t involve significant danger to all of us, but at the end of the operation we’ll be in an ideal position to travel back to Britain. I can’t tell you any more than that without compromising the security of the plan.’

‘It’s not much to go on,’ PT said, smiling awkwardly.

‘Everything in life comes down to trust,’ Henderson said. ‘If you travel with us, I’m trusting you not to run off again. have to trust that I’ll look after your best interests.’You’ll

‘Which option would prefer?’ PT asked.you

Henderson shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t mind, although I guarantee you won’t be alive to get a third chance if you betray my trust again.’

Rosie stared at PT. ‘You should stick with us,’ she said. ‘We all look out for each other. What’s so great about being off on your own?’

Marc nodded in agreement. ‘I travelled to Paris alone before I met Henderson. I wouldn’t recommend it. Everywhere you go there’s people trying to rob you or rip you off.’

PT allowed himself to smile. He’d tried getting away because he’d baulked at the idea of Henderson being a spy. If anything, the beating and a night tied up in the shed had made him more hostile towards Henderson, but the way Rosie and Marc had sneaked out food showed that he’d made two real friends.

‘People only forgive if they care about you,’ PT said, finally looking Henderson in the eye. ‘You’ve got nothing to gain by letting me live.’

Henderson smiled. ‘Except a clear conscience – and the fact that Maxine and Rosie would never have spoken to me again.’

‘It’s lonely out there on your own,’ Paul said.

‘Indeed,’ PT replied.

‘So you’re with us?’ Rosie smiled.

PT liked the idea, but he wasn’t ready to commit himself.

‘Don’t rush him,’ Henderson said. ‘PT needs a bath and a few hours’ rest. I’d rather he took his time and made the right decision.’

Part Four

16 July 1940 – 20 July 1940

‘Despite her hopeless military situation, Britain shows no sign of willingness to come to terms. I have decided to prepare, and if necessary to carry out, a sea-based invasion against her.

‘The English Air Force must be reduced morally and physically so that it is unable to deliver any significant attack during the German crossing.

‘Preparations for the landing operation must be completed by the middle of August.’

Adolf Hitler, 16 July 1940.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Natural History Museum, London, UK – Intelligence Ministry wartime HQ

Eileen McAfferty stepped out of the lift and found herself in a shiny-floored basement corridor, barely wide enough for two people to pass. She was thirty-one years old, but dressed like someone older, in cardigans and floral prints. Her shoes, as always, were flat, with their tongues cut open because she was overweight and her feet swelled in the heat.

It felt desperately hot as McAfferty read the room numbers off, door after door. Some were left open to circulate the air, and sounds of chattering typewriters and telephone conversations came from inside. People swooped in and out holding folders or occasionally pushing a trolley piled with files. They all looked so purposeful that McAfferty was afraid to ask for directions.

Finally she spoke to a pencil-thin man in a three-piece suit, her accent heavily Scottish.

‘Room eighty-three is to the left,’ the pencil replied. ‘Double doors. That’s the Minister’s office, you know that?’

You could see on his face that he thought someone like McAfferty had no business going into the Intelligence Minister’s office.

‘I’m late,’ she explained. ‘Signal failure on the Piccadilly line.’

‘Really?’ the man said unsympathetically. ‘I’d hurry up, if you’re late for the Minister. He’s been biting people’s heads off all week.’

Twenty minutes behind schedule, McAfferty found herself in the Intelligence Minister’s office. It was a grim space with oak furnishings, moved from less secure offices in Whitehall. The walls were peeling