Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,77

few more steps. ‘Looks like a Boche truck coming up the road. Might be routine, but they could have spotted the parachutes. Whatever it is, Henderson’s run off with the other parachutist and the equipment from the pod. He wants us to escape around the back of the hill so that we don’t cross the Germans’ path.’

‘We need to find our parachutist first,’ Rosie said nervously.

PT only now realised that there was no sign of the spy. He shone his torch up into the branches and solved the mystery.

Rosie covered her eyes and turned away in horror. The parachutist had landed high in the branches and must have remained conscious for long enough to release his ’chute and equipment, but as he’d tried to climb down he’d slipped. His throat was impaled on the jutting remains of a snapped branch. His jawbone held him up like a coat hook and his feet swung freely.

‘Gruesome,’ Marc winced.

PT turned off the light, before looking back and realising that the German truck had passed them by. Its rear lights were now heading uphill.

‘We need to tidy this up so that the Germans don’t find him when it gets light,’ PT said calmly. ‘If they know spies have been dropped into the area they’ll tighten security and that’s the last thing we need right now.’

‘How do you tidy that up?’ Marc asked.

‘I’ll yank him down.’

‘He’s hooked up there,’ Rosie said. ‘You’ll have to tear the bottom half of his face off!’

‘If I have to, that’s what I’ll do,’ PT said bluntly. ‘We’ll roll him in the parachute silk, strip off his gun and equipment, and stuff him inside that metal pig pen at the end of the field.’

*

The surviving parachutist was a tubby little man named Bernard Prost. He wore rectangular glasses and sat at the kitchen table trembling over a mug of coffee. Everyone was up except for Paul, who’d picked up a bad cold and was sleeping upstairs.

PT stood at the sink scrubbing blood out of his shirt, while Maxine sat out on the doorstep, comforting Marc and Rosie, who’d been upset by the shocking death and the trauma of hiding the disfigured body.

‘It’s a mess,’ Bernard mumbled. ‘We needed two people to successfully infiltrate the telephone—’

Henderson raised a hand and interrupted. ‘Think about your training, man,’ he said firmly. ‘You don’t tell me or anyone else about your mission. What if one of us was captured and interrogated? Now, where are your photographs?’

‘In the small case,’ Bernard said.

Henderson had no confidence in this rather nervous man. ‘I know that the death of your partner is a shock,’ he said, as he opened the suitcase. ‘But that goes with the territory of being a spy. You have to be strong … oh, for god’s sake. What the is this?’hell

Henderson pulled a bar of chocolate with English writing on the wrapper out of Bernard’s case.

‘I understand food is in short supply in many areas,’ Bernard explained. ‘Chocolate has a high energy content.’

‘But it’s chocolate!’ Henderson gasped, as he threw more things out of Bernard’s case. ‘The first checkpoint you reach, the Germans will open your case and arrest you on the spot. And this, look at this!’British

Henderson held up a shirt with a Fifty Shilling Tailor label stitched into the collar. ‘Didn’t MI5 train you in anything? You’d better go through your things and remove anything that looks even slightly British.’

‘I’ve never met anyone from MI5,’ Bernard explained. ‘I’ve not had any formal training. I believe the Brits are building a training facility for undercover agents, but it won’t be ready for several months.’

‘Hopeless,’ Henderson said, tutting loudly as he turned over more items in the suitcase and found the identity photographs he needed to complete Bernard’s fake paperwork.

Maxine stepped in from the doorway as Henderson trimmed the photograph to the proper size for a French identity card. She looked at Bernard and spoke.

‘Would a woman be a suitable replacement for your missing partner?’

‘I suppose,’ Bernard said uncertainly.

‘I’ve always fancied Paris,’ Maxine said, smiling.

Henderson shook his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Maxine. You’re returning to Britain with me and the kids.’

‘Do you think I’ll get along with your wife?’ Maxine replied sarcastically.

Henderson shrivelled in his chair. ‘I’ve already explained that my wife has certain difficulties. It’s not a normal marriage in any sense.’

‘So you’ll be filing for divorce?’ Maxine snapped.

Bernard had a smug little grin on his face that made Henderson want to thump him.

‘Maxine …’ Henderson mumbled. ‘I can’t authorise you to do