Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,79

of the truck. Maxine was right about him never leaving his wife, and in some ways her staying behind had saved him from an awkward break-up. But he liked Maxine a lot and felt miserable as he drove off the farm, watching in the side mirror as she disappeared through the cottage door and catching a final glimpse back at her Jaguar as the truck turned on to the road.

He’d grown used to driving the sports car and the hedgerows seemed to move in slow motion as the clattering truck drove down the empty lanes. The security post on the outskirts of Calais pulled Henderson over.

‘Slumming it today,’ the guard noted.

Henderson pointed into the back. ‘My youngest’s got a doctor’s appointment, so the Jag wouldn’t cut it.’

A five-minute ride took them into the cobbled square behind army headquarters. Henderson shook Marc’s hand through the hatch behind his head.

‘Be safe,’ he said, feeling unnerved by the smallness of Marc’s hand. ‘I’m asking a lot of you, boy. There’s no shame in failing, just make sure you’re on that boat by ten o’clock tonight.’

As always, Kommodore Kuefer and his driver, Schroder, stood by their big Mercedes, smoking cigarettes. The German architect had spent three days in hospital after being stabbed by Houari and bore a large pink scar on his chin.

‘Sorry Marc’s late,’ Henderson said. ‘This old truck isn’t so swift.’

Unless it was raining Kuefer and Henderson always exchanged a few words in German. Henderson wanted to make sure that no last-minute alteration would ruin Marc’s schedule.

‘Boulogne today?’ Henderson asked.

‘Meeting here in Calais first, then down to Boulogne,’ Kuefer confirmed. ‘If ever you’re down that way you have to eat at Gérard’s, the food is magnificent.’

Kuefer blew a kiss to emphasise his point as Marc climbed into the car. The German hadn’t met the other boys before. Henderson introduced Paul as his younger son and PT as his nephew and the two lads politely shook Kuefer’s hand.

Marc stared at the back of Schroder’s head as the Mercedes drove out of the cobbled square, uncomfortable with the thought that if everything went to plan the two Germans only had a few hours to live.

*

06:44 Calais

Henderson acted like a model employee and never missed an opportunity to please Oberst Ohlsen. He’d set a regular schedule each morning, spending ten or fifteen minutes flirting with the female admin staff and picking up the latest gossip. Then he’d go to the wireless room and collect any radio messages or telegrams that had arrived overnight, which meant that he often knew what was going on in Berlin before the Oberst himself.

When Ohlsen and his assistant arrived shortly after seven o’clock, Henderson would be waiting with fresh coffee, German newspapers and the urgent messages. Unless Ohlsen was exceptionally busy, Henderson would be invited to stay for coffee and the Oberst’s general mood and off the cuff remarks often contained as much valuable intelligence as the official communications.

On this particular Monday, Henderson also sprinkled a vial of toxic crystals into the sugar bowl. He wasn’t sure what it contained, only that it had been specially prepared by a London chemist and carried over by the dead parachutist.

‘How was your day off?’ Ohlsen asked cheerfully as he came into the office ahead of his assistant.

‘Any day off is a good one,’ Henderson replied, as he took the Germans’ coats and hooked them up outside. When he got back, Ohlsen’s assistant was pouring coffee into the three cups.

‘You don’t take sugar, do you Boyle?’ he asked.

‘Four spoons for me,’ Ohlsen said, as Henderson shook his head.

12:15 Boulogne

Marc yawned as the Mercedes pulled up across the street from Gérard’s fish restaurant.

‘You don’t look so good, Marc,’ Kuefer noted.

‘Tired,’ Marc said, as he looked behind for traffic before opening the car door out into the road.

‘Things should calm down in a week or two when we run out of barges to convert,’ Kuefer said. ‘I can go back to designing gun turrets instead of converting rotten canal barges, and I’ve heard that the administration will be reopening schools once the harvest is in.’

‘And I’ll not have to drive up and down these damned coast roads,’ Schroder added. ‘I’ll probably have the pleasure of fighting my way through the English countryside instead.’

Marc looked across the street and saw that Gérard’s was already filling up with its usual lunchtime crowd of German officers and wealthy French. It rankled Marc that in all the time he’d worked with Kuefer he’d never once been invited inside.

‘If you