touched water in a decade.
‘Khinde, Rufus,’ Marc said, as he pulled a length of wire out of his trouser pocket and raised one eyebrow teasingly. ‘You all set?’
Khinde was a fearsome looking man who always worked bare-chested. Rufus was a Moroccan. Pale skinned, slender, and whose accent had more in common with a wealthy Frenchman than a North African.
‘You got the equipment, Peaches?’ Rufus asked, as he and Khinde backed away from the boat and the dice game. Marc’s nickname came from the tins of fruit he brought them.
‘It’ll come in the boot of the Mercedes,’ Marc explained. ‘Did you hear your message on the BBC?’
Marc had been friendly with Khinde and Rufus since the day the Germans murdered Houari, but tins of peaches weren’t enough to convince them that a twelve-year-old boy offered a genuine chance of escape, so Henderson had arranged for the BBC to transmit a message in the list of announcements that were made after the evening news.
‘It’s not easy getting your ear to a radio in the prison camp,’ Rufus smiled. ‘But we managed: Peaches sends best wishes to the friends of Houari.’
‘So you believe me now?’ Marc asked.
‘We believe,’ Rufus said, as he pulled Marc into a heartfelt embrace.
Khinde spoke loudly. ‘These Germans call us apes. They won’t ever let a black man go. So better to die trying to escape, eh?’
A couple of the other African prisoners overheard. Rufus moved further back and gave Khinde a withering stare.
‘Peaches said it was a small boat,’ Rufus growled. ‘We can’t help the others.’
‘We could take more men,’ Khinde said. ‘Let them escape, let them find another boat.’
‘If there’s no escape plan they’ll be massacred,’ Rufus said. ‘The French hate us as much as the Germans. How far do you think they’ll get?’
‘The other men look up to you,’ Khinde said. ‘You’re a leader.’
Marc knew he had to act, but he wasn’t comfortable ordering grown men around. ‘I need to know,’ Marc said resolutely. ‘You help me with the plan exactly like we discussed and you’ll have a good chance to escape. Otherwise I’ll walk away and you can slave for the Nazis until they either shoot or starve you. Decide now.’
Marc started walking towards the draftsmen’s huts and was hugely relieved when the two Africans started to follow.
‘I like Peaches when he’s angry,’ Rufus smiled, and Khinde laughed noisily.
Marc stopped at one of the wooden picnic benches where the French supervisors ate lunch. ‘Kuefer wants a couple of men,’ he explained. ‘I’m taking these two.’
The supervisor looked baffled as he scraped a dirty hand through his hair. ‘Why the hell does Kuefer want labourers?’
Marc shrugged. ‘Ask him yourself. You think he discusses every detail with me?’
‘Are you sure you want blacks?’ the foreman asked. ‘Or does he want someone who’ll actually do some work?’
The other foremen all laughed and Marc pretended to be irritated. ‘If you want to argue with Kuefer I’ll send ’em back, but he’s in a shit mood today, so I wouldn’t recommend it.’
The foreman waved his hand towards the offices and smiled. ‘And who am I to argue with the orders of our mighty occupiers?’
‘Dickhead,’ Marc mumbled to himself as he led Khinde and Rufus between two recently built huts where the drawings were made for the barge modifications. Beyond this was a storage yard stacked with dozens of empty tar drums.
‘Take one each,’ Marc said.
At the far side of the yard was a fire-damaged warehouse that had served as the draftsmen’s office until the construction of the weatherproof huts.
‘Go in there and keep quiet,’ Marc said, as he passed Rufus and Khinde strands of piano wire. ‘You’ve got to be ready as soon as they come through the door.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
13:12 Calais
Henderson spent most of the morning translating at a planning meeting between a German major and French railway bosses. The railway officials had mastered the art of appearing to cooperate while subtly raising objections and declaring that virtually everything the occupiers asked for was impossible.
He’d struggled not to laugh aloud when one railway controller abruptly told the Germans that the best way to bring fuel and other supplies required for the invasion would be to release the thousands of French railway engineers who were being held in prisoner-of-war camps and then wait six months while repairs were completed, or better still to have not bombed so many French railway lines and bridges in the first place.
When the railway meeting was over, Henderson walked across the square and headed up to