The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,12

the gun down towards Paul’s shoe. ‘Perhaps your memory will function better after your son has a hole in his foot?’

Paul wasn’t the bravest kid in the world and his stomach felt like someone was using it to churn butter.

‘I just brought the papers in with me,’ Mr Clarke said. ‘They’re in my briefcase.’

‘Very good. Show them to me,’ the German smiled, ‘but keep your hands where I can see them.’

Mr Clarke backed into the hallway and began walking towards the living room.

‘Follow your father,’ the German ordered, gesturing towards the door with the end of his gun.

Paul felt horribly small as he stepped through to the living room. Mr Clarke picked his briefcase up from the rug and rested it atop a small table to open it. Rosie stepped up to a long sofa and the German nodded that it was OK for her to sit down. Paul sat at the opposite end.

Meanwhile, Mr Clarke had sprung the catches on his briefcase.

‘Don’t open it,’ the German barked nervously. ‘Turn the case towards me, then place one hand on your head.’

Paul noticed Rosie’s hand creep towards the open front of her father’s bureau. He worried she’d get shot and wished she’d just sit still and do what she was told for once.

‘Now,’ the German said, addressing Mr Clarke, ‘with your free hand, open the case. Slowly.’

Mr Clarke raised the lid and the German smiled slightly as he stepped up. Paul saw that the case was full of manila folders, similar to the ones he’d stacked up in the back of the car.

The German kept the gun on Mr Clarke as he moved closer to the case. But his expression wilted as he flipped through the folders.

‘There are no blueprints here,’ the German said. ‘Where are the rest of the papers?’

Mr Clarke acted mystified. ‘This is all I have. I don’t know of any blueprints.’

The German swung the gun around and shouted, ‘Which one of your children would you like me to kill first?’

Paul stared at his knees with a cushion clutched tightly to his side, but Rosie eyeballed the German defiantly.

‘Maybe after I’ve killed you and your son, my colleagues and I can have some fun with your daughter,’ the German smiled. ‘She’s feisty!’

Mr Clarke didn’t rise to the twisted threat and tried to sound sincere. ‘Sir, I truly don’t know of any other papers.’

‘Liar,’ the German shouted, as the main door of the apartment – which had been left ajar – moved with a slight kick.

A frail voice came from behind it. ‘Monsieur Clarke? I heard shouting …’

The gun fired and Paul hollered as the bullet smashed into Madame Mujard’s face. The impact killed the frail concierge instantly and the bullet exited the back of her skull, hitting the hallway wall with chunks of brain and skull for company.

The German baulked when he saw his elderly victim and Rosie sensed an opening. She leaped off the sofa and jammed her father’s brass letter opener into the soft flesh just below his ribcage. The German stumbled forwards and collapsed on to the suitcase. Mr Clarke grabbed his arm and twisted the gun out of his hand.

‘Rosie, grab the briefcase,’ Mr Clarke ordered, tightening the German’s arm behind his back.

Once the case was out of the way, Mr Clarke pressed the gun into the German’s left shoulder blade and shot him. After passing through the German’s torso, the bullet hit the single column supporting the table, tearing out a chunk of wood and making it snap. As the German hit the rug, Clarke stepped back with the gun at arm’s length and fired a second shot into his temple.

‘One in the heart, one in the head,’ Clarke explained as he picked up the far corner of the rug and threw it over the German’s body. Then he looked up at Rosie and tried to smile. ‘That was fantastic, sweetheart. You saved our bacon.’

But Rosie had tears in her eyes and Paul held on to the cushion as if his life depended on it. Nothing in their lives so far had prepared them for blood, brains and two dead bodies in their living room.

‘What’s going on, Dad?’ Rosie sobbed, as she shook her head with disbelief. ‘What just happened?’

‘I’ll explain in the car,’ Mr Clarke said stiffly. He didn’t want to sound so harsh, but he didn’t know how else to deal with the situation. ‘You both trust me, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘You know I wouldn’t have killed a man unless