The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,49

stood in the hallway of a large house, with a curved staircase behind and a stag’s head mounted on the wall above her head.

‘Is it Henderson?’ Paul whispered impatiently.

Rosie smiled and nodded before shushing her brother. ‘Mr Henderson! Thank god it’s you,’ she said. ‘You don’t know me, but I believe you knew my father, Digby Clarke?’

‘Very well indeed,’ Herr Potente said warmly.

‘My father was killed in an air raid last week. The last thing he did was ask us to try and find you.’

‘I see,’ Potente said, struggling not to sound too excited. ‘I’m sorry for your loss; your father was a good man and a great servant of his country.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosie said politely.

‘Now. I believe your father had some important documents. Do you know of their whereabouts?’

‘Yes,’ Rosie said happily. ‘That’s exactly why we’re contacting you. We’ve kept all of the blueprints and documents relating to Mannstein’s radio. We were trying to get south to put them on a boat at Bordeaux, but all our petrol got stolen and—’

‘Where are you now …?’ Suddenly Potente realised he ought to sound sympathetic. ‘I’m sorry; you have had a terrible time this past week. You must be Digby’s daughter. It’s Rosie, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, Mr Henderson,’ Rosie said, nodding. ‘We’re just outside Tours, staying with a retired priest. It’s comfortable, but we’ll try heading south again with the documents if that’s what you want.’

‘No,’ Potente said sharply. ‘The roads are still dangerous. And I take it you have no transport?’

‘None,’ Rosie confirmed. ‘Although the priest looking after us seems well connected. He might be able to sort something out …’

‘There’s no need to trouble him,’ Potente said. ‘I’m in Paris, and so the front line now lies between us. I’m sure I can find a way through, but it may be a day or two before I can reach you.’

‘And what then?’ Rosie asked. ‘Will you be able to get us on a boat to England?’

‘Absolutely,’ Potente said, smoothly. ‘Now, the phone lines could go down at any time, so I must have the address of the farm where you’re staying. Just sit tight and don’t worry about a thing. You’re completely safe.’

*

Marc lay on the floor with a mouthful of blood as Herr Potente put the telephone receiver down and grinned at the Oberst.

‘Fate has turned in our favour,’ he smiled, as he waved the notebook on which he’d written the address of the farm.

‘Luck,’ the Oberst spat fiercely. ‘I don’t like to rely on luck. You should have been monitoring calls to this house all along.’

Potente shook his head with frustration. ‘It wasn’t possible while the city was under French control. I only had six men under my command—’

‘Yes, yes,’ the Oberst interupted impatiently. ‘I’ve heard your excuses already. What are you planning to do now?’

Potente thought for a second. ‘The problem is, the documents are behind French lines. If their army regroups outside Paris …’

‘Regroups!’ The Oberst laughed. ‘The French Army has nothing left to regroup. The only thing holding up our advance are retreating French troops clogging the roads.’

‘I’ll need a car and some fuel to go up to the front line,’ Potente said.

‘Very well,’ the Oberst said, nodding. ‘Herr Schmidt will organise it. Now I must head for this Hotel Etalon. I’ll arrange for Mannstein to be transported to Poland and inform him that he’ll be reunited with his blueprints within a few days.’

Potente looked confused. ‘I thought a production facility was being constructed for Mannstein in Germany?’

The Oberst shook his head with utter contempt. ‘Don’t be an idiot! Mannstein is a Jew. The SS has special facilities for Jewish scientists and researchers in Poland.’

‘I don’t think he’ll like that,’ Potente said. ‘We’ve negotiated an agreement for facilities in Hamburg. Mannstein’s name may sound Jewish but he’s married to a Catholic, so he’s a lapsed Jew at worst …’

‘I’m sure that the SS guards will ensure Mannstein adapts to his new home.’ The Oberst smiled. ‘And I don’t intend to debate Gestapo policy with a junior Abwehr officer. Is that clear, Herr Potente?’

‘Of course, Herr Oberst,’ Potente said, resignedly. ‘One final question. What would you like me to do with Clarke’s children once I’ve recaptured the documents?’

The Oberst shrugged. ‘They might know something about Henderson, so make sure they’re properly interrogated. Then kill them.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Marc woke up to find the room dark and a man gently slapping his cheek to bring him around. The roof of his mouth was lined with clotted blood.

‘Keep calm,’