The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,51

It was his daughter that telephoned and Potente is going down to this place in Tours to collect the plans and interrogate his kids about you.’

Henderson slapped his hands against his cheeks. ‘Shit,’ he shouted, standing up and lashing out at a waste-paper basket. ‘I can’t believe Clarke’s dead. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

‘We can’t stay here,’ he continued – calmer, but only slightly. ‘If the Gestapo find the guard I killed they’ll kill you out of spite, along with anyone else who happens to be in the neighbourhood. How are your legs? Are you up for a walk?’

‘My mouth’s throbbing, but there’s nothing wrong with my legs,’ Marc said, as he leaned on the side of an armchair and pulled himself off the floor. He felt light-headed, but he was starting to get control over his shaking hands.

‘I have to go to the Hotel Etalon and get to Mannstein,’ Henderson said, thinking aloud. ‘Then get down to Tours and find those kids before Potente gets hold of them.’

‘Maybe I can help,’ Marc said determinedly. ‘I can’t stay here and they’ve stolen all my money.’

‘You look pretty tough,’ Henderson said uncertainly. ‘And I could do with a hand, but …’

‘They ripped out my tooth,’ Marc spat. ‘Give me a gun and I’ll blow their bastard heads off.’

‘It’s not a game, kid. The Gestapo kill people like that,’ Henderson said, clicking his fingers for effect. ‘I can give you a couple of thousand francs and drop you off somewhere across town. The way things are you should find another empty house easily enough.’

‘I never did anything to them,’ Marc continued. ‘I want to get them back. I know I’m just a kid, but I’m clever. I won’t mess up, I swear.’

Henderson sucked air between his teeth as he weighed up Marc’s offer. He didn’t like the idea of putting a boy in danger, but he was exhausted and didn’t fancy entering Gestapo headquarters alone.

‘If the Gestapo catch you they’ll torture you, then stick you up against a post and shoot you through the head,’ Henderson warned.

Marc smiled awkwardly. ‘We’d better not get caught then.’

‘OK …’ Henderson said, half smiling. ‘Let me think for a few seconds. The Gestapo have only just arrived in town, and that’s our main advantage. Potente is the only one who knows what I look like and he’s gone south to Tours. With luck we can sneak into the hotel, find Mannstein’s room and kill him.’

‘I thought we’d be helping him to escape,’ Marc gasped.

Henderson shook his head. ‘We’ve already negotiated with Mannstein and invited him back to Britain. He chose to work with the Nazis and he won’t change his mind now.’

‘That was another thing that got mentioned,’ Marc said. ‘They’ve told Mannstein that he’s going to Hamburg, but Oberst Hinze is actually sending him to some place in Poland.’

‘A special labour camp, most likely.’ Henderson nodded. ‘Clarke and I told Mannstein that the Nazis would never treat a French Jew with any kind of respect, but he didn’t believe us. He’s like an awful lot of people who get taken in by Nazi promises, whilst turning a blind eye to the fact that they’re a bunch of racist thugs.’

Henderson reached above his bookcase and opened a hidden flap. Beneath it were two bolts, which enabled the entire bookcase to roll forwards on castors when they were released.

‘Blimey.’ Marc smiled as he took another sip of whisky. ‘I never knew it did that.’

‘I came back because of this lot, not out of concern for you,’ Henderson admitted, as he grabbed the wooden dado rail halfway up the wall and lifted out a perfectly disguised panel, behind which a three-shelved compartment was built into the wall.

‘Is that gold?’ Marc asked, as he eyed a stack of shining ingots. But before he got an answer his gaze was drawn towards cardboard boxes filled with ammunition and three guns hanging from hooks.

‘Sten gun,’ Henderson said, as he pulled one out and showed it to Marc. ‘Not the most accurate weapon, but if you’ve got five seconds and you need to kill everyone in a room it’s bloody handy. Mind you, this is more useful for what we’re doing.’

Henderson pulled out an automatic pistol with a silencer screwed on the front. ‘I’m going to be using this,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ll give you the Sten, but it’s a weapon of last resort because half of Paris will hear all about it when you pull the trigger on that thing.’

‘What about the gold?’