The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,64

into a living room. The way through to the kitchen was clear and Potente noted the three children sitting at the dining table. He correctly assumed that Paul and Rosie were the two older ones.

‘Welcome, Mr Henderson,’ Father Doran said, as he stood up to move towards the stove. ‘You’ve had a long journey. Would you like some fresh coffee?’

‘Wonderful,’ Potente said, smelling the bread baking in the oven as he rubbed his hands and looked at the children. ‘I’m afraid we can’t stay for long. I got a Morse-code signal through to London and I’ve secured us a place on a ship from Bordeaux, but it’s leaving at thirteen-hundred, which is cutting things a little fine.’

‘We’ve heard so much about you, Mr Henderson,’ Rosie said brightly. ‘Our father often spoke about you.’

‘Really?’ Potente said warily.

Father Doran placed a mug of coffee on the dining table. ‘Do sit down, Mr Henderson.’

Paul looked up as Potente took a chair. ‘You and my father were on the same ship for a while, weren’t you?’ he asked.

‘HMS Manchester,’ Rosie added.

Potente nodded. ‘It was a long time ago, but I’ll tell you some stories once we get going. Your father was a great man.’

Hugo chose this moment to push his chair back and get down from the table. The six year old was stunned by the sight of Yvette leaning into the doorway and aiming the barrels of a shotgun at Potente’s head. The youngster’s expression was enough to make Potente swivel around just as Yvette pulled the trigger.

The blast sent a shower of pellets into Potente’s back and shoulder, but shotgun pellets are less deadly than weapons that fire a single projectile and Potente grabbed his revolver as the old lady reloaded.

‘Our dad never served on the Manchester,’ Paul shouted, as he scrambled away from the table.

Yvette took a step closer as she pulled the trigger again. This time the pellets were spread over a tighter area and tore a huge hole in Potente’s back. As the German’s head hit the dining table, Father Doran was the first to realise that there had been two shots at the same moment.

Hugo slammed into the kitchen dresser as a bullet hit him in the armpit. The projectile kept going, passing through the soft tissue of his lung and shredding his ribcage as it exited through the front of his chest.

‘Hugo,’ Rosie screamed, as the boy collapsed in front of the cabinet.

Hugo tried to scream as Yvette dropped the shotgun and ran towards him, but blood was flooding his lungs and all he could do was heave the warm liquid into his mouth. Paul couldn’t bear to look and he grabbed the back door and stumbled outside, on to crumbled earth with chicken coops on either side of him.

Potente crashed off the dining chair as Rosie snatched the revolver from his dead fingertips.

‘Oh Hugo, I’m sorry,’ Yvette sobbed, as Father Doran stepped one way then another, unsure what to do. ‘We should have kept you out of the way, but … I’m so sorry.’

Paul peeked back around the door and watched as the old lady took Hugo’s limp body and drew him into a bloody hug. It seemed impossible that the little lad who’d been filling his cheeks with bread and pulling faces across the table two minutes earlier was dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Marc hardly slept because of the pain in his mouth, but Henderson had been on his feet for days. He crashed out on Miss McAfferty’s bed and slept like the dead. When it got light Marc found tinned fruit and English baked beans in a cupboard. He’d now mastered using a tin opener and once the cans were open he mashed the contents because he was too sore to chew.

He tried the radio, but the apartment hadn’t been occupied for two months and the battery was flat. It was undeniably a lady’s apartment, with flowery wallpaper and a smell like talcum powder and cats.

‘It’s almost lunchtime,’ Henderson complained, scratching his arse as he wandered into the living room. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

Marc sat in an armchair flicking through a bird spotters’ manual.

‘I did wonder, but I thought you’d probably shout at me.’

‘I might have done,’ Henderson said with a smile. ‘I’ve popped a dozen Benzedrine pills to stay awake over the last week. My head’s banging like a drum.’

‘Makes two of us,’ Marc said, baring his lips to show Henderson the bloody sore inside his mouth.

‘Did you gargle saltwater like I told you last