The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,72
inspect the passports.
‘I only see three,’ he said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Marc.
‘His father was killed in an air raid, the documents were all destroyed.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we have strict regulations to prevent German agents from entering Britain. Every passenger must have proper documentation.’
‘But he’s just a child,’ Henderson spluttered.
‘I know what you’re saying sir, but rules are rules. Especially in wartime. You’ll have to apply for a passport from the consular office in town. It opens at nine tomorrow.’
Marc didn’t understand English and had to ask Rosie to explain what was going on.
‘When will the next boat be here?’ Henderson asked.
‘We’re the only boat running this route now,’ the officer said. ‘If things go to schedule, we’ll be back here Tuesday morning and set to sail Tuesday afternoon.’
Henderson tried to think fast. He knew there was no point trying to throw his weight around, because as a spy he carried no documentation that proved his rank. He felt a tug on his sleeve and saw Marc look up at him.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Marc said. ‘I’ll survive on my own.’
Henderson shook his head resolutely. ‘Don’t be bloody daft, boy,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.’
A great klaxon blasted out on the dockside and a shout of All aboard went up. Henderson was in a full-on panic.
‘Paul, Rosie,’ he said, ‘this is your chance. Take your things and the documents and get on board. When you arrive in Britain, ask to speak to Miss Eileen McAfferty at the Home Office, sixty-four Kensington High Street. Tell her what’s happened and I promise she’ll look after you.’
There was a mix-up over whose stuff was in each bag as Henderson made sure that Rosie had enough French francs to buy her tickets and two pound notes for when she arrived in Britain. She quickly kissed Henderson on the forehead and raced towards the French officials, who stood up and waved the two children through.
‘Run, run,’ they urged.
The crew was ready to pull in the last gangplank as the Clarkes chased across the dockside. They made the ramp with a heavy bag in each arm and the last of the ship’s crew behind them.
Back in the terminal Henderson turned to Marc and smiled. ‘Hopefully we can find a room for the night, then we’ll go and see the consul in the morning.’
‘OK.’ Marc said, nodding. ‘I owe you.’
Henderson realised his companion was a touch blurry-eyed and he put an arm around the boy’s back.
‘Did you really think I’d abandon you after everything we’ve been through?’
EPILOGUE
Paul hated the sea. He’d crossed the English Channel many times, always with a green face poised over a sick bag and his father telling him that it was better out than in. The prospect of a far longer voyage from Bordeaux to Plymouth filled him with dread.
The ship was dilapidated and the corridors were blacked out to avoid detection by Germans at night. This meant the cabin stewards had to show passengers to their cabins by torchlight. As they walked, the prop shaft ran at full speed, making noise and vibration that was close to unbearable.
‘You’ve got a blackout curtain over your porthole,’ the steward said. ‘Once it gets dark, don’t open it – don’t even touch it. The tiniest chink of light is all the Boche need to spot us in the night. There’s U-boats 6 on the prowl, so we’ll be going flat out whenever the sea lets us, but that makes for a choppy ride. I recommend you stay in your cabin as much as you can. There’s a canteen up on the next deck, but there’s no food till morning. I’ll be down with tea and hot water in about an hour.’
The metal door of the tiny cabin squealed and Paul was knocked back by the smell of cigarettes. The beds were filthy, the bin overflowing and the sliding door leading to a toilet and washbasin hung off its runners.
‘Sorry about the state of the cabin, but we’ve been running back and forth for two weeks without time for the cleaners to come aboard.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Rosie said, smiling bravely as the steward flicked a switch to turn on a tiny light bulb. ‘It’s a ride home and that’s all that matters.’
Paul sat on the lower bunk as the door clanged shut and thought about England. While Rosie called it home, he could only remember living in Paris. The swaying was already making him feel sick and he knew it would