One Shot Kill - Robert Muchamore Page 0,25

before I can pass this across.’

Joyce wasn’t the kind of person who gave a damn about saluting, but it pissed her off when people looked at the chair instead of the stripes on her uniform. She signed a receipt for the small waterproof packet, and turned her chair around.

‘Would you like me to wheel you anywhere, ma’am?’ the rider asked.

Joyce ground her teeth. ‘I’m perfectly capable,’ she snapped. ‘And I made hot tea for you inside. You’re welcome to warm up and use the facilities before riding back.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the rider said. ‘A cuppa would be most welcome.’

As the rider walked into the school building, Joyce wheeled herself quickly towards a prefabricated Nissen hut and entered via a wooden ramp. Third Officer Elizabeth DeVere – known to all as Boo – was already under the curved metal roof, lighting an oil-burning heater.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ Boo said, as Joyce wheeled past a radio transmitter the size of a filing cabinet and threw the packet on to a large planning table.

‘Have you seen Captain Henderson?’ Joyce asked. ‘He’ll want to see this immediately.’

‘He’s up and in uniform,’ Boo replied. ‘I think he’s bringing a couple of the boys down to help with analysis.’

As Boo spoke she used a tea-towel to dry the outside of the waterproof pouch. She then slid out a small, seventy-two-page grey notebook.

‘Real or fake?’ Joyce asked as she wheeled up to the table. ‘Fancy a bet?’

*

Captain Charles Henderson was slightly disgusted by the aroma of teenage boy as he crossed the first-floor dormitory room with a white drill stick tucked under his arm.

‘Wakey wakey,’ Henderson said, as he gave fifteen-year-old Marc Kilgour a good poke. ‘Hands off cocks, feet in socks!’

As Marc groaned, Henderson turned and ripped the covers from the next bed, exposing Rosie Clarke’s skinny fourteen-year-old brother, Paul.

‘Bloody hell,’ Paul moaned, as Marc stretched into a lazy yawn. ‘What time is it?’

‘For you two, it’s time to get up,’ Henderson said, as he looked around at the room’s other occupants, PT and Joel. ‘Whereas you two clearly need your beauty sleep.’

Marc and Paul pulled on shirts, trousers and army boots before dashing to the bathroom. Henderson began a lecture as they peed.

‘Rosie arrived in Paris two days ago with a mysterious grey notebook. It either contains valuable scientific information, or is part of some fiendish Gestapo plot. A preliminary assessment made in Paris indicates that the notebook might contain valuable intelligence.

‘The notebook was immediately taken by train to Switzerland in a false suitcase compartment. From there, the package was put aboard a British diplomatic flight. The flight landed at Croydon aerodrome just after midnight and was immediately brought here by motorbike. First Officer Slater will co-ordinate a detailed intelligence analysis.’

By this time the boys had finished urinating and Henderson was leading them down the stairs.

‘Our first task is to make photographs of the notebook’s entire content. I want you two to deal with this. Develop the films and print eight sets of photographs. Images and prints must be of reference quality, every word must be legible. I want them printed and dried, and ready for distribution to any additional intelligence experts who need to see them. Is that clear?’

‘Crystal clear, sir,’ Paul said. He was delighted because he’d rather spend time developing photographs than go through the usual campus morning routine of a three-mile cross-country run followed by physical jerks in the gymnasium. ‘Did you get any other news on my sister?’

‘Obviously we’re restricted to brief Morse code transmissions. All we know is that Rosie is in Paris, being looked after by Ghost’s resistance circuit.’

As Henderson and Paul swept past a sodden motorcyclist drinking tea and warming his hands over a radiator, Marc went in the other direction towards the kitchen.

‘Where are you going?’ Henderson barked. ‘You haven’t got time for breakfast.’

‘I was going to put on a large saucepan,’ Marc explained. ‘We’ll need warm water for developing.’

‘Yes, excellent thinking,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ll see you in the radio shack.’

‘Good morning, Captain,’ Boo and Joyce said, when Henderson led Paul into the hut.

Both girls had been selected for intelligence work because they were exceptionally bright. Joyce was a Cambridge maths graduate who was regarded as one of the best code breakers and intelligence analysts in the country. Boo was younger and had joined the Royal Navy directly from a posh finishing school.

Henderson saw that the girls were going through the pages quickly, trying to form an initial impression.

‘What have we got?’ Henderson asked.

‘I’m making lists,’ Boo said