mile-long circuit of the factory and they liked what they’d seen.
Silk cloth was in great demand and there was heavy security at the main gate, where trucks and workers were selected for random inspection by a team of elderly security guards. The effort discouraged casual theft by employees, but a more organised villain would have no difficulty getting over the shoulder-height wire fence that enclosed the compound. There were even stretches where twenty or thirty metres of fence lay flat on the ground.
The four kids were soggy and tired, but stealing the gun looked doable and spirits were the highest they’d been all night as they headed into a sixty-table cafeteria directly opposite the factory. It was packed out and the three boys felt conspicuous as they cut through the noise and cigarette smoke, slowly realising that they were the only men in the joint.
The women were all shapes and ages. The older ones wore headscarves and aprons, the younger ones plain dresses. None of them wore make-up, lest it rub off on to the precious fabric. Everyone seemed to be slagging off their husband or boyfriend and when laughter broke out it was a shrill explosion that ended with the smokers’ rattling coughs.
PT spotted a group standing up and grabbed their table.
‘Lovely bum, ducks,’ one of them told him, before pinching his backside and laughing noisily.
PT flushed red with embarrassment as he sat down. Plenty of male drivers and warehousemen worked in the factory across the street, but he now understood why none of them came in here.
‘What’s off ration?’ Rosie asked, when the waitress came to the table.
‘Tea and toast.’
‘Fantastic,’ Rosie smiled, as PT pulled out his wallet.
‘Pay at the counter on the way out,’ the waitress explained.
They took off as many wet clothes as decency allowed and rubbed cold hands as they waited for the toast. There was enough noise at the surrounding tables that they wouldn’t be overheard and it was unlikely that anyone in this room full of Mancunian machinists understood French anyway.
‘I like what we saw out there,’ Joel said.
PT and Marc both nodded from the opposite side of the table. Rosie was more cautious. ‘We can’t actually see what’s up on the roof.’
‘Guns and searchlights won’t be manned,’ Marc said.
‘How can you know that?’ Joel asked, as the waitress put down a tray with four teas and eight slices of buttered toast on a chipped plate.
‘Bit short of plates, you’ll have to share,’ the waitress said, as she tore a bill off her pad. ‘Always hectic at this time of the morning because of the shift change.’
‘When is that?’ Rosie asked. ‘I’m waiting for my older sister to come out.’
‘Eight,’ the waitress said. ‘Come back here in an hour and you’ll be lucky to find six customers.’
‘Thanks very much,’ PT said.
None of the kids had eaten since they’d left Scotland and the toast vanished rapidly as the conversation continued.
‘Why are you so sure that the guns won’t be manned?’ Joel repeated.
‘Because it’s getting light,’ Marc explained. ‘We’re in the west. If the Germans bombed us here at this time of day, they’d have to fly back across Britain and all over the North Sea in broad daylight.’
‘Makes sense,’ Rosie nodded.
‘Our biggest problem is getting up on that roof,’ PT said.
‘There’s ladders bolted to the building,’ Joel said. ‘I counted at least two along each side.’
‘I know,’ PT nodded. ‘We can sneak up the ladders, but that gun is going to be heavy and we’ll have to lower it by rope. That takes time and we’re bound to be spotted.’
‘So what do we do?’ Rosie asked.
‘The offices,’ PT said, with a wry smile. ‘Up to the third floor, climb out on to the factory roof, grab the gun and carry it down the stairs.’
*
The floor of the bus’s luggage compartment was bare metal. Rust had eaten through at the corners, leaving holes that were open to spray coming up off the road. To make matters worse, the Pole at the steering wheel was a maniac. Luc got thrown across the slippery floor on every corner and bumps flung him up and slammed him hard against the metal floor.
It was a forty-minute ride and when the engine finally cut out, Luc felt like tenderised meat. A peek through the gap around the boot flap showed that they were parked on a busy dockside.
Luc needed to get out fast to avoid losing track of the Poles, but the compartment wasn’t designed to be opened from inside.