not PT’s lanky frame, so he had no view backwards as he lifted the clutch. He didn’t have the feel for the van, and the engine coughed and very nearly stalled before the back wheels finally turned.
The doorman got his hands on the driver’s side door and ripped it open.
‘Come here, you little Herberts,’ he shouted, as he tried to grab PT’s arm.
As the car shot backwards, the gun rolled off the back of Rosie’s seat and plunged down into a gap. It twisted as it dropped, simultaneously pinning Joel’s ankle to the floor of the van and hitting the gear lever, knocking the car into neutral.
The engine stalled as Joel screamed out in pain. The doorman caught up as PT frantically tried to restart the engine and get the van back in gear. He reached through the still-open door, grabbed PT under the arm and pulled hard.
Marc saw what was happening. He didn’t think he was strong enough to stop the doorman without a weapon and the first thing that came to hand was the small hunting knife in his coat pocket. He clutched the handle tight, reached over the back of PT’s seat and stuck the jagged blade deep into the doorman’s grasping arm.
The big man screamed as Marc tore the knife back towards himself. PT felt a spurt of blood hitting the side of his face, as the engine clattered back into life. The doorman stumbled back and tripped backwards over the mailbags piled on the tarmac.
PT found reverse gear, then leaned forwards to pull the door shut. Up ahead, the two security men almost had their hands on the front wing. Although PT was shaking he got the clutch up properly and the car started rolling backwards.
‘I can’t see,’ PT screamed. ‘Marc, tell me what’s out the back.’
‘I think I broke my foot,’ Joel whimpered.
‘Go back twenty metres,’ Marc shouted. ‘Steer left … no, left. You’re gonna hit the gate. Other way, other way,’
‘You said left,’ PT shouted.
The confusion was caused by the fact that the boys were facing in opposite directions, but PT managed to correct the steering and they narrowly avoided a short ride into a brick gatepost.
‘People?’ PT yelled.
‘It’s all clear. Keep going.’
The little van reversed at speed between two gateposts, then swung into the road that ran along the front of Walden’s factory. PT hit the brake. After a lot of crunching and a couple of seconds studying the little diagram engraved in the metal plate under the gearstick, he selected first gear and juddered away.
‘You’re on the wrong side of the road,’ Rosie warned, as she nudged the steering wheel.
‘Let me drive,’ PT roared furiously, as he nearly swerved into a parked car while staring at the gear knob trying to find second.
‘I can’t see anyone following,’ Marc said, as they began steady progress down a deserted stretch of road.
‘So where do we go now?’ Rosie asked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Luc watched the Poles through a gap in the bomb-damaged warehouse wall. He didn’t speak Polish so he wouldn’t have understood what they were saying even if he’d been close enough to hear, but their body language conveyed everything he needed to know.
The lanky lieutenant Tomaszewski was in charge. The other man was a hairy private named Wozniak. Wozniak didn’t say much, and Luc knew he wasn’t too bright because he’d let PT fleece him at poker long after the other Poles and Frenchmen gave up.
The Poles lowered the body of the gun on a length of rope, then followed it down with the loose pieces slung in sacks over their back. Luc smiled at their shocked expressions when they reached the ground and found their unconscious comrade, with his leg buckled and his bloody mouth oozing into the snow.
They held a heated discussion: did a fall really cause these injuries? Should they carry on, or concentrate on helping their injured colleague?
Luc backed away as Wozniak clambered away from the rubble mound and grabbed a dock porter with a four-wheeled handcart. The porter’s suspicious nature was allayed by three ten-shilling notes, which made the better part of two days’ wages.
The porter looked agitated and tried to hand the money back when he saw the body in the snow. Lieutenant Tomaszewski got him back on side with a lengthy explanation and more money.
The stricken Pole started to come around as the three men lifted him on to the cart. This made Luc nervous: he might tell Tomaszewski that he’d been attacked rather than fallen from