the ladder. But Luc could do nothing to control that part of the situation and it seemed OK as the porter hurried off with the stricken man on his cart, while the two remaining Poles balanced the gun on their shoulders.
They struggled with the weight and Luc saw there was no way he’d be able to carry the body of the gun and the accompanying sack of accessories on his own. He needed the Poles to get the gun to London.
Tomaszewski made no attempt to disguise the gun as they moved through the warehouse, but the pair moved as fast as the weight allowed, because the porter dragging the bloody body on his cart was causing a stir amongst the traders. He’d found an open-backed truck and as far as Luc could tell its driver was a decent fellow who was happy to take the Pole to hospital. He even refused the porter’s offer of money.
Once Luc was certain Tomaszewski and Wozniak were heading back towards the bus he raced ahead of them. Sitting inside the bus was risky, but Luc didn’t fancy being stuck in the luggage hold the whole way to London. He rushed towards the main door, at the front of the bus, a metre behind the driver’s seat. The Poles had no keys for the stolen bus, so they’d left it open. Before stepping aboard, Luc raised the flap over the small side compartment from which the Poles had retrieved the toolkit. He didn’t have a clear idea of how to deal with Tomaszewski and Wozniak and hoped he’d find something useful.
The compartment smelled like exhaust fumes. There was a balled-up set of mechanic’s overalls, a tow rope, a breakdown warning sign, a big flashlight, bottles of engine oil, distilled water and two small cans of diesel.
The Poles were now less than thirty metres from the bus. Luc might have used the flashlight to whack someone, but he already had the bike chain and police officer’s truncheon in his satchel. He thought the fuel might be useful if he needed to start a fire, so he grabbed the half-full metal can before diving inside the bus.
Luc saw the Poles crossing the street through the driver’s-side window and crouched down low before they sighted him. He ran to the back of the bus and threw all his stuff on the back seat.
As Tomaszewski and Wozniak struggled aboard with the gun, Luc lay sideways across the rear seats and tucked his knees into his chest so that his boots didn’t protrude into the aisle.
Wozniak sounded distressed as the gun crashed down to the floor. He was upset about losing two members of the team, and although Luc couldn’t understand Polish it seemed that both men were suspicious about what had happened at the base of the pylon.
The only things Luc understood were the words Walker and the initials SOE. He smiled as he realised that the Poles thought Air Vice Marshal Walker had sent a special squad out to sabotage their operation and wondered what their reaction would be when they found out it was the work of a thirteen-year-old.
*
The little Post Office van was full of noise as it belted through the streets towards the centre of Manchester.
‘Look at the fuel gauge,’ Rosie said anxiously. ‘We’ll never get to London on a quarter tank and we can’t buy more without petrol coupons.’
‘This van is red hot anyway,’ PT said. ‘Even if we had the petrol, every cop within three counties will be on the lookout for a stolen Post Office van with four kids inside before much longer.’
‘And no offence, PT, but your driving’s rubbish,’ Marc said. ‘We’ll end up wrapped around a tree at this rate.’
‘I can’t get used to this thing,’ PT said.
As if to prove his point, PT stopped at a T-junction and stalled as he pulled out. The car behind had to slam on the brakes and the driver blasted his horn.
‘Don’t honk me, you turd,’ PT yelled, waving his fist as he leaned out of the window and gave the driver the finger. ‘Sit on this, you old goat.’
The car shuddered as PT let the clutch up too fast, but this time he kept the engine running and they made the turn.
The only one who wasn’t speaking was Joel. Tears streaked down his face as he sat with his back against the side of the van, tightly gripping his ankle.
‘Can you move your foot at all?’ Marc asked.
‘No,’ Joel said, through gritted