Codename Eagle (22 page)

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Authors: Robert Rigby

BOOK: Codename Eagle
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It was dark, difficult to see. There was another closed door to the right; Didier realized it had to lead to the room where the candle flickered and where, hopefully, Alain and his prisoners were waiting.

There was no time to stop and consider; the shouts and knocking at the front door, muffled now, were continuing. Didier knew he had to keep moving forward. He kicked at the connecting door with the sole of his boot, sending it crashing back on the hinges and smashing into a stack of crockery. Plates and saucers shattered on impact as Didier moved into the adjoining room, shotgun raised.

He stopped.

It was a large room, gloomy, dark and dusty, furniture and clutter everywhere.

On the far side, Max and Julia Bernard sat facing him, side by side on two upright chairs. Their hands appeared to be tied behind their backs and their mouths were gagged. Alain stood immediately behind them, looking surprisingly unconcerned.

“We thought you’d never come in,” he said, smiling, “skulking around outside like that for so long. Well, don’t just stand there, Didier, come right in, and I’ll let your friend in, too. He’ll lose his voice if he carries on shouting like that.”

Didier didn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I’m not armed,” Alain said. He pointed to a nearby cupboard. “Look, my pistol’s on there. You’ve nothing to worry about, come on in.”

“Stand back, then,” Didier ordered, his eyes fixed on Alain’s as he took a step forward onto a faded red rug covering the floorboards. “And lift your hands up so I can see them.”

“All right,” Alain said raising his arms obligingly. “I don’t know why you’re so worried; I can’t hurt you from over here. And I really ought to let your friend in.”

Didier took another hesitant step forward and then one more, and as he glanced fleetingly at Max Bernard, he saw too late that Max was frantically shaking his head. The rug sank down and the floorboards gave way, and with a snapping and splintering of rotted wood, Didier plunged feet first into the cellar. He yelled once and then crashed heavily onto the hard mud floor.

Then there was silence: even the shouting and hammering at the front door stopped.

“Oh, dear,” Alain said brightly. “Didier seems to have fallen. I do hope he’s not hurt himself.”

FORTY-TWO

P
aul heard Didier yell and then a deep rumble, like thunder, from inside the house, and as he looked to his right he spotted a cloud of dust billowing up from a tangle of weeds by the front wall.

He moved across, covering his face. He pushed away the weeds and saw a grille made up of thick iron bars set into the ground. It was obviously an access to a cellar and Paul realized that his friend must have somehow fallen into it.

As the dust cleared, he grabbed two of the bars and heaved. They didn’t budge; the grille was set in concrete.

“Didier!” Paul hissed, unable to see into the inky black hole. “Didier, can you hear me?”

There was no reply and no sound from the darkness, but as Paul stared he suddenly heard a key turn in the locked front door.

Paul leapt to his feet; he was a lightning fast runner. He had turned the corner of the house before the door opened and Alain Noury stepped out, pistol in hand.

“Paul,” he called warmly. “Paul, come and join us. We’re waiting for you. Didier’s waiting for you – I think he might have hurt himself. I need your help.”

Pressed against the side wall of the house, Paul made an instant decision. He ran to his left, quickly and silently.

Alain looked to his right and then to his left. He sighed. There was no sign of Paul.

It was fortunate for Alain that his property stood on its own, a little away from the rest of the village and prying eyes. People were nosy and Alain liked his privacy.

He took a few steps from the house. On the far side of the narrow road running past the front of the house was a line of trees.

He’s probably hidden in there and is staring at me this very moment,
Alain thought. He scanned the line of trees, looking for movement. “Paul?” he called again. “Paul, it’s no use hiding there, I can see you quite clearly.”

Raising the pistol in his right hand, he walked to the edge of the road. He stopped, eyes moving along the trees for a second time. He focused on one tree, took aim, and then suddenly swung around to face the house, eyes darting from one side to another.

“Thought you might try to creep up on me,” he breathed. “But maybe you’ve made a run for it.”

He lowered the pistol and walked slowly back to the house, staying alert, looking from one side to the other until he reached the door. He went inside, closed the door and relocked it.

Max and Julia were still in their chairs in the large sitting room, backs to the front window, their heads turned to one side to watch Alain as he came in.

“Can’t find him,” Alain said to them brightly. “Think he’s run for it. Deserting Didier: what sort of a friend is that? Not a very good one, in my opinion.”

And then Paul leapt at him.

Using all his weight and force, Paul smashed into his target just below the shoulder, and as they toppled over, the pistol in Alain’s right hand spun free, bounced once and disappeared into the hole in the floor.

Paul was staking everything on this shock attack. He’d hurtled round to the back door, rushed inside, given Max and Julia the signal not to give him away and then squeezed himself in at the side of a cupboard.

Being several years older than Paul and stronger too, Alain might have expected to win a fight between the two of them. He screamed in fury, desperately trying to free himself as they rolled across the floor, dangerously close to the broken floorboards and the gaping hole.

But Paul was up for the battle now. Releasing his hold, he swiftly drew back his fist and delivered a sharp, stinging punch into the side of Alain’s face, connecting with his cheekbone.

This time, Alain’s scream was of pain rather than fury. He tried to swing his own arm to get in a punch, but Paul dodged it easily, too fast for the heavier man. He landed a second heavy punch, and as they scrambled to their feet, Paul took a glancing blow to the side of the head as Alain lashed out wildly.

It was all or nothing now. Alain charged in to grab his opponent around the waist, but Paul was faster, kneeing the bigger man in the groin.

Alain gasped in shock and agony. Without stopping to think, Paul headbutted him, making bone-crunching contact with the bridge of Alain’s nose.

Blood spurted and Alain toppled backwards. He screamed, rolled from his back onto one side, fat tears mingling with the blood streaming down his face.

“Please, that’s enough, that’s enough,” he wailed. “I give up! Please don’t hit me again!” He curled into a ball, both hands to his face, and lay there.

Head spinning, Paul was suddenly aware of Max, grunting and fidgeting on the chair, trying to get his attention. His mouth was still gagged. Paul struggled to his feet and staggered across the room to pull the gag free.

“Untie my hands,” Max said, gasping for air. “Let me help you.”

Paul nodded. He kneeled again to untie the thin cord. It was a simple knot, but his head was reeling and his hands were trembling from the fight. With his vision blurred, he was struggling to focus. He wiped the back of a hand across his eyes and forehead, and saw that it was smeared with blood. An accompanying jolt of pain made him realize that his own head was bleeding and that he must have split the skin when headbutting Alain. He blinked a few times and his vision began to clear.

The knot was almost undone when Max shouted. “Paul! Paul, he’s running!”

Alain was heading for the back door. Paul was still unsteady from the fight. He hauled himself to his feet as the van’s engine coughed into life.

“He’s getting away,” Max said, wriggling to free his hands. “He’ll go for the Germans.”

“I’ll stop him! Paul yelled, sprinting towards the front door.

Alain had left the key in the lock. Paul wrenched open the door and was outside as the van negotiated the tight turn from the back garden. The space was narrow and Alain was driving recklessly, desperate to get away. There was a high-pitched screech as the side of the vehicle scraped against the corner of the wall as it completed the turn.

His head still spinning, Paul stood his ground for a moment, but even in his dazed state he knew that to remain in front of the vehicle would be suicidal. There was only one other option.

He stepped back, and as the van went by, he leapt onto the open back and clung on.

FORTY-THREE

N
ight had fallen, and in the cloudless spring sky the stars were already piercing the darkness.

Alain had not paused to switch on the van’s lights as he jumped into the vehicle and drove off. Now, moving away from the house, it was picking up speed, racing downhill into the village of Espezel.

Paul’s hands were wrapped around the metal bar at the top of the backboard behind the driver’s cab. He was hanging on for his life.

The wood-planked open back was rough and uneven, with jagged splinters sticking up everywhere. The van was not designed for comfortable travel. It was a working vehicle, used mainly for transporting the many and various items Alain bought or bartered for on his travels. It now sped into the wide, sprawling area that opened like a funnel at the centre of the village. An elderly couple, walking arm-in-arm, stopped and stared as the vehicle, still showing no lights, went tearing by, smoke belching from the exhaust.

Alain knew perfectly well that Paul was clinging precariously to the backboard; he’d glimpsed his leap and felt the impact as Paul landed heavily on the wooden planks. He glanced back through the small oblong window behind his head and grinned at the young man staring at him through the glass.

Alain’s face was a bloody mess and his nose had swollen to twice its normal size, but he seemed oblivious of the pain as he laughed aloud. “Come for a ride, have you, Paul?” he yelled. “Well, I hope you enjoy it!”

Throwing up clouds of dust, the van cleared the village and the driver at last switched on the headlamps. They barely disturbed the darkness of the road ahead.

Paul was on his knees, keeping low, trying to think of how he would or even could halt Alain’s flight. But as the van bounced onward and he was tossed from one side to the other, all Paul could focus on was his own survival. At least the rushing night air had cleared his head.

Hardly slowing the vehicle, Alain wrenched at the steering wheel, turning off the main road, which ran in one direction towards the mountain town of Ax-les-Thermes and the Pyrenees and the towns of Quillan and Limoux in the other. He was once again on the small road that cut all the way across the plateau and down through the forest to Bélesta.

He pressed the throttle to the floor, looked over his shoulder to the small window and shouted, “Here we go, then! Hold on tight!” He yanked the steering wheel sharply to the right. Paul’s body jerked to the side and he clung on desperately as his legs slithered across the rough wooden planks and his feet dangled over the side edge.

Before he could even haul himself back to the centre, Alain had pulled the wheel the opposite way and Paul was slithering again. This time a needle-sharp splinter pierced his trousers and speared into his leg. He yelled out as the van swerved to the right again and his body slid painfully across the rough wood. One hand lost its grip, and for a few terrifying seconds Paul thought he was going to be thrown off the van to the ground, but with a desperate lunge he managed to grab hold again.

Both his legs were dangling over the edge as Alain hauled the vehicle into another dramatic swerve. But this time Paul pulled in his legs, tucking them tightly against his body so that the sideways movement was much less severe.

Alain looked back and saw Paul’s hands clenching the bar.

“Still there, Paul?” he shrieked. “Well, enough is enough. I’ve got things to do, people to see, so this time it’s goodbye.”

He wrenched at the steering wheel even harder, and the vehicle swerved so violently that it rose up on two wheels and almost toppled over. Realizing that the manoeuvre had been too extreme, Alain yanked the wheel in the other direction. The van thudded down, swerving wildly, wheels juddering and tyres screaming in protest as the panicking driver wrestled with the wheel, struggling to keep control.

In a last frantic effort, Alain stood on the brakes and the van jerked and bucked like a wild horse. The brakes locked up, and as the vehicle skidded sideways, a threadbare front tyre exploded, sending strips of rubber into the air.

The vehicle’s nose dipped to the right, the exposed metal rim of the front wheel sending up a shower of sparks as it made contact with the ground and then dug into the cracked mud at the roadside.

This time the van did go over, crashing down on its side and skidding onward in a cloud of dust and mud.

Paul was flung into the air. All that saved him from death was the fact that the battered vehicle had been slowing dramatically as it went over. He landed on one shoulder and rolled over and over, ending up on his back. The soft, crumbling surface of the plateau had cushioned the impact.

Paul lay still, staring up at the stars, amazed that he was alive and conscious. Slowly he sat up. The van was on its side. The engine had stalled and the lights were smashed. There was no movement. Paul was certain that Alain could not have survived the crash.

But then the door at what was now the top of the vehicle creaked open a little. It fell back, then opened again and fell shut a second time. Alain was trying to get out, but could not push the door fully open.

As Paul got to his feet, he heard the window slide down and then, in the darkness, he saw Alain’s head appear. He glanced around before pulling himself up and out onto the side of the vehicle. It wobbled unsteadily and he jumped down to the ground.

Paul was painfully aware of the splinter buried in his leg and what seemed like a hundred bruises on every part of his body, but he remained determined to prevent Alain from getting away. He moved cautiously forward. Alain saw him coming. “Get away from me!” he shouted. “Haven’t you had enough?”

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