Stile Maus (40 page)

‘Five trucks,’ Stefan called out, ‘we’ll have to lose them before we get to the barn.’

‘Where is it?’ Gerard said, ‘the barn, where is it?’

Stefan dug out the note and placed it against the rattling hum of the dashboard for Gerard to swipe.  They came off the road and sped onto a path that led them over a small bridge and brook.  The roads were much narrower but the trucks remained close, scraping at the weeping tree line as they swerved into each tight corner.  Jacques pressed at the brakes as his bumper neared the back of the Jaguar.  He watched the headlamps rise over a small mount in the distance, one by one.  The track had become slushy and the dirt toyed with the wheels.  Gerard latched onto another slip road and the Mercedes followed with the trucks close behind.  The looming trees that stood above them began to rattle and shake as the gusts of strong wind grew.  Light was sparse but for the mist clotted beams leaking from the headlamps and the grass seemed to glow an icy blue under their stare.  A gate lay up ahead and Gerard crashed it to splinters and jolted onto the field beyond.  The back end of the Jaguar revolved into a perfect spin and stopped amidst a bed of damp sludge.  Gerard locked the wheel and then crunched heavily at the pedals until the car rocked to one side before trundling off across the field.  Panic laced his brow in a cold sweat and Stefan glanced behind to see the Mercedes roll over the broken gate.  The beaming headlamps of the German trucks could be seen in the distance, whisking past the empty strands of flustering tree line.  The field came to an end and Gerard found the road once more.  The tyres swished onto the track and Gerard shifted at the gears, desperate to take advantage of the ditch he hoped the German trucks now found themselves in.  With Jacques close behind, the Jaguar sped into the darkness and soon disappeared amidst the midnight blue.  They drove for a while longer just to make sure that they weren’t being followed and eventually found a cottage that had been lost within the shadows.  A barn sat at the top of a small knoll, the moon settled beyond it.  They parked the cars behind the cottage and filed into the empty living room.  Dust clung to their boots. 

‘Where do you think they are?’

‘Taken by the German’s is my bet.’

Toys were scattered across the floor.  Furniture lay overturned and broken.  Stefan frowned.  He couldn’t help but think the cottage seemed familiar.  Or was it the déjà vu of walking through his own glass carpeted living room, searching for his taken family?  He couldn’t be sure but something unsettled him.  He left the others basking in the warm glow of a gaslight and moved into the corridors.  With the point of his finger Stefan trailed the walls.  Licks of dents and scratches rippled beneath his touch.  He came to a room and lingered within the doorway.  Books lined the window pane and the curtain that would normally cover the murky glass fell and dangled at the foot of the bed.  There had been some kind of struggle that much was obvious.  Stefan edged into the room.  A fold of paper sat against a pillow on the bed and he stooped down and collected it carefully.  He opened it slowly and found a scrawl of writing inside.  The lead had worn and smudged but the words remained clear and simple to read.  Stefan’s eyes widened and he raced into the corridor. 

‘What is it?’ Gerard said as he brushed past the living room and into the kitchen.

‘Stefan?’

He pushed through the back door and stared at the barn that sat atop a grassy bank just up the way. 

‘Where is he going?’

The hushed questions were mere whispers as Stefan limped up the path, his fingers clutched into his leaking wound.  Michel came to his side.

‘Stefan, what’s going on?’

He didn’t stop, he couldn’t.  The barn doors were half open and he palmed at the handle, nudging the door against something hard on the other side.  Stefan slipped through the crooked gap and the others trailed each step, edging past a workbench that sat amongst the hay bitten floor.  Bands of cool moonlight leaked at the walls, invited through the cracks in the roof above.  Beams had fallen and lay burnt and ruined at the entrance.  Someone had sought out to burn the place down but it hadn’t gone exactly to plan.  The fire had been short, though not extinguished.  Perhaps it had burnt itself out?  There was no empty bucket, no pale of placid water. 
Ludivine had crept across the floor and crouched down, taking a picture frame within her trembling fingers.  It showed a young man, a smile set over his handsome face, a motorcycle beneath his gloved clutch.  Stefan glared up into the darkness of the rafters.  From his pocket he fumbled at a box of matches and struck at them until a candle of bright orange warmed his face.  He raised the tiny flame up into the dimness and let out a sigh, half chortle, half fester of disbelief. 

‘This is the place,’ he muttered.

Michel glanced at the others striding gently towards the shaky glow hovering in front of Stefan.

‘This barn, it belongs to the family who took me in, the night I was taken by the Germans.’

His mind became crowded with the sounds of that night.

‘They treated me up there,’ he pointed toward the rafters, ‘and it was with his motorcycle that I returned to Paris, to find you, my friends.’

A sheet was crumbled up within a corner just beside the ladder that lead up to the loft.      

‘Where are they now?’ said
Ludivine.

Stefan peeled open the note he had found in the cottage and began to read.

‘They are here.  They are in the barn.  My Father is speaking to the leader.  There are more of them outside with dogs and guns.’

Michel took the note from his bloodied pinch and studied it. 

‘There you have it.’

Stefan paced at the wooden floorboards and gently took the frame from
Ludivine’s grasp. 

‘I’m sorry, Stefan.’

Gerard set his rifle down against the wall.

‘We’ll stay here for an hour or so, just to make sure we’ve lost the Germans.’

‘How far is the barn from here?’

‘Not forty minutes away.’

‘Don’t move.’

They spun to the door.  A silhouette stood within a slither of protruding moonlight, his face blackened by the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ the figure hushed, stepping carefully into the barn with a rifle stretched out before him.  His attire seemed to be of military stature.  A helmet was perched over his hidden face and his shoulders were heavily set with some sort of baggy armour.  His accent was unfamiliar. 

‘German?’

Stefan looked toward Michel who stood at his right.

‘No, French.’

‘You speak English?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Six.’

‘What are you doing here?’

Michel stepped forwards.  He was still unsure of the gun toting shadow that stood in the doorway. 

‘We live here.’

‘Is that so?’

They couldn’t see but the man let out a half- hearted chuckle.

‘Harris, send our man up here!’

Gerard backed up and cradled
Ludivine.  A flashlight clicked on and the staller’s covered their eyes.  With a gloved hand the visitor tilted the light down against the floor and rested the rifle into his shoulder.

A scuffle sounded from outside and another figure appeared in the doorway.  Jacques squinted towards the muster of blurry light that glared at the stranger’s shoulder and frowned, noticing the insignia that had been bound to the man’s greyish sleeve.  The stars sparkled within a bloom of deep, dark blue.  Red and white stripes spilt across
a darned Milky Way.  

American
. 

‘Looks like we just found a few more recruits,’ said the man with the torch.  A newcomer brushed past him and
hurried into the pale glow of the flashlight.  His face was blurred with tiredness and his eyes craved the ease of sleep.  Stefan glowered and edged past his bemused friends.

‘Pierre?’

Pierre smiled tiredly.

‘Hello again, Stefan.’

THE FINAL CHAPTER

They made landing just as the moon began to melt away behind the mountain.  Snow dressed the runway and the landing was rough but
Carsten managed to set the aircraft down easy and veer her gently into a sleet coved hangar.  Austria was silent, misplaced within the bleak blizzards of a snowstorm.  The loading bay dropped and Howard and Hugo filed out first.  There was a white truck parked alongside the wall.  Its tyres were coated within the cold winter snow and the exhaust let out a warm hustle. 

‘Good boy, Max.’  Hugo pulled at the tarp that covered the tailgate and climbed inside.

‘Have we got everything we need?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ murmured Howard, ‘I’ll fetch the others.’

With a quick nod, Hugo jumped down and skipped hastily to the driver’s seat.  Klaus and Schulze were on their way through the funnel when Howard stopped them.

‘I need you to get Tobias into the Phantom, both of you.’

‘Where’s he going?’

‘Til will be taking him to a surgeons practice, just over the mountain.  There are civilian clothes in the back of the truck, fetch these and store them in the boot.  It seems as though your Father got our message loud and clear, Kevin.’

Schulze accepted the director’s heavy hand on his shoulder and smiled.  After settling Tobias onto the back seat of the Rolls Royce they covered his shuddering body beneath a silk sheet.  Klaus headed out to the truck and collected the two pairs of shoes and other assorted civilian garments Max had left for them.  He tucked them into the boot of the Rolls Phantom and then followed Schulze into the chamber where they were keeping the Major.  They began unbuckling the chains that locked down the trolley wheels.  There were a few short, disorientated muffles from beneath the sheet but they ignored them and pushed the cart out into the frosty air.  Klaus helped raise the brass frame over the tail gate and held the curtained tarp as Schulze disappeared inside.  He then headed back into the interceptor and found
Carsten yanking out various plugs and cords.  He met Klaus’ stare and smiled humbly.  Til emerged at the far end of the chamber and gestured a hand toward them.  He had changed and now wore a poplin shirt with a black suede jacket and smart trousers and shoes.

‘It’s time you changed too.’ 

The Phantom backed out onto the smooth concrete of the hangar and veered smartly towards the front of the truck.  There,
Til unclipped the door and stepped out and welcomed Hugo’s embrace.

‘Head West.  If Max’s
sketchings are correct there should be a practice not far from here.  Should anything go wrong, take this.’

Hugo handed him a Luger.

‘It was a pleasure to have served with you,’ he returned coldly, as though he did not want to recognize his departure, ‘and you Howard, everyone.  I’m certain Felix would have been proud.’

Howard clasped at
Til’s shoulders and they shook hands.  Klaus and Schulze said their goodbyes and hopped into the back of the truck.  They unbuttoned their tunics and began shrugging into the white suits that were neatly folded upon the benches. 

‘Come and find us when everything is sorted,’ Hugo said.

‘I will, ‘Til assured, ‘don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.’

Til
climbed into the car and raised a hand to his window before cruising out from the hangar and into the cascade of falling snow. 

‘Right,’ Hugo declared, ‘let’s go.’

A slope led them away from the airfield.  The snow grew heavier as they climbed the mountain and the truck groaned and seethed as it hauled them along the harsh winter path.  Howard sat by the driver’s seat with a map set over his belt buckle and he guided Hugo through the showers of impossible white.  The windscreen wipers ached and trembled across the glass, pushing the mounds of fuzzy snowfall into a firm casing that surrounded the windshield like a bulk of crystal armour.  The night was becoming old and the sun threatened to blast across the mountain tips. 

‘Follow the road through to the next junction and then take a left, sharply.  We should come to a slip road.’

Klaus glared at the chair that had been pegged to the rippled flooring.  His mind fought off the urge to rip away the tarp and clasp his hands around the Major’s throat.  Schulze sat across from him.

‘You okay?’

‘Yes,’ replied Klaus.  The cover tilted as the truck began to trek up another slippery path. 

‘Have you thought about what you are going to do?’

Schulze looked at him and studied his teary eyes.

‘No,’ Klaus replied, ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’

Schulze could tell he was lying. 

‘Here,’ he said, fetching a watch from his pocket.  Klaus reached out and let the coil of silver delve into his gloved palm. 

‘I managed to get it from his desk.  It was…’