Jack Higgins – Night of the Fox

“Very difficult indeed. That s one item they are very tight on, civilian traffic. It would be impossible in a small boat at the moment.”

“And if he isn’t able to walk…” Sophie shrugged expressively.

“They’ll be standing by at SOE for a call from you at any time this weekend,” Martineau said. “The Lysander can pick up on Sunday night.”

Gerard laughed suddenly. “I’ve just had a brilliant thought. You could always arrest Kelso. Find him and arrest him, if you follow me. Bring him over here officially, then cut out.”

“That’s all very well,” Sarah put in, “but where would that leave Aunt Helen and the General? Wouldn’t they have to be arrested too?”

Martineau nodded. “It’s one of those ideas that sounds good until you think about it. Never mind. We’ll think of something when we get there.”

“Like a bullet in the head maybe?” Cresson suggested. “1 mean, if this man is as important as they say…”

“He’s entitled to a chance,” Martineau said. “If there’s any way I can pull him out I will, if not…” He shrugged. “Now, what’s the procedure for booking passage to the island tonight?”

“There’s a movement officer in the office in the green hut on the quay. He issues the passes. No difficulty in your case.”

“Good,” Martineau said. “That seems to be about it then.”

Sophie filled four glasses with red wine. “I’m not going to wish you luck, I’m just going to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” Martineau inquired.

She put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “I like the kid here very much. Whatever happens over there, you bring her back in one piece, because if you don’t, and you show your face here again, I’ll put a bullet in you myself.” She smiled genially and toasted him.

T iii

. he 5th Schnellboote Flotilla, as was common with all German Navy E-boat units, was used to living on the move. On returning to their Cherbourg base after the Slapton Sands affair, three boats had been ordered to Guernsey for temporary duty as convoy escorts. One of them, S92, was tied up at the quay at Granville now.

Darkness was already falling and the harbor was a scene of frenzied activity as the convoy got ready to leave. Chief Petty Officer Hans Richter. checking the 40-mm Bofors gun in the stern, paused to watch dockers working on the Victor Hugo which was moored next to them. Now that her holds were crammed full, they were dumping sacks of coal and bales of hay on her decks so that there was hardly room to move.

The Hugo’s antiaircraft defenses were 7.92-mm machine guns and a Bofors gun-not too much use when the Tommies swept in from the darkness in those damned Beau-flghters with their searchlights on, but that’s the way things were these days, and the Luftwaffe didn’t seem to be able to do much about it. Richter could see the master of the Hugo, Savary, on the bridge talking to the officer in command of the gun crew, the Italian lieutenant, Orsini. Flamboyant as usual with the white top to his cap and the scarf at his neck. A good seaman for all that. They said he’d sunk a British destroyer off Taranto before being seconded to the 5th Schnellboote as an E-boat commander. They were only using him on secondary duties these days because nobody trusted the Italians anymore. After all, most of them were fighting for the Allies now.

As Richter watched, Guido Orsini went down the ladder and then the gangway to the quay and walked toward the port officer’s hut. Richter turned back to the gun and a voice called “Petty Officer!”

Richter looked qver the rail. Standing a few feet away was an SS officer, a black leather trenchcoat over his uniform, the silver death’s-head on the cap gleaming dully in the evening light. When Richter saw the oak leaf collar patches of a full colonel his heart sank.

He got his heels together quickly. “Standartenfuhrer. What can I do for you?”

The young woman standing at the colonel’s shoulder was pretty in her little black beret and belted raincoat, the hair very fair, just like his daughter’s back home in Hamburg. Too young for an SS bastard like this, Richter thought.

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