“But what happens now?” Kelso demanded. “This could ruin everything. I mean, a Gestapo man doesn’t turn up for work, they start looking.”
“No need to panic.” Martineau picked up a rug and covered Kleist. “There’s always a way out. First, we find his car. It’s bound to be parked nearby.” He nodded to Guido and Gallagher and led the way out.
It was Guido who found the Renault within ten minutes and whistled up the others. Martineau and Gallagher joined him. “Now what?” Guido asked.
“Kelso’s right. If Kleist doesn’t turn up for work in the morning, Muller will turn this island inside out,” Gallagher said. “So what do we do?”
“Give him to them,” Martineau said crisply. “He was drunk and ran off the road in his car, it’s as simple as that.”
“Preferably over a cliff,” Guido put in.
“Exactly.” Martineau turned to Gallagher. “Have you anywhere suitable to suggest? Not too far, but far enough for there to be no obvious connection with here.”
“Yes,” Gallagher said. “I think IVe got just the place.”
“Good. You lead the way in the Renault, and I’ll follow in the Kubelwagen.”
“Shall I come?” Guido asked..
“No,” Martineau said. “You hold the fort here. Ill go up to the house and get the Kubelwagen. You two take the Renault back to the cottage and put Kleist in the boot”
He turned and hurried away through the wood.
When Martineau arrived back at the cottage they already had Kleist’s body in the boot of the car, and Gallagher was ready to go. Martineau asked, “How long will it take us to get to this place?”
“The far side of La Moye Point.” Gallagher unfolded an old pocket touring map of the island. “About fifteen or twenty minutes at this time in the morning.”
“Are we likely to run into anybody?”
“We have an honorary police system out here in the parishes, and they don’t turn out to work for the enemy unless they have to.”
“And the Germans?”
“The odd military police patrol, no more than that. WeVe every chance of driving to La Moye without seeing a soul.”
“Right, then let’s get moving.” Martineau turned to Guido and the two women standing in the doorway. “Wait for us here. There are things to discuss,” and he drove away.
Gallagher was right. Their run from Noirmont to Woodbine Corner and along the main road to Red Houses passed without incident, no sign of another vehicle all the way along La Route Orange and moving toward Corbiere Point. Finally, Gallagher turned into a narrow lane. He stopped the Renault and got out.
“There’s a strongpoint down there on our right at Corbiere, an artillery battery on the left toward La Moye Point. The area up ahead is clear, and the road turns along the edge of the cliffs about two hundred yards from here. It’s always been a hazard. No protecting wall.”
“All right,” Martineau said. “We’ll leave the Kubelwagen here.”
He got a can of petrol and stood on the running board of the Renault as Gallagher drove along the bumpy road between high hedges. They came out on the edge of the cliffs, going down into a small valley, a defile on the left running down to rocks and surf below.
“This will do.” Martineau hammered on the roof.
Gallagher braked to a halt, got out and went around to the boot. He and Martineau got Kleist out between them, carried him to the front and put him behind the wheel. Gallagher had left the engine running. As he shut the door the dead man slumped forward.
“All right?” Gallagher demanded in a low voice.
“In a minute.” Martineau opened the can and poured petrol over the front seat and the dead man’s clothes. “Okay, let him go.”
Gallagher released the handbrake, leaving the engine in neutral and turned the wheel. He started to push and the Renault left the track, moving across the grass.
“Watch yourself!” Martineau called and struck a match and dropped it through the open passenger window.
For a moment, he thought it had gone out and then, as the Renault bumped over the edge, orange and yellow flame blossomed. They turned and ran back along the lane, and behind them, there was a grinding crash and then a brief explosion.