Flick was thinking ahead. If she could get the body out of sight quickly, they might get away with this. Had anyone seen the stabbing? Flick’s view from the window was restricted by the shutters. She pushed them wide and leaned out. To her left, the rue du Chƒteau was deserted except for a parked truck and a dog asleep on a doorstep. Looking the other way she saw, coming along the pavement, three young people in police-style uniforms, two men and a woman. They had to be Gestapo personnel from the chƒteau.
The Militian fell to the pavement, blood coming from his mouth.
Before Flick could shout a warning, the two Gestapo men sprang forward and grabbed Ruby by the arms.
Flick quickly pulled her head back in and drew the shutters together. Ruby was lost.
She continued to watch through a narrow gap between the shutters. One of the Gestapo men banged Ruby’s right hand against the shop wall until she dropped the knife. The girl bent over the bleeding Militian. She lifted his head and spoke to him, then said something to the two men. There was a short exchange of barked words. The girl ran into the shop and came out with a storekeeper in a white apron. He bent over the Militian, then stood up again, his face showing distaste- whether for the man’s ugly wounds or for the hated uniform, Flick could not tell. The girl ran off, back in the direction of the chƒteau, presumably to get help; and the two men frog-marched Ruby in the same direction.
Flick said, “Paul-go and get the baskets Ruby dropped.”
Paul did not hesitate. “Yes, ma’am.” He went out.
Flick watched him emerge onto the street and cross the road. What would the storekeeper say? The man looked at Paul and said something. Paul did not reply but bent down, swiftly picked up the three baskets, and came back.
The storekeeper stared at Paul, and Flick could read his thoughts on his face: at first shocked by Paul’s apparent callousness, then puzzled and searching for possible reasons, then beginning to understand.
“Let’s move quickly,” Flick said as Paul came into the kitchen. “Load the bags and out, now! I want us to pass through that checkpoint while the guards are still excited about Ruby.” She quickly stuffed one of the baskets with a powerful flashlight, her disassembled Sten gun, six 32-round magazines, and her share of the plastic explosive. Her pistol and knife were in her pockets. She covered the weapons in the basket with a cloth and put in a slice of vegetable terrine wrapped in baking paper.
Jelly said, “What if the guards at the gate search the baskets?”
“Then we’re dead,” Flick said. “We’ll just try to take as many of the enemy with us as we can. Don’t let the Nazis capture you alive.”
“Oh, my gordon,” said Jelly, but she checked the magazine in her automatic pistol professionally and pushed it home with a decisive click.
The church bell in the town square struck seven.
They were ready.
Flick said to Paul, “Someone is sure to notice there are only three cleaners instead of the usual six. Antoinette is the supervisor, so they may decide to ask her what’s gone wrong. If anyone shows up here, you’ll just have to shoot him.”
“Okay.”
Flick kissed Paul on the mouth, briefly but hard, then went out, with Jelly and Greta following.
On the other side of the street, the storekeeper was staring down at the Militian dying on the pavement. He glanced up at the three women, then looked away again. Flick guessed he was already rehearsing his answers to questions: “I saw nothing. No one else was there.”
The three remaining Jackdaws turned toward the square. Flick set a brisk pace, wanting to get to the chƒteau as quickly as possible. She could see the gates directly ahead of her, on the far side of the square. Ruby and her two captors were just passing through. Well, Flick thought, at least Ruby is inside.
The Jackdaws reached the end of the street and started across the square. The window of the Caf‚ des Sports, smashed in last week’s shootout, was boarded over. Two guards from the chƒteau came across the square at a run, carrying their rifles, their boots clattering on the cobblestones, no doubt heading for the wounded Militian. They took no notice of the little group of cleaning women, who scuttled out of the way.