Ken Follett – Jackdaws

Flick relieved the woman of her bag. It was made of knotted string-fine for carrying a loaf and a bottle but no good to Flick. –

This infuriatingly petty detail had Flick stymied just minutes before the climax of the mission. She could not go on until she solved the problem. She forced herself to think calmly, then said to Antoinette, “Where did you get your basket?”

“At the little shop across the street. You can see it from the window.”

The windows were open, as it was a warm evening, but the shutters were closed for shade. Flick pushed a shutter open a couple of inches and looked out onto the rue du Chƒteau. On the other side of the street was a store selling candles, firewood, brooms, and clothespins.

She turned to Ruby. “Go and buy three more bags, quickly.”

Ruby went to the door.

“If you can, get different shapes and colors.” Flick was afraid the bags might attract attention if they were all the same.

“Right.”

Paul tied the last of the cleaners to a chair and gagged her. He was apologetic and charming, and she did not resist.

Flick gave cleaners’ passes to Jelly and Greta. She had held them back until the last minute because they would have given away the mission if found on the person of a captured Jackdaw. With Ruby’s pass in her hand, she went to the window.

Ruby was coming out of the store carrying three shopping baskets of different kinds. Flick was relieved. She checked her watch: it was two minutes to seven.

Then disaster struck.

As Ruby was about to cross the road, she was accosted by a man in military-style clothes. He wore a blue denim shirt with buttoned pockets, a dark blue tie, a beret, and dark trousers tucked into high boots. Flick recognized the uniform of the Milice, the security militia that did the dirty work of the regime. “Oh, no!” she said.

Like the Gestapo, the Milice was made up of men too stupid and thuggish to get into the normal police. Their officers were upper-class versions of the same type, snobbish patriots who talked of the glory of France and sent their underlings to arrest Jewish children hiding in cellars.

Paul came and looked over Flick’s shoulder. “Hell, it’s a frigging Militian,” he said.

Flick’s mind raced. Was this a chance encounter, or part of an organized security sweep directed at the Jackdaws? The Milice were infamous busybodies, reveling in their power to harass their fellow citizens. They would stop people they did not like the look of, examine their papers minutely, and seek a pretext to arrest them. Was the questioning of Ruby such an incident? Flick hoped so. If the police were stopping everyone on the streets of Sainte-C‚cile, the Jackdaws might never reach the gates of the chƒteau.

The cop started to question Ruby aggressively. Flick could not hear clearly, but she picked up the words “mongrel” and “black,” and she wondered if the man was accusing the dark-skinned Ruby of being a gypsy. Ruby took out her papers. The man examined them, then continued to question her without handing them back.

Paul drew his pistol.

“Put it away,” Flick commanded.

“You’re not going to let him arrest her?”

“Yes, I am,” Flick said coldly. “If we have a shootout now, we’re finished-the mission is blown, whatever happens. Ruby’s life is not as important as disabling the telephone exchange. Put away the damn gun.”

Paul tucked it under the waistband of his trousers.

The conversation between Ruby and the Militian became heated. Flick watched with trepidation as Ruby shifted the three baskets to her left hand and put her right hand into her raincoat pocket. The man grabbed Ruby’s left shoulder in a decisive way, obviously arresting her.

Ruby moved fast. She dropped the baskets. Her right hand came out of her pocket holding a knife. She took a step forward and swung the knife up from hip level with great force, sticking the blade through his uniform shirt just below the ribs, angled up toward the heart.

Flick said, “Oh, shit.”

The man gave a scream that quickly died off into a horrible gurgle. Ruby tugged the knife out and stuck it in again, this time from the side. He threw back his head and opened his mouth in a soundless cry of pain.

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