‘We’re being stopped. But the captain will get us through okay.’ He spoke as though to a backward child. ‘You just keep quiet. All right?’
David whispered to Ben, ‘I suppose Frank’s pills are back at the O’Sheas’?’
‘The Largactil? Yes.’ A policeman appeared then, shining a torch into the cab. The captain wound the window down. ‘Evening, officer,’ he said confidently. The policeman saluted.
‘Where are you going, sir?’ he asked. His tone was respectfully polite but there was something worried, David thought, about his look.
‘Taking some men to the Jew camp at Dover. Guard duty. I’m going to be assisting the Commander.’ He handed a document to the policeman, who studied it by the light of his torch. ‘Having trouble with the Yids?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘No. Why should we be? But the camps need guards. Why the roadblock?’
‘Escaped terrorists. Three men and a woman, all in their thirties. They got away from a raid at New Cross. The Branch is pulling all the stops out on this one for some reason.’
‘Locking the stable door after the horse has bolted, eh?’
‘That’s about the size of it, sir,’ the policeman answered heavily.
‘We haven’t seen anybody. Though it’s hard to see your own hand in this fog.’
‘I know. Never seen anything like it. Strange night for – what’s happened in Germany.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Hitler’s dead. It’s official.’
The men in the back of the cab looked at each other, their faces suddenly bright. Frank said, ‘Did he say—’ The Yorkshireman leaned forward and put a hand over his mouth. ‘Shhhh.’
‘Are you sure?’ David heard the captain ask.
‘They’re saying at the police station that it’s true.’
‘Good God,’ the captain said. ‘What’ll happen now?’
‘Who knows?’ the policeman answered. ‘I hope the Jews don’t hear, that’s why I wondered if there might be trouble at the detention camps. Anyway, we’ve got to check all vehicles going out of London. Mind if I just have a look in the back?’
‘Be my guest.’ The captain leaned back and called out, ‘Open up!’
The Cockney private opened the canvas flaps. The policeman leaned in and shone his torch over the men, and under the benches. Ben said in a joking voice, ‘Wisnae anything to do with me, Constable, that missing crate of Spam in Aldershot!’ The others laughed. The policeman grunted and closed the flap. He waved them on, saluting the captain again as they passed. Everybody let out their breath and relaxed, except Frank, who sat staring rigidly ahead.
The captain slid open the glass partition. His face was animated now, excited. ‘You chaps hear that? They’re saying Hitler’s dead!’
‘That bastard, gone at last,’ the Yorkshireman said feelingly.
They weren’t stopped again, and they drove slowly but steadily on. David thought they were heading east rather than south but he wasn’t sure. He wondered where Natalia was, whether he would see her again. And Sarah. Was it over with Sarah? He still didn’t know.
The fog thinned further, eventually vanishing to leave the starry darkness of a December night. Twisting his head to look into the cab, David saw they were travelling along country roads now, the skeletal shapes of trees appearing and vanishing again, ghostly white in the headlights. He thought, we’re not going to the coast, we’d have been there by now. He glanced at Ben, who sat looking ahead of him, frowning. The roads became worse, the truck banging and clattering over them. As the journey continued, heads began to nod despite the jolting. David leaned across and whispered to Ben, ‘Frank’s asleep. He wasn’t looking too good earlier.’
‘He needs another dose. But I had to leave all his stuff at the O’Sheas’. Where the hell are they taking us?’
‘Why are you so worried?’ David whispered.
‘I want tae know where we’re going. Why won’t they tell us? There’s something in their attitude – I don’t like it.’
‘They’ve lost people tonight.’
‘So have we.’
David sat back. After a while his eyes closed from sheer weariness. He woke with a jolt as the truck came to a halt. The captain opened the cab window. ‘Everyone out!’ he called.
They all climbed down. David helped Frank, who was shaking. They stepped into pitch darkness, onto what felt like a gravelled driveway, tall trees on either side just visible as shapes outlined against the sky. It was very cold; there was a smell of wet, freezing air. No lights were visible anywhere.
‘David,’ Frank whispered urgently. ‘Where are we?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No talking,’ the captain snapped. ‘Follow me.’ The three soldiers had surrounded them, their rifles held at the ready. Beside David, Ben took a deep breath. The thought flashed through David’s head: they’re going to shoot us. We’ve caused them so many problems they’ve decided to get rid of us, somewhere quiet out in the country. Or perhaps they’ll keep Frank alive, interrogate him, find his secret. If Hitler’s dead everybody’s calculations will change. He looked at the dim outline of the captain, marching steadily ahead of him. He didn’t like him, there was something cold and implacable about the man.
They were led down the pitch-dark driveway, footsteps crunching softly. Then the shape of what looked like a large country house loomed ahead, and David glimpsed tall chimneys against the sky. They walked slowly on towards it.
A slit of light appeared, as a door in the side of the house opened a fraction. ‘Aztec,’ the captain said, quietly. The slit widened. David’s party was led up a short flight of stone steps and through the door. They found themselves in a long corridor lined with pictures, blinking in sudden light. A young man in khaki uniform with a Union Jack sewn on the breast pocket was posted at the end, a rifle over his shoulder. The corridor windows were all heavily curtained, the sort of thick material David remembered from the 1939–40 blackout. In the distance he heard voices; this place was big, probably owned by some aristocrat who had come round to supporting the Resistance. A telephone rang somewhere in the depths of the building. It was answered quickly.
The man who had opened the door was elderly, tall and thin, dressed in a white shirt and black waistcoat, like a butler. He looked them over, then stepped forward with a smile. ‘Welcome, gentlemen. Mr Fitzgerald?’
David stepped forward. ‘Yes?’
‘Could you take Dr Muncaster upstairs please? Mr Hall, could you come with me? Your account of what happened in London is needed.’
‘All right,’ Ben said. ‘See you soon, Frank.’ Ben followed the man away down the corridor. The captain accompanied them. The man with the Union Jack on his uniform stepped forward, addressing David and Frank in a friendly tone with a strong Welsh accent: ‘Come with me, please.’ He turned to the uniformed men. ‘You chaps, go outside and someone will show you where to park your truck and bunk down.’
He led David and Frank down the corridor to a hallway with a wide central staircase. Through a half-open door David glimpsed furniture covered with white dustsheets. Another man in a uniform with a Union Jack and a rifle joined them. They walked upstairs. From behind a closed door nearby they heard a murmur of male voices; another telephone rang somewhere. David guessed this place was some sort of headquarters. The reports of Hitler’s death would be causing a flap.
David and Frank were shown into a large bedroom, again with heavily curtained windows. There was a double bed and a pair of camp beds on the floor. ‘Keep the curtains closed please,’ the Welshman said, his tone still amicable. ‘There’s a toilet just up the corridor. We’ll have some food brought up. Mr Hall will join you later. I’m Barry, by the way.’ He was the first person they had met since their rescue who had given them his name.