Death Ray by Craig Simpson Read Free Book Online Page A

amateurs unworthy of his attention. There was a pompous, arrogant air about him. Then again, I thought, maybe all Frenchmen were like that! Just as I was about to give up on him, he finally said something interesting.
    ‘I hear Freya has excellent radio skills. Is that right?’
    ‘Where did you hear that?’ said Loki.
    ‘Oh, a little bird told me.’
    A little bird? What did he mean? Loki gave Jacques a long hard stare.
    Max wandered out to join us. He nodded hello to me and smiled. Jacques flashed him a cold glance, tossed away his cigarette and briskly walked off back into Mulberry House, deliberately knocking shoulders with Max as he went, muttering something under his breath.
    Max stared after him. ‘He’s hardly spoken to me since I arrived. He has a thing against Germans.
All Germans!
We’re not
all
the same, you know.’ His tone was bitter.
    ‘I don’t think he’s particularly fond of Norwegians either,’ Loki replied light-heartedly.
    I guessed life had to be especially hard for Max. Anyone learning he was German would immediately feel deep distrust and dislike, possibly even hatred. On meeting Max that morning I’d felt all those things, albeit momentarily, but I’d quickly realized that if he was in Special Ops then he was on our side, and that had to make him all right.
Didn’t it?
Well, that’s what I’d told myself. ‘How come you’re part of all this?’ I asked, hoping my question didn’t get the same brush-off that Jacques had given me. ‘It is rather surprising – a German in Special Ops.’
    ‘I’m not the only one, Finn,’ Max revealed. ‘My family left Germany at the end of nineteen thirty-eight. Along with many others. Things got rather difficult for people like us. You ever heard of
Kristallnacht
?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘In English it means
Night of Broken Glass
. That was the night our world changed, when we saw Herr Hitler’s true feelings about us Jews,’ Max said hatefully. ‘My family owned a bookshop in the old part of Düsseldorf. It was the ninth of November: after dark members of the Nazi Sturmabteilung – that’s Herr Hitler’s Storm Troopers – tried to destroy anything belonging to Jews. My parents’ shop had its windows smashed, and all their books were flung into the street and burned. But they counted themselves lucky. I think had they been there at the time, they would have been dealt with in the same way.’
    ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be telling us all this?’ I said, recalling Jacques’ warning. ‘What we don’t know we can’t tell.’
    He appeared unconcerned. In fact I got the impression he actually wanted to talk, as if it helped him in some way.
    ‘Why did it happen?’ Loki asked.
    ‘A German official in Paris was murdered by a Polish man, who just happened to be a Jew. It gave Herr Hitler the perfect excuse to seek revenge. But it was only the beginning.’
    We strolled along the paths that wound around the house. At the back lay a small area of lawn, empty flower beds, some wooden sheds, one distinctly rotten looking, the others more or less brand new, and a brick stable block. ‘They keep the weapons and ammunition under lock and key in there,’ Max said, nodding towards the stables. The door bore an impressive padlock. ‘The practice range is that way,’ he added, pointing towards the woods. Then he laughed. ‘Jacques couldn’t hit a
bus
at more than ten yards. His eyesight’s terrible. Seen those thick glasses of his?’
    ‘What about you, Max?’ asked Loki.
    ‘I’m not bad. I can hit a target at fifty yards,’ he replied, suddenly adopting a slight swagger.
    I said nothing but I felt a surge of confidence. Loki, Freya and I had grown up in a nation of hunters, where most kids belonged to one of the many rifle clubs. Having been taught by her father, Heimar, Freya was a crack shot and had won trophies back home to prove it. She could hit a target at four, maybe five hundred yards. Loki and I weren’t far behind her – a