Grey Wolves by Robert Muchamore Read Free Book Online Page B

the old man fit and Nicolas moved briskly up a cobbled street, took a right and then ducked under an overhead door. It was a workshop, with tool racks, engine parts and the smell of shaved metal and lubricant. A man stood up by the workbench, but Henderson didn’t see the one lurking behind until the shotgun barrel was being waved in his face.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    A chair slammed down. Henderson got frisked before they ordered him to sit in it. They found his gun and ID papers, but missed the small knife in the lining of his jacket. Alois led the interrogation. He was thuggish and at least ten years younger than his brother, with hairy nostrils and grease-blackened hands.
    ‘Madame Mercier is too trusting, Mr Hortefeux,’ Alois began. ‘If that really is your name.’
    ‘My real name is Henderson.’
    Alois laughed. ‘You claim to have come ashore last night, but you’ve got no boat and no radio.’
    Henderson shifted uneasily. ‘If I was a German trying to catch you out, it would be easy enough to have those pieces of equipment.’
    ‘And the boy, what is that all about?’
    ‘Father and son is less suspicious,’ Henderson said.
    ‘The photograph of the three men in front of Big Ben looks fake,’ Alois said. ‘I think the three Poles were captured at sea and interrogated by the Gestapo. They spilled Madame’s name under interrogation and rather than arresting her, they’ve sent you here to see who else you could unearth.’
    Henderson tried to keep his cool as Alois picked up a large wrench.
    ‘That’s plausible,’ Henderson said. ‘Do you have a background in police work?’
    Alois was flattered. ‘I’m smart enough to know when something is fishy, Mr Henderson, or whatever your name is. You’re an Englishman, yes?’
    ‘Born and bred,’ Henderson said.
    ‘Get our man,’ Alois shouted.
    A door from a side room came open. The man had a ferocious-looking burn over his right cheek and the upper part of his neck. He wore a French peasant’s shirt and trousers, but Henderson immediately spotted RAF flying boots and a neat moustache that was characteristically English.
    ‘Hello, old man,’ Henderson said in English. ‘Shot down I suppose?’
    ‘Ran out of fuel and ditched,’ the airman said. His accent was upper crust and he seemed wary, having been told that Henderson was probably a Gestapo agent. ‘We were damned lucky to get pulled out of the sea by this lot.’
    ‘ We ?’ Henderson said. ‘How many others are there?’
    A look from Alois stopped the airman from answering.
    ‘They want me to ask you some questions,’ the airman said. ‘Things that only an Englishman should know. Are you a cricket man, by any chance?’
    ‘More football,’ Henderson said. ‘Grammar school boy, you see. Rather fond of the Arsenal.’
    ‘That’s awkward,’ the airman said, scratching his moustache and looking disappointed. ‘I was going to ask you the names of the squad that played the last Ashes series.’
    ‘I can tell you who won the cup last year,’ Henderson said. ‘Portsmouth four, Wolves one.’
    ‘Association Football’s not my cup of tea,’ the airman said. ‘I’m just trying to think. Could you tell me the last four University boat race winners?’
    Henderson smiled. ‘I’d be prepared to narrow it down to either Oxford or Cambridge.’
    ‘National anthem, third verse?’
    Henderson racked his brain. ‘Not in God’s land alone, but be thy mercies known?’
    ‘That’s the fourth verse,’ the airman said. ‘How about the rest of that verse?’
    ‘Used to sing it on Empire Day at school twenty years back. Can’t say it’s in my head now.’
    Alois looked impatiently at the airman. ‘Well?’
    The airman’s French was absolutely awful. ‘Difficult,’ he said warily. ‘He’s speaking like London. If he is German, he’s a good actor.’
    Henderson had two problems. First, Alois had clearly staked his credibility on the idea that he was a Gestapo spy. Second, there was no