Shakedown
Page 6
“You’re — ”
“ — yes, that grubby foreign exchange student, the one who was too poor to buy a sweater for the winter.” He dropped his half-smoked cigarette onto the verge and stepped on it. “I never forgot you, Clarke. Of course, there’s a world of difference between the upper classes laughing, and the lower- and middle-class sources of their amusement.”
“Look — ”
“Don’t bother.” The German turned and strode back to his car.
Clarke thrashed his memory and dredged up a name. “Faust — your name’s Faust.”
“Really.” Major Faust retrieved his pistol from the dashboard of the staff car and handed it butt-first to Clarke, his left hand hurling the loaded magazine into the deepest grass within the shadows of the forest. “I don’t have anything heavier with me, so that’s the best I can do for you. The evacuating British troops are massing on the beach outside Dunkirk. I suggest you get down there as soon as it’s dark. There should be enough soldiers who haven’t lost their Lee Enfields to make a raiding party and rescue the encampment. Who knows, they might even have some ammunition.”
Clarke ignored the pistol in his hand and stared at Faust. It was an insane risk, the sort taken by the legendary Dr. Faustus — a practitioner of dark, mysterious metaphysical arts, someone who commanded the sun and the moon, the winds and tides, the forces of Mars, with utter disregard for his own future safety.
Clarke shuddered.
Still oblivious, Faust opened the car door and paused, one foot on the running board. “At Guise, Greis waited until a few minutes before midnight before opening fire. But there’s no guarantee he’ll be so patient this time. He thinks I’m taking you to headquarters for interrogation, so they won’t expect you back and they won’t wait. Wear something over your face, and I might get away with this.” He stepped into the staff car. “Good luck, Clarke. My regards to Brownell after you rescue him.”
“Wait.” Clarke didn’t recognize his own throttled voice. “Why are you doing this?” Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t the best way of asking his question, it wasn’t even the proper question and in his current agitation, he didn’t know how to rephrase it. But Faust was pressing the starter and his moment was over.
Faust rolled his eyes. “You don’t have time for this. Oh, and if you get a chance, put a bullet through Greis for me, would you?” He shifted gears and the car rolled forward. “Pigs like him give all us Germans a bad name.”
The staff car disappeared around the next bend, leaving Clarke standing in the middle of the shadowy road. He desperately wanted the answer to his question. He’d never hear it now, and that bothered him most of all.
He fell to his knees in the long grass, scrabbling for the loaded magazine.
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