Read Online The Prisoner by Robert Muchamore - Free Book Online Page B

happier when he saw that it was Osterhagen. ‘Recognise Vogel’s former pet? The brat who dropped us all in it.’
    ‘What did he do to end up here?’ Osterhagen asked, as he recoiled at the stench.
    ‘Night shift gets boring,’ Fischer laughed. ‘I’ve got him on gang sixty-two. Sixty hours a week wading through jobbies. That’s what happens when you cross Old Fischer.’
    Osterhagen had always treated Marc decently and to Fischer’s annoyance the young guard didn’t seem amused.
    ‘You should be on the Oper ,’ Fischer growled.
    ‘I’d like to request some extra leave, sir,’ Osterhagen said. ‘My cousin’s getting married.’
    ‘You’ve used your entitlement?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Osterhagen said, as he pulled a large bottle of cognac from inside his coat. ‘My father has a large cellar. I know you’re fond of a drop, sir. You’re welcome to pick up a few bottles, with my family’s regards. Or our butler will happily deliver it.’
    ‘Let’s see,’ Fischer said, his tone warming as he inspected the cognac label, then turned to look at a duty roster on the rear wall.
    Cognac, butlers and a large cellar confirmed Marc’s theory about why Osterhagen wasn’t fighting on the Eastern Front with all the other healthy young Germans. But his own situation was of more concern. Two guards with their backs turned was a rare opportunity, but for what?
    ‘If I drop night shift here down from six guards to five, I can send an extra man across to the Oper to cover while you’re at the wedding,’ Fischer said. ‘How’s that sound?’
    Marc glanced about. He hoped to find something he could use to fight back. A loose nail, a bottle, a piece of wood. But the only thing in reach was the mound of grotty prisoner jackets and these sparked another thought: it was dark out and the main gate was only a few metres from the door of the hut.
    The gate might be locked. There might be a guard right outside. Marc had no documents, or money. But if Fischer didn’t beat him to death, working for gang sixty-two promised a nastier death from chemicals and disease. And when you’re already as good as dead, what have you got to lose?
    Weak from his illness and the beating, Marc wasn’t sure how his body would respond when he tried to move.
    ‘So everyone’s happy, except Sivertsen, who’s on night duty for the next month and a half,’ Fischer laughed, as he gave Osterhagen a slap on the back. ‘Would you like to share a quick glass before heading back?’
    There was sharp pain in Marc’s gut as he stood and his knee buckled as he crept towards the door, which Osterhagen had mercifully kept open. He slid a prisoner jacket off the pile and crawled out, as Fischer and Osterhagen clanked their glass tumblers.
    ‘Cheers,’ Fischer said.
    ‘Good health,’ Osterhagen replied, as Fischer saw Marc reflected in his glass.
    ‘You dare move!’ Fischer roared, making Osterhagen jump.
    Marc limped out of the hut and turned towards the gate. The only guard in view was the fat man who’d been in the hut. He sat twenty metres away, finishing his cigar on a bollard at the water’s edge. Marc went for the gate, but found it padlocked. The chain-link fence was climbable, but it was topped with barbed wire and Marc was in no state to climb quickly.
    Osterhagen was first out of the hut, with his baton drawn. Marc glanced across the open quayside where they lined up for roll call, but the whole area was fenced in and even in moonlight he’d make a nice easy shot for any guard with a rifle.
    A trip up the Adler ’s gangplank was Marc’s only option, but he had no idea what he’d do once he got there.
    Osterhagen was surprised to see Marc running towards him and only managed a clumsy baton swipe as he swept past. The guard on the bollard got to his feet. He would have easily intercepted Marc at the base of the gangplank, but he froze stiff when Fischer’s pistol went off.
    Marc expected a bullet in the back as he ran up the