Read Online To Catch a King by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Higgins
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me.” The young man had very bright blue eyes. He winked impudently at Hannah and disappeared into the kitchen.
Max followed her back into the office. There was the sudden roar of an engine outside in the alley, the squeal of brakes, pounding feet.
“Oh, dear God,” he said and grabbed her by the shoulders. “If anything happens, if we get separated, I'll be at a firm of monumental masons called Hoffer Brothers in Rehdenstrasse. It's close to the zoo. Now follow me and do everything I say.”
As they went into the passage the young man with the bright blue eyes emerged from the kitchen. He was holding an Erma police submachine gun.
“All right, Dad, against the wall, nice and slowly. Nothing foolish.”
Pounding started on the door, he glanced briefly toward it, and Uncle Max flung himself at him. The young man reversed the Erma and struck him under the ribs and Max went down with a cry of pain.
The young man stood over him, back turned to Hannah. “You know, I'd kick your head in for that if you weren't so valuable.”
There was a heavy porcelain lamp on top of the filing cabinet by the door. Hannah picked it up in both hands and brought it down with all her strength. It smashed across his head and he went down on his knees.
The battering on the door had risen to a crescendo. As her uncle looked up at her, face still twisted in pain, she said desperately, “Uncle Max, what are we going to do?”
He was breathing with some difficulty. “The wine cellar. Help me to the wine cellar, and bring that thing with you.”
He nodded to the Erma and she picked it up gingerly and helped him to his feet. They reached the end of the corridor, and he started to unbolt the grill leading to the wine cellar steps. Behind them, the stage door fell from its hinges, and the entrance suddenly seemed jammed with SS.
Hannah turned and swung up the Erma instinctively, her finger tightening on the trigger. She had never fired any kind of weapon in her life before, and the Erma was like a living thing in her hands, ripping plaster from the passageway walls, driving the men in the doorway into the alley.
She kept on firing convulsively, the Erma bucking so violently that she fell back against Uncle Max as he got the grill open. He lost his balance and slid down the wooden stairs to the cellar below.
Hannah had dropped the Erma. She was on her knees now and screamed, “Uncle Max—are you all right?”
She saw him get to his feet. “Quickly!” he called.
A hand grabbed her right ankle as she tried to get up. She half turned and found the young man with those bright blue eyes crawling toward her, his blond hair sticky with blood.
“Oh, no you don't, you bitch.” He punched her in the stomach. Behind him, other SS men poured into the passage and ran to help him.
As for Max, there was nothing he could do except turn and stagger into the next cellar, thankful to be able to walk. He closed the stout oaken door and rammed home two steel bolts, then moved on between rows of wine bottles.
Behind him, a furious pounding sounded on the door, but they were too late, for he had anticipated this situation for some time and had made every preparation.
Against the end wall of the third cellar, there was a wooden cupboard. Inside were a hat, a raincoat, a large flashlight, and a briefcase containing various false documents and a supply of money in several currencies.
He put on the coat and hat, then pushed the cupboard to one side, disclosing a neat hole in the brickwork. He picked up the flashlight and the briefcase and clambered through, turned, and pulled the cupboard back into place.
He was in the cellars of a disused warehouse at the rear of the club, which had been standing empty, ready for demolition for three years now.
A couple of minutes later he was unbolting a door revealing a flight of steps leading up into a small yard, crammed with the rubbish of years.
He opened the gate and peered out. The alley outside was completely
Max followed her back into the office. There was the sudden roar of an engine outside in the alley, the squeal of brakes, pounding feet.
“Oh, dear God,” he said and grabbed her by the shoulders. “If anything happens, if we get separated, I'll be at a firm of monumental masons called Hoffer Brothers in Rehdenstrasse. It's close to the zoo. Now follow me and do everything I say.”
As they went into the passage the young man with the bright blue eyes emerged from the kitchen. He was holding an Erma police submachine gun.
“All right, Dad, against the wall, nice and slowly. Nothing foolish.”
Pounding started on the door, he glanced briefly toward it, and Uncle Max flung himself at him. The young man reversed the Erma and struck him under the ribs and Max went down with a cry of pain.
The young man stood over him, back turned to Hannah. “You know, I'd kick your head in for that if you weren't so valuable.”
There was a heavy porcelain lamp on top of the filing cabinet by the door. Hannah picked it up in both hands and brought it down with all her strength. It smashed across his head and he went down on his knees.
The battering on the door had risen to a crescendo. As her uncle looked up at her, face still twisted in pain, she said desperately, “Uncle Max, what are we going to do?”
He was breathing with some difficulty. “The wine cellar. Help me to the wine cellar, and bring that thing with you.”
He nodded to the Erma and she picked it up gingerly and helped him to his feet. They reached the end of the corridor, and he started to unbolt the grill leading to the wine cellar steps. Behind them, the stage door fell from its hinges, and the entrance suddenly seemed jammed with SS.
Hannah turned and swung up the Erma instinctively, her finger tightening on the trigger. She had never fired any kind of weapon in her life before, and the Erma was like a living thing in her hands, ripping plaster from the passageway walls, driving the men in the doorway into the alley.
She kept on firing convulsively, the Erma bucking so violently that she fell back against Uncle Max as he got the grill open. He lost his balance and slid down the wooden stairs to the cellar below.
Hannah had dropped the Erma. She was on her knees now and screamed, “Uncle Max—are you all right?”
She saw him get to his feet. “Quickly!” he called.
A hand grabbed her right ankle as she tried to get up. She half turned and found the young man with those bright blue eyes crawling toward her, his blond hair sticky with blood.
“Oh, no you don't, you bitch.” He punched her in the stomach. Behind him, other SS men poured into the passage and ran to help him.
As for Max, there was nothing he could do except turn and stagger into the next cellar, thankful to be able to walk. He closed the stout oaken door and rammed home two steel bolts, then moved on between rows of wine bottles.
Behind him, a furious pounding sounded on the door, but they were too late, for he had anticipated this situation for some time and had made every preparation.
Against the end wall of the third cellar, there was a wooden cupboard. Inside were a hat, a raincoat, a large flashlight, and a briefcase containing various false documents and a supply of money in several currencies.
He put on the coat and hat, then pushed the cupboard to one side, disclosing a neat hole in the brickwork. He picked up the flashlight and the briefcase and clambered through, turned, and pulled the cupboard back into place.
He was in the cellars of a disused warehouse at the rear of the club, which had been standing empty, ready for demolition for three years now.
A couple of minutes later he was unbolting a door revealing a flight of steps leading up into a small yard, crammed with the rubbish of years.
He opened the gate and peered out. The alley outside was completely
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