Chapter Twenty-five
Thank you for reading and to those who have reviewed, especially considering how long this story has dragged on.;-)
Thank you, Marilyn, for helping me work through this. As it was, I made major changes after because the characters had other ideas.
Newkirk circled the room, keeping Arkel's knobby back within his field of vision at all times. The scientist's eye remained pressed to the microscope's eyepiece and he continued rambling under his breath, completely immersed in research. He occasionally reached to the side, groped for his pad and pencil, and blindly jotted down notes. The routine had not varied since his dismissal of Newkirk's presence.
Newkirk came to the support beam Carter had chosen, glanced from the door to Arkel, then ducked below the table's edge and out of Arkel's line of sight. Keeping his hearing tuned to the scientist's movements, he placed his satchel on the floor and quickly assessed the table's lower shelf.
Several metal racks of test tubes rested on the spot where the bomb had to be placed. Reaching under the table, he gingerly picked the racks up and moved them out of the way, thenlifted the bomb from the satchel and settled it on the shelf against the support. A quick glance to his watch, some fast calculations, and he set the timer and pressed the trigger. Once certain the clock's hands were in motion, he used the empty satchel to conceal the bomb and returned the racks of test tubes to their former position on the shelf. The bomb was fully hidden and all was exactly as he had found it.
Newkirk slowly raised up just far enough to see over the table. Arkel was still at the microscope, muttering and taking notes.
Newkirk stood and holding his breath, cocked his head toward the bomb. Arkel's mumbling was the only thing he heard.
Time to leave, Newkirk thought with satisfaction. Keeping his eyes upon Arkel, he brushed at the knees of his trousers to remove any tell-tale dust from the floor and headed toward the door. As he passed by the end of Arkel's table, he deliberately scuffed his boot heel against the floor. Arkel's muttering and writing continued with single-minded purpose. Newkirk's lips twitched into a mirthless smirk
Enjoy your last minutes, you mad devil. You'll soon be waking up in hell. Right where you bloody well belong.
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Tiger's prayers broke off mid-sentence and her eyes lowered to her watch. It was time.
She headed downhill at an angle, dodging trees and ducking beneath low branches with the nimbleness and grace of her feline namesake. She soon met up with Batiste and Satordi as planned, and in a few words, they confirmed the first part of their mission had been successfully completed. They fell in behind her and the three of them continued downhill to a small copse of trees a few yards from the road.
Peeking through the narrow fork of a tree, Tiger scanned the forest on the opposite hillside for signs of Moreau and Durand. The terrain they had to cover was treacherous - steeper, rockier and interspersed with heavily forested areas. The two men would have totravel fast – faster than was safe – to set their bombs at the shafts and return to cover the road. One misstep and the result would be broken bones or worse. She summoned their faces, her lips moving in another silent prayer for their safety, then checked her watch again. She could give them another minute. More than that and she would go on alone and leave Batiste and Satordi to cover the road in their place.
At exactly forty-five seconds, she saw a flash of movement amongst the greenery and felt a flush of relief. Moreau and Durand. Her eyes moved over them, gauging their status. Moreau was disheveled and out of breath, his left knee bloodied, and Durand's face was striped from temple to chin by a livid, red weal. But both were mobile and had that adrenaline-fueled glint in their eyes that told her they were ready and feeling no pain.
Tiger broke cover and after a cautious glance up the road, stepped onto its dirt surface. Batiste and Satordi trailed her, settling once again at her shoulders. Moreau spotted them and thrust his fist in the air. Success. She signaled back, then turned and ran on toward the bunker with Batiste and Satordi.
Moreau and Durand separated, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the road and slightly above it. They were snipers, with histories of no misses. Any enemy troops who tried to pass would find themselves caught between pincers of lethal firepower.
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Hermann had just connected the detonator wire to the timer when he felt a slight tug of resistance. He glanced down at the wire and blinked in dismay. The other end had pulled loose from the explosives, rendering the bomb useless. With no other choice, he went to work reconnecting it, conscious of the task eating even more time.
Behind him, one of the scientists stirred and opened his eyes.
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Carter, LeBeau, Kinch and Hogan walked steadily through the bunker's corridors toward freedom. Carter and LeBeau led the way, their hands upon their weapons, their nerves strung to their tightest. The boy, woman and young man held onto Hogan and Kinch, silent and scared, but trusting their anonymous rescuers.
The sound of boots smacking against the concrete floor came from around the corner ahead of them. Carter glanced over his shoulder at Hogan and nodded. LeBeau dropped back several steps and stopped, giving Carter room to act. Kinch and Hogan stopped as well, silencing their charges with a quickly whispered warning.
The guard cleared the corner and Carter leapt forward, swinging his gun butt-first at his head. It impacted against his temple, dropping him where he stood. It was an efficient and necessary method under these circumstances, though not gentle Carter's preferred way. He grimaced down at the body, stepped over it and peered around the corner.
Carter's violent actions were too much for the already frightened boy's nerves. A high-pitched whine built in his throat, rapidly gaining in volume.
"Shhh," Kinch hushed into one grimy, little ear. "What's your name?"
The boy looked up at him through damp lashes, whispered, "Leon."
Carter and LeBeau grabbed the unconscious guard by the arms and dragged him to a nearby broom closet. Not wanting Leon to watch, Kinch gave a little sideways hitch of his head toward Hogan, re-directing the boy's attention to the woman and young man.
"And who are they?" Kinch asked, watching Carter and LeBeau's progress out of the corner of his eye.
"Freda and Niklas," Leon whispered back, his eyes wandering over Kinch's face. He hesitantly reached up and with a small, grimy fingertip, rubbed Kinch's cheek, then peered down at his fingertip in wonder. "It does not rub off!"
Niklas frowned, tugged at Hogan's arm. "What is it? What--"
"Quiet," Hogan warned. "Not another word."
Carter glanced around the corner, one hand lifted in a staying gesture, then looked back and nodded. They were moving on.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Klaus dropped to a crouch and pushed the door to the storage facility open just enough to peer inside. The cavernous room was quiet, everything appearing as it had during the tour. Nerves prickling, he glancedfrom the corridor behind him and back into the storage facility.
Where was Rosstal?
Klaus slipped into the room, caution keeping him low to the floor, and crept along the wall to the first rack of canisters. He paused there, wiping a sweaty palm on his thigh, his eyes probing the shadows between the racks. Detecting neither bodies nor movement, he looked to the two steel beams nearest the center of the facility. Those were his targets.
He ran to the closest, pulled the satchel from his shoulder and carefully set it on the floor. The racks bracketing the beam were packed with the metal, bullet-shaped canisters of gas. Very little space separated the canisters from the beam, leaving no room for the bomb. At least two of the canisters would have to be moved.
Being extremely careful, he transferred the first canister from the rack to the floor, placing it safely out of his way. Sweat trickling from his forehead threatened to get in his eyes and blur his vision. He dragged a sleeve over his face and went back for the second canister. In his haste, he failed to notice he had dislodged the mustache. It peeled away from his lip, hung by one tip a moment, and then fell to the floor.
"What are you doing there?"
Rosstal. Klaus instantly went still. Well, he thought with a mental snort. At least I know where he is now.
"Turn around," Rosstal ordered from behind him, closer now. Klaus slowly turned, catching sight of the mustache lying near his feet.
I truly hate that thing, Klaus thought dispassionately, lifting his eyes to Rosstal. The Gestapo agent's eyes widened, rage contorting his face.
"Imposter! Move away from there!"
Klaus smiled grimly. "No."
Rosstal's narrowed. "Move or I will shoot."
"And possibly hit one of the canisters?" Klaus threw back at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he gauged the distance to the satchel.
"I cannot miss at this range," Rosstal growled with supreme confidence.
"Are you sure? Do you want to risk it?" Klaus watched the agent closely, waiting his chance. "What was it Arkel said about the gas? 'Make a mistake with one of these and we will be dead before there is time to realize it.'"
Indecision flickered in Rosstal's eyes. Klaus dove, snatched the satchel up and ran.
Rosstal's bellow of rage echoed off the walls.
TBC. Thank you for reading!