The English Assassin Read Online Free Page A

came the noise of an SD Kfz 233 starting up, backing out and roaring off down the emergency track through the rubble.
    * * *
    The screeching assumed a melancholy note and then ceased. Night fell. From time to time the room was illuminated by incendiary explosions from the East. Later there was darkness relieved by a little moonlight and the sound of the Zeppelin returning to its shed. Then there remained only a rustle of atmospherics from the speakers.
    The small black-and-white cat, forgotten by Una Persson, woke up. It stretched and began to walk towards Lobkowitz. It lapped at the congealed blood on the face, then moved off in disgust. It washed itself beside Eva’s corpse and then sprang into the coffin to curl on Jerry’s chest, heedless of the insensate, agonised eyes which, wide open, continued to stare at the terracotta ceiling, before slowly filling with tears.

SEBASTIAN AUCHINEK
    The long, gentle hands came down to reveal a sensitive Jewish face. The large, red lips moved, emitting softly accented English: “Perhaps you should have brought him back, Una?” He was a thin, pale intellectual. He sat on a camp-chair with its back against the far wall of a dry, limestone cave. He was dressed in standard guerrilla gear; it hung on his thin body like a wet flag.
    The cave was full of crates; it was lit by a tin oil lamp which cast black shadows. On one of the crates stood a half-eaten Stilton cheese, an almost full bottle of Vichy water and a number of East German and Polish military maps in leather cases.
    She was undoing the top button of her black maxi-coat. “That would have been theft, Sebastian.”
    “True. But these are pragmatic times.”
    “And we agreed we wanted no part of them.”
    “True.” He sucked his upper lip into his mouth, his large lids slowly falling to cover his eyes.
    She said defiantly: “The M16s are as good as new. There’s plenty of ammunition. He kept his side of it. Many New Germans are very straight in that respect.” She shrugged. “But her violence upset me.” She lit another Sherman’s with a match from a box on the nearby crate. “I’ve still got a feeling I’ve forgotten something.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her gun, turning it this way and that. “What else could I do? If saving her would have brought him back to life…”
    “True.”
    “Well, I know if I’d thought about it for a moment I might not have done it. But so many people waste time thinking about things and when they act it’s too late. I didn’t want to hurt anybody.”
    Sebastian Auchinek got up from the camp-chair and walked to the cave entrance, drawing back the camouflage net. Outside, the drizzle fluttered like a tattered curtain in the wind and Auchinek peered through it, hoping to get a sight of the tiny Macedonian village in the rocky valley below. A herd of goats emerged from the thin rain. They bleated their discomfort as they trotted down the mountainside and disappeared. The water swished on the rocks and it smelled faintly of benzine. At least the air was reasonably warm.
    “Sebastian.”
    His inclination was to leave the cave, for he hated any form of homecoming ceremony, but he turned.
    She was kneeling by the chair wearing a gold and brown puff-sleeved shirt with a long black waistcoat and matching black trousers. Her coat was folded neatly beside her.
    With a sigh he returned to his place and spread his spider legs. She reached forward and undid his fly. He gritted his teeth and his hand stroked her head once or twice before falling back at his side. He squeezed his eyes shut. Her face was grave as she moved it towards his crutch, as if she were considering different and more pleasant things while conscientiously performing a distasteful but necessary task.
    Auchinek wondered if she did it because she thought he liked it. She had done it regularly for the past few months; at first he had pretended to be pleased and now he could never tell her the truth.
    When