Day of Vengeance by Johnny O'Brien Page B

expression changed. Initially, he seemed a little bemused at the sight of Jack, but then Gottschalk’s brow furrowed. Finally, Jack turned. The door to the café was now only two metres away and he quickened his step, but his legs started to wobble and his stomach churned. He felt naked. It was as if not only Gottschalk was staring at him, but everyone else in the café as well. The big glass door was now only a step away – he reached out for the handle. Beyond it, he could see Jean-Yves, Angus and Sophie already melting away into the street.
    “Arretez!”
    Jack froze. He did not dare look round. For a second time in ten minutes the café was silenced. Approaching from behind, Jack could hear the heavy boots approaching slowly across the tiled floor. He could feel Gottschalk’s eyes boring into the back of his head. The footsteps stopped.
    “Tournez-vous.”
    Jack could feel Gottschalk’s breath on his neck – inches behind him. Slowly he turned round. Gottschalk looked at him.
    “Name?”
    Jack knew that one word from him and the game was up, but he was too terrified even to try and speak.
    Gottschalk’s eyes narrowed as he stared intently at Jack, “I asked you kindly to give me your name.”
    Jack felt his face burning red.
    “Now, officer, please don’t tell me we have another problem…?”
    It was Marianne, approaching Gottschalk from behind.
    Gottschalk half turned his head but kept his eye on Jack. “Nothing to trouble you my dear… I was asking this young man to be polite enough to tell me who he is and where he is from…”
    For the first time, Jack saw fear in Marianne’s face. Gottschalk looked into Jack’s eyes and reached down to his holster. Once again, he withdrew the Luger.
    “Now, let me ask you one more time. What is your name?”
    Jack stared stupidly, paralysed with fear. Then, suddenly, help arrived from an unexpected source. The portly figure of Antoine appeared behind Marianne and the officer, carrying a silver tray in one hand. On the tray there was a large goblet of brandy.
    “If you please, sir,” he said.
    Gottschalk half-turned, distracted. “What on earth do you want?”
    “More brandy, sir…”
    “Not now you fool – we are busy here. We already have what we need.”
    Antoine looked hurt, his puffy lips turned down in dismay. “But this is our very finest, Bonaparte’s brandy, we would like you to try it, Oberstleutnant .”
    The officer looked at Antoine with extreme irritation.
    “Brigadeführer…”
    “Of course… I meant Brigadeführer .”
    Suddenly, with his free hand, Antoine reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver lighter. He deftly flicked it open and waved the lighted flame across the top of the glass. A blue flame burst into life as the alcohol caught fire. In a single smooth movement he dropped the lighter, took the glass and thrust it straight into Gottschalk’s face. He screwed the glass round so the rim immediately shattered, lacerating the skin. The flaming brandy splattered everywhere. Gottschalk screamed. Just for a split second, Jack watched as Antoine’s puffy face lit up in an expression of pure joy. It was the last thing he would ever do. Gottschalk held one hand to his bloodied, burned face, but the other still held the Luger. He lifted the gun to Antoine’s head and fired without hesitation. Once.
    Antoine’s fat legs gave way and he dropped to the floor. Jack only had time to see Antoine’s eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling, a small entry wound in his forehead and a pool of crimson growing ominously on the floor. The two other soldiers jumped to their feet… but Marianne was quicker. She brought her knee hard up into Gottschalk’s groin and he doubled over in pain, his gun spinning from his hand. Then she stuck her elbow into the back of his neck and he groaned as he fell to his knees. The two soldiers raised their weapons but Jack and Marianne were both through the café door before the first shots rang out, shattering