Max hadn’t spotted the ambulances on the quayside because they were parked in the streets of Senglea, just back from the docks. Senglea was a ghost town, long since evacuated by order of the governor. If anything, the smoke sat thicker there than on the quayside, undisturbed by the urgent passage of men.
There were four ambulances in all, but only three were required for the wounded men. Freddie sent them on their way before turning his attention back to Max. They were alone now, and Freddie was still angry.
“Okay, what the bloody hell’s going on?”
“Where’s Lilian?”
“Lilian?”
“Tell me where she is!”
“How the hell should I know?”
Reaching for his gun seemed the right thing to do. Taking his eyes off Freddie for a split second as he did so was definitely the wrong thing.
The fist caught him square in the mouth, snapping his head back. His knees buckled and the world seemed to recede around him. He was dimly aware of the air-raid siren and the taste of blood in his mouth and the sound of an engine starting. He forced himself back to consciousness in time to see the remaining ambulance disappear into the smoke.
He stumbled off in pursuit, pulling the revolver from its holster. That’s when the Grand Harbour barrage opened up. It hadn’t been heard in months, not on this scale, not since the March convoy. The restrictions on ammunition had clearly been lifted, and guns were letting off from every quarter. The shattering cacophony didn’t assault just the ears but all the senses. The street shivered before Max’s eyes; his legs felt leaden, numbed to the bone by the reverberations.
He didn’t hear the ambulance until it was almost on him, materializing in a moment, its blunt nose bearing down on him head-on.
He hurled himself to the left, landing hard in a pile of rubble. The ambulance veered to crush him, and it might have succeeded if a large chunk of stonework hadn’t deflected it from its course. The front wheel struck the block with a sickening crunch, and the vehicle reared up, flashing him its dark belly as it passed over him, teetering on two wheels.
Because of the smoke, he didn’t see it roll over, but he heard the sound, even above the thunder of the barrage and the scream of diving Stukas.
He groped for the revolver among the rubble, pushed himself to his feet, and set off after the ambulance.
The vehicle lay on its side, its engine still running. He didn’t bother to check the driver’s compartment because he saw Freddie staggering off through the smoke. Max wasn’t capable of breaking into a sprint, but he did his best under the circumstances and was closing in when Freddie cut right, up some steps.
They led to a church, or what was left of it. A large section of the front facade was gone, and the entrance doors hung drunkenly from their hinges. A small voice told Max to holster his weapon before entering the building. He ignored it.
Freddie had made no attempt to hide. The roof had collapsed into the nave, and he was scrabbling his way toward the back of the building over the twisted beams and broken tiles. Max fired a warning shot, the report echoing off the walls and stopping Freddie in his tracks. He stood upright, turning to face his pursuer.
Outside, the crumping barrage began to fade, the first phase of the raid over. Max picked his way through the rubble. Within the four walls of the church, the smoke seemed to hang in the air like incense at a Catholic Mass.
“Is she alive? Tell me she’s alive.”
“She’s alive.”
“Where is she?”
“In a basement.”
“Where?”
“Within a two-mile radius.”
They both knew what that meant. Grand Harbour’s toothy huddle of cities and towns was reputed to be the most built-over place in Europe.
“You’ll never find her, I can promise you that, not if you pull that trigger. She’ll die a slow death, a horrible death, the worst kind. Starvation and dehydration—is that what you want for her?”
“Why, Freddie?”
“Why?” He gave a short laugh. “My God, that’s a question and a half. How long have you got?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“We were friends.”
“You mean we aren’t anymore?”
He seemed almost to be enjoying himself, untroubled by the gun leveled at his chest.
“Tell me where she is.”
“You think you can make me with that popgun? Go ahead, try. Better still, don’t bother. There’s no point. I’ll
