The '44 Vintage

lads.'

And the only difference was that then it was peacetime, and you struck—or they locked you out—and the one that broke first was the loser.

But since September 3, 1939, it had been war, and the custom and practice of war was killing, and the one that dies first was the loser.

'Traitors, you mean,' said Boucard.

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

'Not. . . traitors, exactly,' Audley shook his head. 'More like criminals, sir—thieves, certainly.'

'And murderers,' cut in Winston, looking at Audley. 'What happened in that village—to those other guys—that was murder, by God. Even though they got the krauts to pull the trigger.'

And Mr. Wilson and Sergeant Scott, the dead interpreters whose shoes they were wearing, thought Butler fiercely. That had been murder plain and simple.

'Aye—murderers,' he echoed the American, the anger within him edging the words. When he thought about it, the trail of death Major O'Conor had left behind him had all been plain murder, not war at all: not just the two interpreters and the men in the jeep behind them at Sermigny, but the dead men at the river ambush, and those who must have died in the limejuice strike on Sermigny—Germans and French civilians alike, and even the Resistance men strafed by the Mustangs. They had all been the victims of the major's greed.

Even Corporal Jones—it had been the major's hand on the bayonet in Taffy's guts, not his own.

None of that had been war, just murder.

'I see.' Boucard stared at each of them in turn. 'So you have been sent to ... execute them, is that it?'

Audley blinked. 'It isn't quite as simple as that. We have to stop their doing . . . what they're planning to do.'

'And killing them is the only way?' Madame Boucard paused. 'Is that it, David?'

Audley blinked again, shifting nervously in his chair.

'Is it, David?' she repeated softly.

'It's the only way I can think of.' Audley looked directly at her. 'Maman—if I was a general or a colonel ... if we had a squadron of Cromwells parked in your drive, ready to go ... maybe I could come up with something clever.' He shook his head. 'But I'm not, and there aren't. There are just three of us, and we have to do the job somehow.'

'Huh!' Sergeant Winston grunted. 'Always supposing we can even find the bastards.'

Audley glanced at him sidelong. 'Oh, we can find them now, I think,' he said.

'So you do know where they're heading?' Winston made the question sound like an accusation.

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

'No.' Audley looked at Winston for a second, then turned to Boucard. 'But I think you'll know, sir. In fact I'm betting on it.'

'Me?' Boucard frowned. 'Then I'm afraid you have lost your bet, my boy. Because I know of only two Englishmen in Touraine at this moment, and both of them are guests under my roof—they are sitting at this table.'

'Yes, sir. But you'll know where the men we're after are heading all the same, I think.'

Boucard shook his head. 'No, David. We are an escape route, not a resistance group. Unless they are escaping—'

'They're sure as hell not doing that,' said Winston.

'Then I simply do not have the sort of information you need.' Boucard shrugged. 'I might try to get it for you, it is true . . . there are ways, there are people . . . but it would take time. And I would guess that it is time that you lack?'

'Yes, sir . . .' Audley turned suddenly towards Madame. 'Maman, you remember we once went on a picnic to that chateau built right across a river—you had a special place just downstream on the south bank, on the towpath, where we had a terrific view of it?' Madame looked at him in surprise. 'Just north of here, maman?'

'Yes ... I remember. Chenonceaux.' She nodded. 'You made the occasion memorable by falling in the river.'

'So I did ... though actually Madeleine pushed me.' Audley's lips twitched. 'The river Cher?'

'The Cher—yes.' She nodded again. 'Is that the place you are seeking?'

'No, I don't think so. We've come too far south already for that, unless'—Audley looked to Boucard

—'have the Germans occupied the chateau there?'

'No.' Boucard shook his head. 'On the contrary, we've used the place to get people across the river—in the days when the demarcation line between the zones was there.'

'What demarcation line?' asked Winston.

'Between German-occupied France and Vichy France,' said Audley triumphantly. 'I thought it was there

—I read it was there years ago— and I wondered what would happen to the chateau. I remember wondering'—he took in both Winston and Butler with a sweeping glance— 'you see, the chateau's built Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

over the river, from one side to the other, like a bridge. Like old London Bridge was, and Ponte Vecchio in Florence—'

'So what?' snapped Winston. 'If that isn't where the major's heading, what the hell does it matter?'