Whatever was going on wasn’t above board. Hiding the bicycle in the underbrush, I freed Alex’s sgian dubh from its sheath. It would provide little defence against a machine carbine, but with the Luger stashed in the chimney and my PPK under a floorboard in my bedroom, it was all I had.
Making a mental note never to leave home without a gun, even for sightseeing, I crept closer.
A guard stood at a barrier not unlike a level crossing. His attention was focused on the driver stepping from the lorry’s cab and I skirted past unnoticed. The two men conferred for a few minutes before brushing aside the canvas awning to inspect the cargo.
What would require this level of security?
Prickly shrubs provided camouflage while I rubbed a handful of dirt on my arms and face, trying to blend into the night. Would Adam’s Apple be here? Or had he travelled farther south to watch the convoy being attacked?
Someone barked a command and the other men began to unload the cargo. It looked like barrels, wrapped in sheepskins. Each barrel required two men to lift it, straining under its weight. The barrels were loaded onto a cart, and dragged into the warehouse.
Some ten feet away from me, the long grass stirred as a cat moved through it. It was missing half its right ear and several chunks of fur. The sgian dubh might not do much against a German assault rifle, but I’d be damned if I couldn’t handle a cat.
The remaining ear twitched, and it turned, baring its teeth and hissing loud enough to warrant the officer’s sharp command and disappeared into the brush.
‘Goddamned animal,’ one of the soldiers muttered, moving my way.
To be caught was one thing; to have the alarm raised by a feral beast was another.
The soldier strode closer, and sneezed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand and muttered, ‘Fucking cat.’
The knife felt slick in my hand and, muscles protesting, I crouched, ready to defend myself.
The man sneezed again.
‘Waste of time,’ he growled. Turned back to the warehouse.
The officer called out a question, to which the man shook his head and moved back into his position, passing less than five feet from me.
Once the lorry had been unloaded, the driver handed the officer a clipboard. Nodded as it was signed, then heaved himself into the truck and drove past the barrier.
‘Well, how about that?’ I murmured.
The quay was crawling with men, making it impossible to sneak closer. My legs ached from inactivity, but something kept me rooted to the spot, certain that whatever was going on hadn’t yet finished. I stretched as best I could and allowed myself a faint regret that I hadn’t brought a flask of coffee.
The moon was already dipping when a skiff tied up to the pier and the barrels were loaded onto the boat. They could have been the same ones, or different ones for all I knew.
The boat rode low in the water while the men on the pier fumbled for flasks and packs of cigarettes. What was in them anyway? Portuguese wine was pleasant, but not good enough to smuggle out. So what was it? Port? Spirits? What could be heavier?
Something at ground level caught my eye and I edged back as a creature tiptoed inches from my foot. About the size of my hand, at first glance it resembled a small lobster, but the narrow tail that curved over its back looked worse than the grasping claws. It swivelled to face me, its tail bobbing. I fell hard on my bottom, and grabbed the sgian dubh from my thigh.
Jesus Christ!
No wonder the cat had bolted. I had no idea if the little blade would even pierce the scorpion’s armour, but I wasn’t inclined to get close enough to even try. I dragged air in through my mouth, tamping down on the urge to scream. Edging back, I stepped on a dry branch and flinched.
I flicked my fingers at it, hissing, ‘Go away!’
It didn’t move.
If I threw a stone at it, would it run, or attack? Buck had always told us to expect the unexpected, but a scorpion?
With room to stand and swing a branch, I could launch the creature halfway to the sea. Only there was no room; standing would make me an easy target for the soldiers, and if I missed, the scorpion would get me. At least that would make for a less embarrassing letter to Lady Anne. Death by scorpion instead of drowned in wine.
I looked between the warehouse and the scorpion. Anger outweighed fear.
‘Go,’ I demanded in a harsh whisper, trying to keep the panic from my voice. ‘Go!’
Its front legs bowed. Was that a warning?
‘I tell you, there’s something out there. You two. Go and check it out.’
Oh, hell.
‘Fucking officers,’ a soldier growled, stomping in my direction. ‘Think they own the world. It’s only a stinking cat.’
The scorpion retreated into the bushes and for a second, I wished I could follow it. Instead, I forced my heart to slow and crouched low to the ground. Trembling fingers gripped the knife. It wouldn’t be much help, but at least it made me feel better.
‘You think they don’t?’
The other man used the muzzle of his rifle to check under the shrubs. The black barrel passed less than a yard in front of me. I could hear their grunts; smell the sweat on their bodies. With a little luck, they’d step on the scorpion.
‘You’d think they’d do away with it, wouldn’t you?’
‘Christ, Sig, even the Reds have ranks. When did you turn into a commie?’
‘Fuck off, Gast,’ the first man growled. ‘This is a waste of time. Let’s go back.’
If they’d looked down, they would have seen me – they were that close. But they rejoined their companions in front of the
