As the remaining soldiers began to file out, Camille slipped a hand into her stepfather’s. He turned and winked at us, then closed the doors and carefully relocked the padlock.
It was a narrow escape.
Later that afternoon, I was wandering back up the hill on my way home for dinner when I stopped dead in my tracks. Keller’s troops were packing away their equipment and tents.
I felt a sudden surge of optimism. Were they going already?
I raced into the courtyard to check, and was about to head into the house when something caught my eye. The door to the old garage was slightly ajar.
Inside, Engel was studying the rusty remains of the old ambulance. It was the first thing the Germans had discovered when they’d started searching, but it had quickly been dismissed as a dinosaur. So what was Engel doing snooping around it again?
Seeing me, he sprang upright with a start, fumbling with his glasses. “I—I hope you don’t mind,” he stammered. “I couldn’t resist another glance at it before we left.”
“So it’s true you’re leaving?” I asked.
“Before nightfall, Major Keller assures me. Funny”—Engel gave me a shy smile—“I’ve become quite fond of this little village during our short stay.”
Suddenly the door swung open and my father appeared. He was out of breath and looked unusually flustered. His eyes darted first to the ambulance, and then to the engineer. “Something I can help you with?” he demanded.
Engel smiled respectfully. “I was just explaining to Angelo that we are leaving. In a few hours or so.”
“Well, we mustn’t detain you,” Papa answered rather shortly. He seemed unduly anxious to get Engel out of the garage as quickly as possible.
The little man nodded and shuffled toward the door. But before he left he paused, his attention drawn back to the ambulance. “She must once have been a beautiful machine,” he mused, almost in a reverie.
“A rust bucket, more like,” my father grunted.
“Perhaps…Nonetheless, her suspension is highly original.”
As he said the words, I spun round to look at the ambulance, confused. What did he mean the suspension was highly original? Surely it was just the rusty axle from the original chassis…?
Then, all at once, the reality hit me like a freight train.
It wasn’t the original. Or rather, bits of it were—the bonnet, the doors, various bits of old bumpers and canopies. But not the chassis. In fact, not the wheels, the engine, the seats—and especially not the suspension.
As I peered closer, I realized with horror that I was looking at the last prototype of the Tin Snail—or at least a skeleton of it. It had been crudely disguised with bits of rusty paneling to look like the ambulance.
How could this be? Every one of the prototypes had been broken up and buried. Unless…
I turned to glare at my father, who was now avoiding my eyes. It couldn’t have been a clearer admission of guilt.
I reeled as the truth finally dawned. My own father, unable to bear the sight of all the precious prototypes being broken up and destroyed forever, had secretly hidden one right here, under our very noses, hoping it wouldn’t be discovered.
Except that now it had. And what’s more, by the very person we had been trying to conceal it from—Engel!
How could Papa have been so stupid!
There was a terrible silence as I looked daggers at him, but it was Engel who spoke first.
“Of course, it must have been designed specifically to carry casualties across the fields—to cushion the ride.”
My father stared at him, obviously trying to work out how much he’d twigged. Did Engel suspect that this was the prototype in disguise? And if so, was he going to sound the alarm?
For a moment the two designers—one Italian but working for the French, the other German, but united by their passion for cars—held each other’s gaze. I looked frantically from one to the other, trying desperately to work out how much Engel knew. If my heart had been racing before, I could now feel it thumping away in my chest. Surely he had guessed….
“I hope that one day our paths will cross again, Signor Fabrizzi,” Engel said with a smile. “When the war between our countries is well and truly in the past.” Then he tipped his hat to each of us in salute and headed away.
I was stupefied. Could it be that he suspected nothing after all? Or—even harder to comprehend—was he turning a blind eye?
As his steps receded across the gravel, I let out a gasp. “He knows!”
Papa shushed me urgently. “Even if he does, I don’t think he’s going to say anything.”
“But why? It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Because I suspect that Herr Engel despises the Nazis every bit as much as we do,” my father whispered. “Either way, I’m not about to start arguing with him.” He headed for the door, but I wasn’t finished with him yet. Not by a long shot.
“You lied to me. You promised you’d destroyed it,” I hissed accusingly. I had never felt so angry or betrayed.
My father hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought if I removed the bodywork and camouflaged it as the ambulance, they would never guess.”
My head was still spinning with the shock of his treachery. “But that night—Christian said you were burying the parts all over the forest. Did he lie to me as well?”
“No,” he insisted. “Christian helped me get the car to the garage and strip it down. But I could see that he was anxious to get home to his mother, so I sent him away.”
“So no one would know about your deceit!” I spat the words out with disgust.
“I swear I was planning to break everything up,” Papa protested. “But when I came to the chassis and suspension, I just couldn’t do it.” He looked into my eyes, ashamed. “I never meant to deceive you. But all I could think about was how much this car meant to us—to you. To see it destroyed for good…it was unthinkable.”
“So you’d rather it fell into Keller’s hands?” I snapped.
“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “I never thought they’d come—and even if they did, who would have suspected a beaten-up old ambulance sitting in full view?”
It was true—my father’s ploy had managed to hoodwink Keller—but I wasn’t about to forgive him that easily.
“I know I’ve been a stupid, irresponsible fool,” he sighed, his eyes brimming with tears. “But if something had happened to me, or to Christian, the car would have been lost forever. Surely nothing could be worse than that—even the Germans finding it.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, hearing my voice catch with emotion. “Don’t you see? These people—Benoît, Victor, Camille—every one of them has put their life on the line to protect this car. They believed in us—and for what? So you could betray them.” As my words sank in, my father looked down at the floor, ashamed. “Philippe was right,” I muttered gloomily. “We are traitors.”
I was about to walk out of the garage when suddenly Camille burst in, looking distraught.
“What is it?” I asked, alarmed. Had she heard what we’d been saying?
“Benoît,” she said urgently. “The German officer is going to shoot him if he doesn’t tell him where the car is hidden.”
My father and I threw each other a look of horror. The next second we were sprinting out of the garage as fast as our legs would carry us.
By the time we reached the village, a group of soldiers had dragged Benoît out of his house into the middle of the square. Major Keller was sitting at a table outside the bar tabac, sipping coffee as if nothing unusual was occurring. Meanwhile, Marguerite, sobbing uncontrollably, was fighting to get to her husband. It took three soldiers to restrain her—including, I noticed, the pimply youth who had been humiliated by her.
“What is the meaning of this?” my father demanded as he strode over to Keller.
The major glanced up and smiled cordially. “Ah, Signor Fabrizzi. Just in time. I am offering the monsieur a deal
: to tell me where the prototype for your little car is hidden or to forfeit his life.”
Suddenly there was a commotion. Victor had returned from an official meeting with the local council, but his way into the square was being barred.
“I insist you let me through this instant!” he yelled.
Keller waved to his soldiers and they stepped aside to let the plump mayor through.
“What on earth is going on?” Victor thundered as he approached.
Marguerite finally managed to push her way forward. “They’re going to kill him!” she cried.
Victor’s eyes bulged with shock.
“Strictly speaking, incorrect,” Keller noted, after taking a sip of coffee. “I have simply given him the option of choosing that which he holds more dear: his life or the whereabouts of the car.”
“This is an outrage,” Victor protested. “You cannot do this!”
“On the contrary, Monsieur le Maire. I already am.”
So many thoughts were racing through my head, I thought it would burst. I threw a panicked look to my father, but before he could react, another figure appeared in the square: Herr Engel. He glanced around in amazement, then shuffled over to Keller.
“Major, I must protest—”
But Keller cut him off midsentence. “My orders are to find the car—at any cost.”
“But surely not like this—”
“You should be glad,” Keller responded, a cruel glint in his eye. “Your bosses will probably promote you after this.”
Suddenly a croaky voice interrupted them. It was Benoît.
“I have your answer, Major.”
I shot another terrified look at my father as Keller stood up and approached the farmer.
“I’m glad you have decided to cooperate.” The major smiled. “Well?”
“I—I should have told you before,” Benoît stuttered guiltily.
“No matter. I am a forgiving man.”
“Him…,” Benoît muttered darkly, throwing a look toward my father. My blood turned to ice.
“Go on,” Keller encouraged him.
Benoît cleared his throat before continuing. “He took the engine out of his motorbike—the German one.”
I closed my eyes in despair. Everything was surely lost now. But my father remained perfectly still, showing no emotion.
“And…?” Keller urged the old man impatiently. “Where did he put it?”
Benoît took a deep breath and cast his eyes down toward his dusty shoes. “In my tractor.”
The major looked startled. Clearly it wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “In your tractor?” he asked, incredulous.
I opened my eyes, confused. What was the old man wittering on about?
“When the old engine died. He said it would work better, but he was a liar. It lasted about a day. It’s my tractor you’re looking for—but it’s not exactly a car.”
My father was staring straight at Benoît. Marguerite was also staring at him, unable to breathe. What madness was this?
Keller nodded sagely before slowly unbuttoning the leather flap of his holster and removing the Walther P38.
Marguerite started in horror. “Please…no, I beg you!”
My eyes widened in disbelief. I grabbed at my father’s shirtsleeve. “Papa—you have to do something!”
“I commend you for your bravery, monsieur,” Keller said to the old farmer. “If only your fellow countrymen had shown half your stubbornness, perhaps my soldiers and I would not be standing here now. But you’re a fool to think you can lie to me.” With that he brought his pistol level with Benoît’s temple, the cold steel of the barrel pressing against the wisps of silver hair.
“Wait!” a voice suddenly boomed out across the square.
All eyes darted toward a tall, willowy figure in a gray raincoat and crumpled trilby.
Bertrand.
“Monsieur Hipaux.” Keller gave a sly smile. “I wondered that we had not seen you earlier.”
Bertrand stared at him coldly. It was clear that he had nothing but loathing for him. “We both know perfectly well that your senior officers have been forcing me to manufacture lorries for your war effort.”
“Lorries, I believe, that have a reputation for breaking down,” the major noted caustically.
Bertrand gave him a hollow smile. “You can always allow us to return to building cars.”
Major Keller didn’t deign to answer this. “Time is against us, Monsieur Hipaux. Was there something you wished to say?”
Bertrand glanced across at Engel, who was standing nearby. “Herr Engel knows only too well that for the last year or more we have been developing a car for the ordinary French worker. The reason you have not found it, and why none of these people will be able to show you its whereabouts, is that I ordered it to be destroyed.”
Keller raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re asking me to believe you simply destroyed a year’s work?”
“Exactly that,” Bertrand replied evenly.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“You can kill as many people as you want.” Bertrand shrugged. “Search as many pigsties as you can find, but you will not discover one trace of the car we tried to design. Believe me, we were very thorough.” He turned to Engel again; the little man wore a look of complete astonishment.
“Forgive me, Herr Engel, but the idea of our little French car falling into the hands of a rival company, let alone the German military, was, well…unthinkable.”
“As, indeed, it would be the other way round,” Engel replied graciously. The two men exchanged a nod of understanding.
“So you are saying that nothing whatsoever of the car exists?” Keller asked doubtfully.
“There is something,” Bertrand offered. He brought one of his long, gnarled fingers up to his temple and tapped it twice. “Up here.”
The major studied him shrewdly, sensing he was being made a fool of in front of the entire village. “Then I suggest you accompany us back to Paris, where we can see if we can persuade you to share your memories with us in a little more detail,” he said with more than a hint of cruel pleasure. “Until then, unless I am given the whereabouts of the car in the next three hours, your friend the farmer here will still pay with his life.”
“No!” Marguerite screamed, heartbroken.
“Major Keller!” Engel protested. “This is monstrous!”
Bertrand’s face, never animated at the best of times, was now as gray as his overcoat as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.
I too was speechless. Keller clearly believed that Bertrand was tricking him. The trouble was, he had been completely honest. As far as he was aware, all the prototypes had been destroyed and scattered to the four winds. Only my father and I knew the real truth.
I threw a look at Papa. Unless he confessed to keeping the car hidden in the barn—unless he gave up the secret the entire village had concealed for so long—Benoît would die.
I grabbed his arm, tears welling up in my eyes. “Tell them,” I whispered hoarsely.
By now the major was settling into the back of his Mercedes.
“Major Keller,” my father finally called out. He failed to hear over the noise of the car engine, so my father shouted his name louder.
This time he turned and barked something to his driver and the engine was switched off.
Suddenly all eyes were turned on my father. Bertrand too was watching him closely, sensing that something momentous was afoot.
“Let Benoît go,” my father said, nodding toward the farmer.
“And why would I do that?” Keller asked, intrigued.
“Because I know where you can find what you are looking for.”
Bertrand’s face clouded. “What are you talking about? You know everything was destroyed.”
He saw my father’s black, soulful eyes looking back at him guiltily, and suddenly he understood.
He gasped in shock. “You kept something, didn’t you?”
“No!” This time the voice came from Philippe, who had suddenly pushed his way through the crowd. “You mustn’t tell them.”
Victor spun round angrily. “Be quiet, Philippe!”
But he refused to listen. “Don’t do this, I beg you,” he urged my father.
“It’s too late,” Papa sighed.
“Perhaps you would prefer to die in the place of old Benoît here?” Keller asked.
“If I have to,” Philippe told him defiantly.
Victor stepped forward and grabbed his son roughly. “Philippe, enough!”
But Philippe shoved him away, his eyes now blazing with anger as he stared at my father. “If you give them this, then they have taken everything from us. We have already lost our country. Do not take what little pride we have left.”
“Philippe, please!” Dominique was weeping.
“You would really rather die?” the major asked, fascinated.
Philippe turned to him slowly. “Gladly. Otherwise I have nothing left to live for….”
“In that case, I’m afraid you are going to be bitterly disappointed,” Keller said, smirking. “Because Signor Fabrizzi has already agreed to cooperate.” He turned to my father. “Just like your fellow countrymen, it seems, you have seen sense and joined the winning side.”
He gestured to his car, but my father pointedly ignored him. Instead, he turned to his mentor, Bertrand, who looked broken and defeated.
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered.
Bertrand said nothing; simply turned and began to trudge back to his manor house. After a moment my father set out gloomily after him.
Keller shouted some further instructions to his men, then sank back into his seat as his car swept out of the square.
As the dust settled, I suddenly remembered Camille. When we’d first arrived in the square, I’d been vaguely aware of her standing nearby. Now, mysteriously, she was nowhere to be seen.
I was looking around to see if I could find her, when my eyes fell on Philippe, standing across the square from me. As we stared at each other, for the first time a small flicker of something like solidarity passed between us. Then I turned and hurried after my father.
The Tin Snail Page 19