Young Lions by Andrew Mackay Page A

deal with Wurth.”
     
     

Chapter Seven  
    “Where’s Sam?” Ansett walked to the class room door and looked up and down the corridor.
    Alan didn’t answer. His silence spoke for itself. I came alone. Incase it was a trap. Can I trust you?
    “I see.” Ansett smiled grimly. He understood. “Follow me.”
    Ansett led the way out of the classroom, down the corridor and out of the building. Alan followed him through the school gates and down the High Street towards the Town Square.
    “Where are we going?” Alan asked.
    “You’ll see.”
    Alan was aware that he was sweating profusely despite the fact that it was nearly half way through November. Adrenalin was rushing through his body in waves. He could almost hear his heart pumping his blood through his veins. His right hand strayed to his waist where he could feel the butt of the Luger pistol pressing against his belt buckle. They were walking towards German Headquarters. If you betray me, they won’t take me alive, you bastard. The first bullet will be for you, Ansett, straight in your back. I’ve got four full magazines. I’ll take you and some of your Nazi friends with me and I’ll save the last bullet for myself. They won’t take me alive.
    Ansett kept walking past German Headquarters.
    “Not far now.” Ansett pushed open the giant oak doors of Hereward Cathedral and stepped inside. Alan followed. His hand fell away from his belt buckle. No. It could still be a trap. This is where they take you. When you think that you’re safe. When you think that you’ve made it. When you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. Ansett fought in the last war, but he didn’t join up for this one. Why? The thought thudded through his mind like the persistent pulse of a headache. He could still be a traitor.
    It was quiet inside. There were only a handful of worshippers scattered throughout the Cathedral sitting on the benches. Plus various groups of German tourists, both civilian and military, malingering around. But were they tourists? Was this a trap? Were they waiting for a signal from Ansett to spring the ambush?
    Ansett headed towards the steps leading down to the crypt. He stopped at the bottom and drew out a large iron key. He inserted the key, turned it and opened the door. Considering its age, the door was surprisingly silent as it swung open. The hinges must be incredibly well oiled, Alan thought to himself. Ansett turned around and casually swept the Cathedral with his eyes to see if anyone had noticed him opening the door. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. “Come on,” He whispered.
    Alan followed him down the stairs. It was deathly quiet, as quiet as … a tomb. Ansett picked up a torchlight that was placed conveniently by the door. “Close the door.” He ordered. Alan did as he was told and then had to pick up the pace to catch up with Ansett as the light from his torch disappeared into the darkness. Alan’s heart skipped a beat in sudden panic at the thought of losing sight of Ansett and being stranded down here in the dark. The thought of spending the rest of his days wandering hopelessly amongst the dead speeded up his steps until he finally caught up with him. Alan kept close behind as they walked down the length of the crypt. Tombs stretched out in front, behind and to either side of them as far as their torchlight could see.
    “This…this place gives me the creeps,” Alan whispered.
    “Why are you whispering? The dead can’t hear you,” Ansett whispered back.
    “I can’t help it,” Alan admitted.
    “They’re already dead, Alan.” Ansett spoke over his shoulder. “You can’t kill them with that thing.”
    “Sorry, sir.” Alan bashfully put his Luger away. How had it got there? He couldn’t remember taking it out of his trousers. He wiped the sweat from the pistol grip before he placed it back inside his underpants.
    They reached the end of the crypt. “Here, give me a hand. Grab the other end