Henderson and Marc both thought it best to pretend that they hadn’t understood and carried on towards Mannstein’s room. Fortunately there were several turns in the corridor and two sets of fire doors.

‘As soon as Mannstein opens the door I’m going to shoot him in the face,’ Henderson said. ‘Stand well back unless you want to get splattered in blood.’

‘Right.’ Marc nodded, taking a deep breath as he poised his knuckles in front of the door. Henderson dropped his bucket and mop and pulled the silenced pistol.

Marc knocked and waited.

‘Who is it?’ a German said.

‘Messenger boy,’ Marc shouted.

Henderson panicked. ‘That’s not Mannstein,’ he gasped.

Marc didn’t have time to ask what to do as a Gestapo officer opened the door. ‘Message from Oberst Hinze—’ he began.

But before Marc knew it, Henderson had fired his shot and a mist of the officer’s blood had spattered his face. Marc was stunned as Henderson burst into the room, just in time to hear Mannstein cry out and run for the bathroom. The bolt slid across the door a second before Henderson barged into it.

‘I just want to talk, Mr Mannstein,’ Henderson lied. ‘It’s not too late. I can still get you out of France.’

Inside the bathroom, Mannstein was going frantic. Banging against the wall, stamping on the floor and screaming for help. He wasn’t a fool and he knew Henderson wasn’t here to talk.

‘Machine gun,’ Henderson shouted, pointing towards the bag.

Marc handed the gun over and Henderson stepped away from the door and let rip. The bullets shredded the door. Henderson used his fist to punch through a large hole and then aimed directly at Mannstein, who’d taken shelter by lying flat in the bath.

A second blast from the Sten gun turned him into red goo, but Mannstein’s cries and the gunfire had been heard by the guards down the corridor and by several Gestapo officers in their rooms.

The first black uniform came out of the room directly across the corridor. Marc dived to the floor as the officer took aim with his pistol, but Henderson spun around and annihilated him with the machine gun.

‘Shit,’ Henderson howled. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘Never mind shit,’ Marc said, as he grabbed the pistol from the dead German’s hand. ‘What do we do?’

‘What do you think we do?’ Henderson said as he charged towards the door. ‘Run like hell!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Charles Henderson and Marc Kilgour belted down the corridor. The German guards were out of sight, but could be heard barging through the fire doors behind them.

Marc’s greatest fear was a dead end, but the carpeted corridor ended with a door leading on to a fire escape. As they ploughed through, Henderson noticed a fire-alarm handle on the wall and gave it a pull.