It was barely nine. She was preparing for the afternoon session. ‘You’re mad, Douglas! What are you going to do, just waltz in to this bar and ask about their arrangements for escaped Nazis?’ ‘Sort of. I’ve got Collins out looking for old clothes. German clothes. And a boat.’ ‘A boat! You’re going to storm ashore from a boat? Guns blazing? You tried that before, remember. On Arran.’ ‘And I seem to recall that it resulted in the rescue of a certain damsel in distress.’ She had the grace to blush. ‘You’re a big stupid hero, Brodie. And I’d like you to stop now.’ ‘No heroics this time. Will Collins and I are going on the run. We’re a pair of SS officers looking for a way out of occupied Germany.’ Sam put her hand to her mouth. ‘You’ll never get away with it.’ ‘Why not? We both speak good German. Though I might have to add a duelling scar to Collins’s face to go with his Hochdeutsch accent.’ Iain Scrymgeour had wandered over and was tuning into our conversation.
