The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [71]
He shook his head. There was no time to be angry now. He had to keep calm and try to slide out of this mess—
The MPs marched up to the table. Two were British and the third was Australian. They wore heavy boots and steel helmets, and each of them had a small gun in a belt holster. One of the British said: “Is this the man?”
“Just a moment,” Wolff said, and was astonished at how cool and suave his voice sounded. “The proprietor has, this very minute, told me that my money is no good. I don’t believe this, but I’m prepared to humor him, and I’m sure we can make some arrangement which will satisfy him.” He gave the proprietor a reproachful look. “It really wasn’t necessary to call the police.”
The senior MP said: “It’s an offense to pass forged money.”
“Knowingly,” Wolff said. “It is an offense knowingly to pass forged money.” As he listened to his own voice, quiet and persuasive, his confidence grew. “Now, then, what I propose is this. I have here my checkbook and some Egyptian money. I will write a check to cover my bill, and use the Egyptian money for the tip. Tomorrow I will take the allegedly counterfeit notes to the British paymaster general for examination, and if they really are forgeries I will surrender them.” He smiled at the group surrounding him. “I imagine that should satisfy everyone.”
The proprietor said: “I would prefer if you could pay entirely in cash, sir.”
Wolff wanted to hit him in the face.
Sonja said: “I may have enough Egyptian money.”
Wolff thought: Thank God.
Sonja opened her bag.
The senior MP said: “All the same, sir, I’m going to ask you to come with me.”
Wolff’s heart sank again. “Why?”
“We’ll need to ask you some questions.”
“Fine. Why don’t you call on me tomorrow morning. I live—”
“You’ll have to come with me. Those are my orders.”
“From whom?”
“The assistant provost marshal.”
“Very well, then,” said Wolff. He stood up. He could feel the fear pumping desperate strength into his arms. “But either you or the provost will be in very deep trouble in the morning.” Then he picked up the table and threw it at the MP.
He had planned and calculated the move in a couple of seconds. It was a small circular table of solid wood. Its edge struck the MP on the bridge of the nose, and as he fell back the table landed on top of him.
Table and MP were on Wolff’s left. On his right was the proprietor. Sonja was opposite him, still sitting, and the other two MPs were on either side of her and slightly behind her.
Wolff grabbed the proprietor and pushed him at one of the MPs. Then he jumped at the other MP, the Australian, and punched his face. He hoped to get past the two of them and run away. It did not work. The MPs were chosen for their size, belligerence and brutality, and they were used to dealing with soldiers desert-hardened and fighting drunk. The Australian took the punch and staggered back a pace, but he did not fall over. Wolff kicked him in the knee and punched his face again; then the other MP, the second Englishman, pushed the proprietor out of the way and kicked Wolff’s feet from under him.
Wolff landed heavily. His chest and his cheek hit the tiled floor. His face stung, he was momentarily winded and he saw stars. He was kicked again, in the side; the pain made him jerk convulsively and roll away from the blow. The MP jumped on him, beating him about the head. He struggled to push the man off. Someone else sat on Wolff’s feet. Then Wolff saw, above him and behind the English MP on his chest, Sonja’s face, twisted with rage. The thought flashed through his mind that she was remembering another beating that had been administered by British soldiers. Then he saw that she was raising high in the air the chair she had been sitting on. The MP on Wolff’s chest glimpsed her, turned around, looked up, and raised his arms to ward off the