Preysing, he saw, had been vomiting in the snow. “Get into the jeep, Lachaise,” he said coldly.
Another kilometer down the road he ordered Tannenbaum to stop once more.
“If the road block’s still there, we’ll probably have to identify ourselves. They may be too excited to bother but they may be pretty edgy and suspicious. Unless it’s absolutely unavoidable nobody but me will open his mouth.”
They turned another corner and braked once more. Franz swept the road ahead with his binoculars. A thousand meters away a soldier in a white helmet—this, he knew, would be the helmet of an MP—was leaning against a double barricade of heavy logs. The logs were so arranged that any vehicle passing through would have to come to a dead stop and tack past from the side. At first the MP seemed to be alone
