The Valkyrie Directive

by Peter MacAlan

  ‘Do you think anyone will recognize you after three years?’ asked Sweeny as they neared the main gates.

  ‘I can’t be sure, but I wouldn’t think so. Most of the people I worked with have gone on to other hospitals, and people like Professor Stenersen would hardly give me away.’

  There were several German soldiers on guard duty outside the hospital.

  ‘The Germans are everywhere,’ Sweeny observed, frowning.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Woods replied. ‘The hospital must be dealing with the German casualties from the war front.’

  Indeed, there were several military vehicles in the hospital grounds.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Woods.

  ‘Let’s see the operating theatres.’

  ‘The main surgical building is the one which fronts onto the Ullervalsveien,’ Woods said, swinging off round a building and nearly colliding with a German soldier.

  ‘Verdammt!’ muttered the indignant man. ‘Eintritt verboten!’ Then, summoning some bad Norwegian, ‘This area is forbidden to enter.’

  Sweeny smiled. ‘Verzeihen Sie Bitte. We were going to the main surgical block. Can’t we go through this way?’

  ‘This area is for wounded German soldiers. Didn’t you see the sign?’

  Sweeny shook his head and apologized again. The sentry softened a little.

  ‘Well, no harm done. You may go across that way, but follow the path.’

  ‘Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar,’ said Sweeny expansively. He led Woods hurriedly away.

  ‘That was a near thing,’ Woods whispered.

  ‘Just watch where you are going,’ muttered Sweeny. ‘It’s not wise to go round bumping into German soldiers in restricted zones.’ He glanced around and added: ‘If we are stopped, remember that we are builders come to take some measurements.’

  Woods nodded, a little chastened.

  They came to a large building which fronted onto a road. On the other side of the road, exactly in front of the building, was a large graveyard.

  ‘What’s that place?’ asked Sweeny.

  ‘Var Frelsers Gravlund,’ Woods replied grimly. ‘Our Saviour’s Cemetery. They used to say that when student surgeons failed with a case it was only a short trip across the road to hide the mistake. Actually, this is the old part of the hospital and there is a morgue just below the theatre complex. From the morgue the bodies would be transported to the basement of the hospital through an underground passage and up into the cemetery.’

  Sweeny glanced at the cemetery grounds thoughtfully.

  ‘Is the passage still used?’

  Woods shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘Let’s explore the basement first.’

  Woods turned toward a side entrance in the building. Although there were plenty of people about, nurses, men in white coats and an assortment of patients and others, no one seemed to pay them a second glance. Woods remembered the way, for he stepped through a door which led down a winding iron stairwell into a small anteroom. Workmen’s overalls hung on pegs. It was obviously the changing room for the maintenance staff.

  ‘We are getting all the luck we need,’ grinned Sweeny, seizing an overall from its hanger. ‘Put on a coat and don’t forget we are builders, eh?’

  While Woods fitted himself out, Sweeny sorted through a tool box and came up with a tape measure and a note pad on a blockboard.

  ‘The perfect disguise,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘If you see anyone looking suspiciously at us, just start measuring.’

  Woods led the way again, this time through a metal door which led into the basement area. It seemed to run the entire length of the building. Several large dynamos hummed softly, giving the building its lighting and emergency back-up systems for the surgical department. There was also a series of boilers throwing out a stifling heat. The place seemed deserted.

  ‘Do you know where the passageway into the cemetery begins?’

  Woods nodded.

  ‘It would have to be on that side of the building.’ He moved along a walkway between the humming dynamos. They came upon doors which opened into an elevator.

  ‘That must go up to the morgue,’ observed Woods. ‘There’s an emergency staircase next to it and beyond them …’

  Beyond were two large iron doors.

  ‘Those must open into the passage.’

  Sweeny bent down and examined the doors carefully.

  ‘The bolts don’t look as if they have been drawn for some years,’ he mused. He glanced at Woods. ‘Would it be easy to get Stenersen and his team down here from the theatre without anyone seeing them?’

  Woods nodded. ‘If you can get Stenersen away from the guards which Inge mentioned.’

  ‘Forget them for the moment. Can it be done?’

  Woods pointed to the circular stairs near the elevator.

  ‘They lead up to the roof as an emergency fire escape. There is a fire door from the theatre washroom which leads out on to them.’

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded a harsh voice.

  They swung round in alarm. A thick-set man in workman’s overalls was standing, hands on hips, glaring suspiciously at them.

  ‘Who are we?’ Sweeny snapped back. ‘That’s a question we should be asking you.’

  The workman blinked at the tone of authority in Sweeny’s voice.

  ‘I … I’m an assistant janitor here.’ A tone of deference crept into his voice.

  ‘Ah? Name?’

  ‘Holmboe … sir.’

  ‘These bolts aren’t kept in good condition, are they, Holmboe?’

  Sweeny said, indicating the iron doors.

  The man bit his lip nervously.

  ‘The doors of the old passage have not been used in years, sir. But they still work. Why do you ask, sir?’

  Sweeny sniffed.

  ‘It may be that we will want to start using the passage again. When you have time put some oil on them. Thank you, Holmboe.’

  ‘Excuse me …’

  Sweeny was moving away, saying to Woods in a loud voice, ‘I’ll have to mention the matter to the Direktor.’

  The assistant janitor watched them go with a frown.

  Once through the anteroom door, Sweeny and Woods moved more hurriedly, leaving the overalls where they had found them.

  ‘Damn it,’ muttered Sweeny as they moved out of the hospital. ‘I would have liked to try the bolts on the door to make sure they work. Let’s hope our janitor friend decides to oil and test them before tomorrow.’

  ‘But why?’ Woods was frowning. Sweeny did not reply.

  Woods followed him out of the hospital building and across the road towards the cemetery. Sweeny did not speak. He inspected the cemetery carefully through the iron railings which surrounded it. There was no gate into it from this side of the perimeter. Sweeny moved off again, following the wall of the cemetery until it turned south again by the Old Akers Church. There they could see the main entrance. Woods shrugged as he followed the taciturn Sweeny into the grounds and through the winding paths among the headstones.

  ‘Where does the passageway come up, Woods?’

  Woods nodded to a tall mausoleum structure.

  ‘So far as I remember, it comes up in there.’

  Sweeny made towards it without hesitation and examined the rusting iron doors.

  ‘Bolts,’ he said. He leant his weight against them and they gave a sharp protesting screech. He eased them out and tried the door. It took some pressure before it swung inwards to reveal a dark and musty interior. After a few stone steps the floor began to slope rapidly down into a yawning black hole.

  ‘Wait here,’ Sweeny said, pulling out a box of matches. ‘If anyone comes along swing the door shut behind me.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ demanded Woods in surprise.

  ‘I want to follow the tunnel back as far as I can to make sure that there are no obstructions.’

  With that he was gone into the dark passage. Woods sa
w the tiny flicker of his match-torch dying away. Rather Sweeny than himself, he thought as he turned and paced up and down, pretending to be interested in deciphering inscriptions on the nearby tombs. It seemed a very long time before Sweeny reappeared and stood with his back against the brick of the mausoleum, breathing in deep draughts of fresh air. Then he drew the iron door shut and slipped back the bolts.

  ‘If all goes well,’ he said, smiling tightly, ‘this will be our escape route out of the hospital. We can have our transport waiting at the main gates of the cemetery.’

  ‘I still don’t see why we need to use the underground passage,’ Woods said in puzzlement.

  ‘First, to avoid the SS guards that have been placed to watch Stenersen, and secondly, because we will be moving seven people out of the hospital, of whom one at least will be unwilling to come with us. The less people see of us the better.’

  *

  At the apartment Branting was already back and having a coffee with Inge.

  ‘No problems about transport, Sweeny,’ the young officer reported, grinning.

  ‘Good.’ Sweeny took the cup which Inge was offering him. ‘The plan is simple. Inge and Woods will go to the Riks-Hospitalet tomorrow. They must somehow be in the theatre itself as Stenersen and his team are finishing their last operation of the day. Inge, you will have to work that out with your uncle. Do you think you can persuade him to give you and Woods some sort of special pass to observe … say to observe surgical techniques?’

  Inge nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘He must also ensure that the SS guards are not allowed in the theatre while he is operating. As soon as the last operation is completed, you will move Stenersen and his team to the washroom.’

  ‘That’s normal procedure, anyway,’ intervened Woods. ‘You scrub up before an operation and afterwards.’

  ‘From the washroom,’ went on Sweeny, "you will take them down into the basement and proceed by an underground passage, which Woods will show you, to the cemetery next door to the hospital. I will be in the cemetery to open the doors of the mausoleum, where the passageway emerges. Branting will have his transport ready and waiting at the cemetery gates. What is the transport, by the way?’

  ‘An old motor coach,’ Branting said. ‘We’ll go from there to a safe house in the eastern quarter and transfer to the ambulance for the journey to the Swedish border.’

  There was a silence before Inge observed, ‘Perhaps the plan is too simple?’

  ‘The best plans are simple,’ Sweeny said. ‘That way we can allow for variations.’

  ‘It all depends on the guards,’ said Woods. ‘What if they insist on being in the theatre?’

  ‘Stenersen must ensure that they are left outside.’

  ‘But,’ Inge intervened, ‘sooner or later they will become suspicious when Uncle Didrik and his team do not emerge from the theatre or the washroom. They’ll break in. I don’t think they will give us a long enough lead.’

  Sweeny frowned.

  ‘We only need a few minutes. If we can move them through the passage, across the cemetery and into the coach, before we have been discovered, that’s all the lead we want.’

  He smiled grimly at the girl.

  ‘It is up to you, Inge, to impress on your uncle that you are to be given admission to the theatre and that, as he finishes the last operation, only you two and his team are to be in the theatre. Timing will be of the essence. Neither Branting nor I want to attract any suspicion by being seen hanging about too long at the cemetery, so ask him if he can be precise about the time he will finish operating.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be possible,’ Inge reflected. ‘There are so many unpredictable things that can happen.’

  Sweeny sighed.

  ‘Well, do the best you can. And another thing, your uncle is to give no hint to anyone in his team. Nor is he to make any farewells, write any letters, contact anyone at all, or pack clothes or other belongings. So far as he is concerned, tomorrow will be just another normal day at the hospital.’

  Michael Woods smiled tightly.

  ‘That is the last thing it will be,’ he murmured.

  PART THREE

  Thursday, 2 May — Sunday, 5 May, 1940

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was a little after one o’clock the next day, Thursday, when Inge and Woods alighted from the tram opposite St Olav’s Church. There were very few people about as they crossed the road and went into the hundred-year-old Catholic shrine. The gloomy interior was deserted. They moved to the darkest corner, by the confessional box, and glanced round to ensure that they were unobserved. Woods opened the small case he had brought and took out the two white coats and stethoscopes which Inge had borrowed from her uncle’s house. They put these on, ensuring that the Webley automatics they carried did not show, and slung the stethoscopes around their necks.

  They left the church and strolled nonchalantly alongside the wall of the cemetery, before crossing the road and entering the hospital building. Few people gave them a second glance, and Inge now began a long, involved and moderately loud monologue on the problems of hyperglaecoma, punctuated with occasional nods and grunts from Woods.

  He led the way to the theatres, where the hurrying nurses and doctors paid little attention to another two doctors in white coats. There was a notice board which listed the theatres and the operations for the day in each one. Professor Stenersen, as he had told Inge, was listed as operating in Theatre No. 1. Woods turned down the corridor towards the theatre. There were two black-uniformed Germans sitting uncomfortably in the corridor outside the theatre anteroom. One was reading the German popular radio magazine Hör mit mir. As Inge and Woods approached, the one who wasn’t reading stood up.

  ‘Halt!’

  They came to a stop in front of the heavy-fowled soldier.

  ‘What business have you here?’

  ‘We are here to witness an operation by Professor Stenersen,’ replied Woods, confident that his Norwegian was far superior to the soldier’s. He produced the letter which Inge had had her uncle write the previous evening, giving full permission for Doctor Bryn Poulsson and Doctor Inge Ingersson to attend the operating theatre. The soldier glanced at it. It was obvious that he could not read Norwegian very well. He grunted, ‘Alies in ordnung.’

  Feeling cold with relief, Woods led Inge into the anteroom to the operating theatre. There were two sets of doors, one set leading directly into the theatre itself while the other set led into the washroom.

  ‘In here we scrub up and put on theatre gowns,’ Woods said as he pushed open the washroom doors. It was strange; here he was in his own environment. He felt an assured calm at the familiarity of the place. In the washroom they scrubbed up and donned gowns, caps and gloves.

  ‘Here goes,’ said Woods, pushing through the swing doors into the theatre.

  There was a concentrated silence in the white-tiled room. A group of people stood clustered under the bright arc lights around the operating table. A theatre nurse glanced up, her brows drawn together in a frown. She began to move towards them.

  At the same moment, Stenersen, whom Inge had no difficulty recognizing in spite of his gown and mask, glanced up, sensing that someone had entered the theatre.

  ‘Ah, it’s all right, nurse. These are the two observers that I was expecting. Doctors Poulsson and Ingersson. They have come from the Oslo Radium Hospitalet to see my operation on Fru Gronvold. Make yourselves at home, Doctors. I just have to finish sewing up this patient and we will have Fru Gronvold in.’

  ‘That will be the last patient for today, Professor,’ said one of the nurses.

  ‘Indeed, Frøken Lanstrad.’ Stenersen glanced at the clock on the wall of the theatre. ‘If all goes well, we shall be finished about four o’clock.’

  Woods glanced toward Inge, realizing that the professor was speaking for their benefit. They took up positions on one side of the room. Actually, Woods became professionally absorbed in what the professor and his team were doing
and the time had little meaning for him. Inge, however, was very conscious of the slow, monotonous tick-tocking of the clock. She tried to control her increasing nervousness as the hands made their slow passage across its face. It was five minutes to four o’clock when Stenersen stood back and sighed.

  ‘That’s it. Get the ward orderlies to wheel Fru Gronvold to the recovery room.’

  One of the nurses moved to the theatre doors and pressed a bell. Two nurses eased the patient’s body from the operating table onto a trolly and pushed it towards the doors. As they reached them, two more nurses came from the anteroom and took the trolly away.

  ‘Best bit of sewing I’ve seen for some time, professor,’ one of the doctors was saying jokingly.

  Stenersen, however, was gazing across at Inge.

  ‘That’s it for today,’ he said with meaningful softness.

  The girl glanced at Woods. Woods moved swiftly through to the doors of the anteroom and threw the bolt, then came back into the theatre and bolted its own doors quickly and decisively. As he turned, he was aware that Inge had drawn her automatic and was covering the startled surgical team. Only Stenersen seemed unconcerned.

  ‘Into the washroom, everyone,’ Woods snapped.

  Stenersen moved immediately, and it was probably his unquestioning obedience which caused the others to follow without protest. In the washroom they stood hesitating, looking bewildered. While Inge kept her pistol trained on them, Woods crossed to the doors leading to the anteroom and bolted these as well. Then he, too, took out his automatic.

  ‘Wash up, quickly,’ he said coldly, ‘and change your clothing.’

  There was a tense silence as the surgical team completed their washing and observed the usual hygiene procedures of the theatre. Inge and Woods themselves took turns to wash and keep guard.

  ‘I’d better explain to them, Inge,’ Stenersen said after they had finished.