‘You didn’t do it, Paul. I know you didn’t.’
‘Maybe,’ he said ruefully. ‘Maybe. I just don’t know. But I do know that I have to try and find out. I have to, Elka, I have to. It won’t leave me alone.’
‘I understand,’ she said gently.
‘I will be back by Monday. It will be all over then.’
‘You are going to Switzerland?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m afraid, Paul,’ she said.
‘Don’t be. I know what I am doing. I can take care of myself.’
‘They are all gangsters. They can’t be trusted.’
‘No, they are not,’ he said lightly. ‘You have been reading too many books.’ He smiled at her. ‘By the way, whatever happened to that fencing instructor? You never did tell me.’
She forced a smile. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I decided I would wait for you.’
‘Then you can wait until Monday.’
‘I suppose so. When must you leave?’
‘Very soon,’ he said. ‘I must hurry.’
He held her close. He liked the way she nestled into his arms. It made him feel good. It made him feel more certain than ever that he had to go. He had to find out about himself, good or bad.
Gently he disengaged himself and kissed her again. His mother came back into the room and he went over to her. Her sad, gentle eyes, looked at him.
‘Take care of yourself, son,’ she said.
‘I will,’ Leeburg promised. ‘I will.’
He kissed her on the cheek and collected his rucksack. At the door, he hesitated, turned and smiled, and left them standing in the kitchen.
Elka remained in the Gasthof until it was time for Frau Leeburg to start her preparations for the evening meal. In her soft, gentle voice, Frau Leeburg told Elka what her son had confessed in the bedroom. How his unit had been attacked by the partisans. Of his head wound, and of Reitzer’s almost hysterical manner. And of her son’s disgust and uncertainty about the shooting.
Elka listened to the facts and felt deeply sorry for him. She knew he was no murderer. She knew he was a deeply sensitive and gentle man. She recognized the same qualities in his mother. She understood why he had to find out what had happened. Why it was importable to him.
When she left the Gasthof, she felt both happy and anxious. Happy because she knew that Leeburg loved her, and worried for his safety. She didn’t like, or trust, the men he was dealing with. Men like Kurtz. They reminded her too much of the men of the past. Men who had come and dragged her father out of the house and shown no mercy.
As she approached the railway bridge, she saw a man coming towards her. He was a tall man. An ex-soldier with an empty left sleeve. He was about the same height as Leeburg, and as he came closer, Elka could see his tanned face and fair hair. There was a lot of Leeburg about him. He stopped a few paces in front of her and smiled, apologetically.
‘Excuse me, Fraulein,’ he said.
He had a fresh, open face. A friendly face. Elka walked up to him, trying to keep her eyes way from his empty sleeve.
‘Excuse me, Fraulein,’ he said again, ‘but is that the Leeburg Gasthof?’ He pointed to the Gasthof.
‘Yes,’ Elka replied. ‘Who is it that you want?’
‘Sergeant Paul Leeburg,’ he said. ‘I am told that he has returned.’
Paul! Elka’s pulse quickened.
‘You have just missed him,’ she replied. ‘He left about an hour ago.’
The man’s face clouded over. ‘I have followed him around ever since I was taken prisoner in Italy,’ he said flatly. ‘Every time I catch up with him he has just moved on.’
‘He will be back,’ she said.
‘When?’ the man asked hopefully.
‘Monday.’
‘Monday!’ the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I will have to come back.’
‘Have you travelled far?’ Elka asked.
‘Innsbruck.’
‘He will be sorry he missed you.’
‘I think I will go and speak to his people,’ the man said.
‘Frau Leeburg is busy at the moment,’ Elka explained. ‘It would be better if you called after supper.’
‘Oh!’ the man said.
‘Perhaps you would like to come to my uncle’s house and wait there,’ Elka said. She felt she wanted to talk to this man, this friend of Paul’s. She wanted to talk to anyone who knew Paul. Anyone who could tell her about him.
‘Are you Paul’s girlfriend?’ the man asked hesitantly.
‘Yes,’ Elka smiled. She introduced herself.
‘My name is Hans Garner,’ the man said. ‘I was a corporal in Paul’s platoon.’
They shook hands and started to walk towards the town.
Elka had a strange feeling about the man. A feeling of excitement. She felt his sudden appearance was going to prove beneficial. ‘When did you last see Paul?’ she asked.
‘Before I lost this,’ Garner replied, indicating his missing arm. ‘I called out to him, but he didn’t hear me. The shells started exploding.’
‘Shells?’ Elka asked with surprise. ‘I thought Paul said you were attacked by some partisans.’
‘That’s when it all started,’ Garner sighed. ‘They nearly finished us off. Those of us who got away made for our lines. I saw Paul then, before the shelling. I was taken to one of our field hospitals. I never saw him again.’
Elka stopped in her tracks. Garner stopped also.
‘Was the shelling at the Villa Lucciano?’ she asked anxiously, the excitement rising inside her.
Garner looked away. Elka repeated the question and added firmly. ‘Did you see Paul at the Villa Lucciano?’
Garner nodded his head. ‘Yes,’ he said sadly. ‘At the villa.’
‘Then you saw what happened?’
Garner didn’t reply.
‘You saw what happened?’ Elka asked again, forcibly.
‘Yes,’ Garner whispered.
‘Then you know who shot those seven people,’ she said and wished she hadn’t. She didn’t really want to know. It doesn’t matter she told herself. It doesn’t matter. She started to run away. She heard Garner call after her, but she kept running. She didn’t want to know…
Leeburg watched the French soldiers leave the bus. It was the first time he had had his papers examined since his return. What were they looking for? he wondered. And why the control point? He glanced out of the window and saw a group of muffled, and heavily armed, soldiers. They looked as if they meant business.
The bus moved on again, the incident had passed, but in Bludenz Leeburg saw more soldiers. They were at the bus depot and outside the railway station. There was something in the air. They were on the lookout for somebody.
Undaunted, he followed Kurtz’s instructions. He went to the railway station and purchased a ticket for Innsbruck. In full view of the crowded waiting room he stamped around the platform until the Innsbruck train arrived.
As the platform filled up with passengers he slipped into the darkness of the goods yard via the public convenience, and hid behind a goods wagon. When the trail left the station, he crossed the line and entered the adjoining street. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way to the crossroads where he saw the drab, unpretentious-looking, boarding house. On the ground floor window was a notice advertising rooms.
He walked up to the entrance door and entered the building. He found himself in a dimly-lit entrance hall. There was no carpet on the floor and the boards creaked as he walked over them. Three doors opened off the hall and from one corner ran a flight of stairs. He looked at the three doors and wondered which room he should enter. The decision was made for him. One of the doors opened and a smiling Kurtz stood in the entrance.
‘In here,’ Kurtz said with a slight movement of his head.
Leeburg followed him into the room. It was a large, cold room, with bare floor boards and a variety of tables and chairs. The walls and ceiling were stained yellow from heavy ci
gar and cigarette smoke.
‘Any bother?’ Kurtz asked.
‘No,’ Leeburg replied. He placed his rucksack on one of the tables. Kurtz sat in a chair, his thick overcoat wrapped around him, his collar upturned, and his trilby hat still on his head.
‘Not the Palace,’ Kurtz smiled.
‘No,’ Leeburg answered sullenly.
They heard a car drive up to the entrance. Kurtz crossed over to the window and grunted.
Leeburg sat down and waited. His heard footsteps cross the hallway and watched the door.
‘They are prompt,’ Kurtz said admiringly.
‘Who?’ Leeburg asked, and watched the door anxiously.
The door opened and Inspector Schafer entered the room! Leeburg’s heart missed a beat. His eyes flashed from the heavily jowled Police Inspector to the suave Kurtz. What were they up to? What were they playing at? Was this a trick? He clenched his fists. If Kurtz had double crossed him…
‘Inspector Schafer,’ Kurtz said.
The Inspector took off his hat to display his egg-shaped, almost bald, head. He looked at Leeburg and gave a sickly grin which displayed his rotting teeth. ‘Good evening, Herr Leeburg,’ he smiled. ‘We meet again.’ He turned to Kurtz. ‘Are you ready?’
Leeburg watched them. Were the Inspector and Kurtz actually in league with each other? Was the Inspector crooked and bent like the rest of Kurtz’s business acquaintances? Or was he not an Inspector after all. Had the Inspector been created to inflame Leeburg’s fears? Had he been hired to trail him back from Bregenz so as to soften him for the touch?
‘Let’s go,’ the Inspector said. ‘We —’
‘Wait a minute,’ Leeburg interrupted. ‘Go where? What’s happening?’
‘We are taking you as far as St Gallenkirch,’ the Inspector smiled.
‘Who are you?’ Leeburg asked hotly.
‘I thought you had met the Inspector,’ Kurtz said. ‘Let me introduce you. This is Inspector Schafer. His assistant is Sergeant Ulrich. They are formally of the State Police, now part of the Military Government Police.’
‘How do I know you are not lying?’ Leeburg asked suspiciously.
‘You don’t,’ Kurtz said evenly, ‘but I told you we are a powerful organization. You would be surprised if you knew some of our members. As for the Inspector? He is as he says, I assure you.’
Leeburg looked at him grimly. He felt Kurtz was telling the truth. The man was a policeman, but a crooked one!
The Inspector gave an impatient grunt. ‘I’m not interested in what you think, Leeburg,’ he growled, ‘but if you don’t come with me now, you won’t get to Switzerland. You’ll end up in a cell in Innsbruck.’
He placed his hat back on his balding head and turned to the door.
‘Come on,’ Kurtz said. ‘We can’t be late for the pick up.’
Reluctantly Leeburg followed them out of the room. He didn’t like bent policemen and he had no respect for Kurtz. But he was now in their hands. They joined Sergeant Ulrich in the car and drove out of the town on the road which led up the valley to Schrun and St Gallenkirch.
‘There will be road blocks,’ Leeburg warned. ‘If they see me, they —’
‘There won’t,’ the Inspector said calmly.
‘Why?’ Leeburg asked.
‘We are meeting an army lorry. You and Kurtz will be transferred.’
‘And the army will take us to St Gallenkirch?’
‘Correct.’
So they even have some of the French soldiers in their pay, Leeburg thought. But why all the secrecy? Just what was he taking with him to Switzerland?
‘If you are so well-connected,’ he remarked dryly, ‘I am surprised you need me. I would have thought you could have persuaded the frontier guards to be more cooperative.’
‘We are working on them,’ the Inspector replied seriously.
They drifted into silence and Leeburg watched the dark shapes flash past as they negotiated the mountain road. After about twenty minutes he heard the Inspector and the Sergeant simultaneously give a grunt of relief. They stopped the car and the four men got out. Leeburg saw the rear end of a truck.
‘Inside are some crates,’ the Inspector said. ‘Get inside one. It doesn’t matter which.’
Leeburg climbed aboard. Kurtz did likewise. It was a ration truck. Boxes of tinned goods were stacked alongside sacks of flour.
‘Over here,’ Kurtz whispered.
Leeburg got into an empty crate. Kurtz handed him a piece of sacking.
‘It will be just as well to camouflage ourselves,’ he said and got into another crate.
The truck moved slowly along the road. Leeburg squatted inside the crate and followed their journey. When the lorry came to a halt after only a short distance he knew it would be at a road block. He sank further into the crate as he heard a quick exchange of French voices.
The truck moved on again labouring its way up the valley. A half an hour later they reached their destination. Leeburg heard the cab doors being opened and closed and a voice said, ‘O.K. out!’
Leeburg got out of his crate and climbed over the supplies to the open end of the truck. Kurtz was behind him. He saw a dark shape standing behind the tail board silhouetted against a moonlit expanse of snow. He climbed the tail board and jumped to the ground. At the same instant he recognized the figure. It was Karl!
‘Karl!’ he hissed. ‘You!’
His brother looked at him. In the moonlight Leeburg could see the look of surprise on his brother’s face.
‘Come on, inside,’ Kurtz said impatiently.
Leeburg looked at his brother again. He felt sick inside, and disappointed. So this was how Karl had managed to get the extra rations and money. So this was why he was able to give Frieda her luxuries. Karl turned his back on him and unfastened the tail board.
‘Come on,’ Kurtz said irritably.
My God! Leeburg thought. How deeply involved was Karl? How had he ever let himself become involved at all? Did their mother know?
Kurtz pulled at his arm. Dejected, Leeburg followed him. Why hadn’t they told Karl about him? There had been that look of surprise on his face. He hadn’t known. Why? Was he just a small cog? Just the courier?
They crossed over to a farmhouse, half-hidden in a mountain of snow. Close by was the Inspector’s car. Leeburg looked around him. They were high up at the head of the valley. Beneath them was St Gallenkirch and the French control point. They were surrounded by a sea of white, crispy snow. Leeburg knew the area. To the south-west was Gargellen and over the tops of the mountains, was Switzerland.
Kurtz opened the door and a shaft of yellow light shone on to the snow. Leeburg followed him into the room. It was a large, living-room, with a stone floor and bare roof boards. In the centre was a stout wooden table. Around the walls were a number of wood carvings. There was a farmhouse smell about the room. Inspector Schafer and his Sergeant were standing at the stove warming their hands. Leeburg wondered where the owners had gone to.
The Inspector turned to face them and gave a weak smile. ‘So far so good,’ he said.
‘You didn’t tell me my brother was involved,’ Leeburg growled. He looked meaningfully at Kurtz. Kurtz turned his back on him.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the Inspector grunted.
‘It might have,’ Leeburg scowled. He placed his rucksack on the table and sat down. He didn’t like being taken for granted. He glanced across at the Inspector and saw his eyes fixed rigidly on the entrance door. Then Leeburg saw that the Sergeant and Kurtz were also looking at the door. Suddenly there was an atmosphere in the room. An air of excitement. Leeburg could feel it, but didn’t understand it. The tension mounted as the seconds passed.
‘Where is he?’ Kurtz asked. There was a faint note of panic in his voice.
‘He’s here,’ the Inspector snapped.
The door burst open and Karl shuffled into the room. He looked at the Inspector. Leeburg saw the Inspector nod his head. Karl turned to the door again
. A man entered — a squat, square built man of medium height with a face which matched his build. It was not a particularly pleasant face. It was rough, red, and rugged. His spectacles didn’t help, nor his short greying hair. But it was his attitude, his stance, which Leeburg resented. He stood inspecting the room like a commanding officer surveying his new headquarters, with a sneering expression on his face. Instead of the leather coat which hung loosely over his shoulders there could have been an officer’s greatcoat.
Leeburg took an instant dislike to him. He saw the look on the others’ faces and realized that this was a man for whom they had either a lot of respect — or fear. He looked back at the visitor. There was something familiar about his features, but he was certain they had never met before.
‘Good evening, Herr Schmid,’ the Inspector said. The man bowed his head. ‘We have some food for you in the kitchen,’ the Inspector said and indicated a door leading off the room.
There was an air of respect in the Inspector’s voice. As if he was talking to one of his superiors. Schmid strutted proudly across the room. Leeburg watched him with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. His bearing, his attitude, had all hallmarks of the former Nazi ruling class. And Leeburg realized where he had seen him before! On the wanted page in the current newspapers!
Schmid was a former Nazi gauleiter — a former member of the fascist hierarchy. A wanted man! Now Leeburg knew the reason for all the secrecy, the reason for the French alertness. They had got wind that this man, calling himself Schmid, was making a break for it. They had laid out a net, but there had been a hole in the net. One of their own Sergeants and his Austrian assistant were prepared to let the fish slip through.
Karl was not the small cog — he was one of the key men. He and Sergeant Lefant had been able to deliver the wanted man to the very edge of their border. It was now up to Leeburg to take him into Switzerland, where there would be an efficient organization waiting to pass him halfway around the world.
The Fallen Eagles Page 15
