Jack Higgins - Eagle Has Landed

by Eagle Has Landed [lit]

'Just before midnight. A one-hour flight, weather permitting.'

  Himmler looked up instantly, eyes cold 'Colonel Radl, let me make one thing perfectly plain Steiner and his men go in as arranged, weather or no weather. This is not something that can be postponed until another night. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. There will be a line kept open to these headquarters at all times. From Friday morning you will communicate with me each hour on the hour and continue so doing until the operation is successfully concluded.'

  'I will, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'

  Radl turned for the door and Himmler said, 'One more thing I have nor kept the Fuhrer informed of our progress in this affair for many reasons. These are hard times, Radl, the destiny of Germany rests on his shoulders I would like this to be, how can I put it, a surprise for him?'

  For a moment, Radl though he must be going out of his mind. Then realized that Himmler was serious 'It is essential that we don't disappoint him,' Himmler went on 'We are all in Steiner's hands now. Please impress that on him.'

  'I will, Herr Reichsfuhrer.' Radl choked back an insane desire to laugh.

  Himmler flipped up his right arm in a rather negligent party salute 'Heil Hitler!'

  Radl, in what he afterwards swore to his wife was the bravest action of his entire life, gave him a punctilious military salute, turned to the door and got out as fast as he could

  When he went into his office at the Tirpitz Ufer, Hofer was packing an overnight bag for him Radl got out the Courvoisier and poured himself a large one 'Is the Herr Oberst all right?' Hofer enquired anxiously.

  'You know what our esteemed Reichsfuhrer has just let slip, Karl? He hasn't told the Fuhrer about how far along the road we are with this thing. He wants to surprise him. Now isn't that sweet?'

  'Herr Oberst, for God's sake.'

  Radl raised his glass 'To our comrades, Karl, the three hundred and ten of the regiment who died in the Winter War, I'm not sure what for. If you find out, let me know.' Hofer stared at him and Radl smiled 'All right, Karl. I'll be good Did you check the time of my Paris flight?'

  Ten-thirty from Tempelhof I've ordered a car for nine-fifteen You have plenty of time.'

  'And the onward flight to Amsterdam?'

  'Some time tomorrow morning Probably about eleven, but they couldn't be sure.'

  'That's cutting it fine. All I need is a little dirty weather and I won't get to Landsvoort till Thursday. What's the met report?'

  'Not good. A cold front coming in from Russia.'

  'There always is.' Radl told him bleakly. He opened the desk drawer and took out a sealed envelope. That's for my wife. See that she gets it. Sorry you can't come with me, but you must hold the fort here, you understand that?'

  Hofer looked down at the letter and there was fear in his eyes 'Surely the Herr Oberst doesn't think...'

  'My dear good Karl,' Radl told him 'I think nothing. I simply prepare for any unpleasant eventuality. If this thing goes wrong then it seems to me that those connected with it might not be considered - how shall I put it? - persona grata at court. In any such eventuality your own line should be to deny all knowledge of the affair. Anything I've done, I've done alone.'

  'Herr Oberst. please,' Hofer said hoarsely. There were tears in his eyes.

  Radl took out another glass, filled it and handed it to him. 'Come now, a toast. What shall we drink to?'

  'God knows, Herr Oberst.'

  'Then I shall tell you. To life, Karl, and love and friendship and hope.' He smiled wryly. 'You know, it's just occurred to me that the Reichsfuhrer very probably doesn't know the first thing about any one of those items. Ah, well...'

  He threw back his head and emptied his glass at a single swallow.

  .

  Like most senior officers at Scotland Yard, Jack Rogan had a small camp bed in his office for use on those occasions when air raids made travelling home a problem. When he came back from the Assistant Commissioner, Special Branch's, weekly coordinating meeting with section heads on Wednesday morning just before noon, he found Grant asleep on it, eyes closed.

  Rogan stuck his head out of the door and told the duty constable to make some tea. Then he gave Grant a friendly kick and went and stood at the window filling his pipe. The fog was worse than ever. A real London particular, as Dickens had once aptly phrased it.

  Grant got up, adjusting his tie. His suit was crumpled and he needed a shave. 'Hell of a journey back. The fog was really quite something.'

  'Did you get anywhere?'

  Grant opened his briefcase, took out a file and produced a card which he laid on Rogan's desk. A photo of Liam Devlin was clipped to it. Strangely enough he looked older. There were several different names typed underneath. That's Murphy, sir.'

  Rogan whistled softly. 'Him? Are you sure?'

  'Reuben Garvald is.'

  'But this doesn't make sense,' Rogan said. 'Last I heard, he was in trouble in Spain, fighting for the wrong side. Serving a life sentence on some penal farm.'

  'Evidently not, sir.'

  Rogan jumped up and walked to the window. He stood there, hands in pockets, for a moment. 'You know, he's one of the few top-liners in the movement I've never met. Always the mystery man. All those bloody aliases for one thing.'

  'Went to Trinity College according to his file, which is unusual for a Catholic,' Grant said. 'Good degree in English Literature. There's irony, considering he's in the IRA.'

  'That's the bloody Irish for you.' Rogan turned, prodding a finger into his skull. 'Puddled from birth. Round the twist. I mean his uncle's a priest, he has a university degree and what is he? The most cold-blooded executioner the movement's had since Collins and his Murder Squad.'

  'All right, sir.' Grant said. 'How do we handle it?'

  'First of all get in touch with the Special Branch in Dublin. See what they've got.'

  'And next?'

  'If he's here legally he must have registered with his local police, wherever that is. Alien's registration form plus photograph.'

  'Which are then passed on to the headquarters of the force concerned.'

  'Exactly.' Rogan kicked the desk. 'I've been arguing for two years now that we should have them on a central file, but with nearly three-quarters of a million micks working over here nobody wants to know.'

  That means circulating copies of this photo to all city and county forces and asking for someone to go through every registration on file.' Grant picked up the card. 'It'll take time.'

  'What else can we do, stick it in the paper and say: Has anybody seen this man! I want to know what he's up to, Fergus, I want to catch him at it, not frighten him off.'

  'Of course, sir.'

  'Just get on with it. Top Priority. Give it a National Security Red File rating. That will make the buggers jump to it.'

  Grant went out and Rogan picked up Devlin's file, leaned back in the chair and started to read it.

  .

  In Paris, all aircraft were grounded and the fog was so thick that when Radl walked out of the entrance of the departure lounge at Orly he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He went back inside and spoke to the Duty Officer 'What do you think?'

  I'm sorry, Herr Oberst, but on the basis of the latest met report, nothing before morning. To be honest with you, there could be further delays even then. They seem to think this fog could last for some days.' He smiled amiably 'It keeps the Tommis at home, anyway.'

  Radl made his decision and reached for his bag 'Absolutely essential that I'm in Rotterdam no later than tomorrow afternoon Where's the motor pool?'

  Ten minutes later he was holding the Fuhrer Directive under the nose of a middle-aged transport captain and twenty minutes after that was being driven out of the main gate of Orly Airport in a large, black Citroen saloon.

  .

  At the same moment in the sitting-room of Joanna Grey's cottage at Studley Constable, Sir Henry Willoughby was playing bezique with Father Vereker and Joanna Grey He had had more to drink than was perhaps good for him and
was in high good humour.

  'Let me see now, I had a Royal Marriage - forty points and now a sequence in trumps.'

  'How many is that?' Vereker demanded.

  'Two hundred and fifty,' Joanna Grey said 'Two-ninety with his Royal Marriage.'

  'Just a minute.' Vereker said. 'He's got a ten above the Queen.'

  'But I explained that earlier,' Joanna told him 'In bezique, the ten does come before the Queen.'

  Philip Vereker shook his head in disgust 'It's no good I'll never understand this damned game.'

  Sir Henry laughed delightedly 'A gentleman's game, my boy. The aristocrat of card games.' He jumped up, knocking his chair over and righted it 'Mind if I help myself Joanna?'

  'Of course not, my dear,' she said brightly.

  'You seem pleased with yourself tonight ' Vereker remarked.

  Sir Henry, warming his backside in front of the fire, grinned 'I am, Philip, I am and good cause to be.' It all came flowing out of him in a sudden burst 'Don't see why I shouldn't tell you. You'll know soon enough now.'

  God, the old fool Joanna Grey's alarm was genuine as she said hastily 'Henry, do you think you should?'

  'Why not?' he said 'If I can't trust you and Philip, who can I trust.' He turned to Vereker 'Fact is, the Prime Minister is coming to stay the weekend on Saturday.'

  'Good heavens I'd heard he was speaking at King's Lynn, of course.' Vereker was astounded. 'To be honest, sir, I didn't realize you knew Mr Churchill.'

  'I don't,' Sir Henry said 'Thing is he fancied a quiet weekend and a little painting before going back to town. Naturally he'd heard about the gardens at Studley, I mean who hasn't? Laid down in the Armada year. When Downing Street got in touch to ask if he could stay, I was only too delighted.'

  'Naturally,' Vereker said.

  'Now you must keep it to yourselves, I'm afraid,' Sir Henry said Villagers can't know till he's gone. They're most insistent about that. Security, you know Can't be too careful.'

  He was very drunk now, slurring his words Vereker said, 'I suppose he'll be quite heavily guarded.'

  'Not at all,' Sir Henry said 'Wants as little fuss as possible. He'll only have three or four people with him I've arranged for a platoon of my Home Guard chaps to guard the perimeter of the Grange. while he's there. Even they don't know what it's all about. Think it's an exercise.'

  'Is that so?' Joanna said.

  'Yes, I'm to go up to King's Lynn on Saturday to meet him. We'll come back by car.' He belched and put down his glass 'I say, would you excuse me? Don't feel too good.'

  'Of course,' Joanna Grey said.

  He walked to the door, turned and put a finger to his nose 'Mum's the word now.'

  After he'd gone, Vereker said, 'That is a turn-up for the book.'

  'He's really very naughty,' Joanna said. 'He isn't supposed to say a word and yet he told me in exactly similar circumstances when he'd had too much to drink. Naturally I felt bound to keep quiet about it.'

  'Of course,' he said. 'You were absolutely right.' He stood up, groping for his stick. I'd better run him home. He's not fit to drive.'

  'Nonsense.' She took his arm and steered him to the door. 'That would mean you having to walk up to the presbytery to get your own car out. There's no need. I'll take him.'

  She helped him into his coat. 'If you're sure, then?'

  'Of course.' She kissed his cheek. I'm looking forward to seeing Pamela on Saturday.'

  He limped away into the night. She stood at the door listening as the sound of his progress faded. It was so still and quiet, almost as quiet as the veldt when she was a young girl. Strange, but she hadn't though of that for years.

  She went back inside and closed the door. Sir Henry appeared from the downstairs cloakroom and weaved an unsteady path to his chair by the fire. 'Must go, old girl.'

  'Nonsense.' she said. 'Always time for another one.' She poured two fingers of Scotch into his glass and sat on one arm of the chair, gently stroking his neck. 'You know, Henry, I'd love to meet the Prime Minister. I think I'd like that more than anything else in the world.'

  'Would you, old girl?' He gazed up at her foolishly.

  She smiled and gently brushed her lips along his forehead. 'Well, almost anything.'

  .

  It was very quiet in the cellars at Prinz Albrechtstrasse as Himmler went down the stairs. Rossman was waiting at the bottom. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and he was very pale.

  'Well?' Himmler demanded.

  'He's dead. I'm afraid, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'

  Himmler was not pleased and showed it. 'That seems singularly careless of you, Rossman. I told you to take care.'

  'With all due respect, Herr Reichsfuhrer, it was his heart which gave out. Dr Prager will confirm this, I sent for him at once. He's still in there.'

  He opened the nearest door. Rossman's two Gestapo assistants stood at one side, still wearing rubber gloves and aprons. A small, brisk-looking man in a tweed suit was leaning over the body on the iron cot in the corner, probing the naked chest with a stethoscope.

  He turned as Himmler entered and gave the party salute. 'Herr Reichsfuhrer.'

  Himmler stood looking down at Steiner for a while. The General was stripped to the waist and his feet were bare. His eyes were partly open, fixed, staring into eternity.

  'Well?' Himmler demanded.

  'His heart, Herr Reichsfuhrer. No doubt about it.'

  Himmler removed his pince-nez and gently rubbed between his eyes. He'd had a headache all afternoon and it simply would not go away. 'Very well, Rossman,' he said. 'He was guilty of treason against the State, of plotting against the life of the Fuhrer himself. As you know, the Fuhrer has decreed a statutory punishment for this offence and Major-General Steiner cannot evade this, even in death.'

  'Of course, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'

  'See that the sentence is carried out. I won't stay myself, I am summoned to Rastenburg but take photographs and dispose of the body in the usual way.'

  They all clicked their heels in the party salute and left.

  .

  'He was arrested where?' Rogan said in astonishment. It was just before five and already dark enough for the blackout curtains to be drawn.

  'At a farmhouse near Caragh Lake in Kerry in June last year, after a gunfight in which he shot two policemen and was wounded himself. He escaped from the local hospital the following day and dropped out of sight.'

  'Dear God and they call themselves policemen,' Rogan said in despair.

  The thing is, Special Branch, Dublin, weren't involved in any of this, sir. They only identified him later by the prints on the revolver. The arrest was made by a patrol from the local Garda barracks checking for an illicit still. One other point, sir, Dublin say they checked with the Spanish Foreign Office, our friend supposedly being in gaol over there. They were reluctant to come across, you know how difficult they can be about this kind of thing. They finally admitted that he'd escaped from a penal farm in Granada in the autumn of 1940. Their information was that he'd made it to Lisbon and taken passage to the States.'

  'And now he's back,' Rogan said. 'But what for, that's the thing. Have you heard from any of the provincial forces yet?'

  'Seven, sir - all negative, I'm afraid.'

  'All right. There's nothing more we can do at the moment except hope. The moment you have anything, contact me instantly. Day or night, no matter where I am.'

  'Very well, sir.'

  14

  It was precisely eleven-fifteen on Friday morning at Meltham Grange when Harry Kane, who was supervising a squad's progress over the assault course, received an urgent summons to report to Shafto at once. When he reached his commanding officer's outer office he found things in something of a turmoil. The clerks looked frightened and Master-Sergeant Garvey paced up and down, smoking a cigarette nervously. 'What's happened?' Kane demanded.

  'God knows, Major. All I know is he blew his stack about fifteen minutes ago after receiving an urgent despatch from Headquarter
s. Kicked young Jones clean out of the office. And I mean kicked.'

  Kane knocked at the door and went in. Shafto was standing at the window, his riding crop in one hand, a glass in the other. He turned angrily and then his expression changed. 'Oh, it's you, Harry.' 'What is it, sir?'

  'It's simple. Those bastards up at Combined Operations who've been trying to get me out of the way have finally managed it. When we finish here next weekend, I hand over command to Sam Williams.'

  'And you, sir?'