by Jack Higgins
“Jesus,” he said. “That’s Dillon’s Mini Cooper.”
“Is that a fact?” Derry Gibson laughed. Ferguson, unconscious, was strapped in one of the seats. Derry patted his cheek. “I’ll go and tell Rossi. He’ll be so pleased.”
At Arnheim, Max Kubel was working on the Storch prior to a foray into Poland. He’d always remembered the adage from the Second World War: Half the airmen who die aren’t shot down by the enemy. They die of engine failure. It was why he’d always taken care of his own maintenance. He closed the engine cowling and slapped the fuselage, which had a fresh coat of dull black paint.
“Good girl,” he said, and his mobile went.
He listened to Roper for a long five minutes and was immediately interested and full of energy. “I’ll talk to Klein.”
“This meadow outside the Schloss, can it accommodate Rossi’s plane, especially at night?”
“It’s huge, and the Schloss is floodlit. There’s plenty of light.”
“So what would we do? Could you fly in while Dillon attempts a recovery?”
“Come off it. The minute I attempted a landing, the whole thing would be blown.”
“Then how would we get to Neustadt? What could we do? Parachute in? Dillon’s done that before.”
“Not into Schloss Adler. Battlements, courtyards, roofs – it isn’t nice.”
“Then when you want to make a nefarious trip into Holstein Heath, how do you do it? I know how mysterious the damn place is. The locals must be suspicious of any kind of strangers.”
“Yes, but if I put a group together for an in-and-out job, they won’t look like strangers. The police in Holstein Heath look very like the Vopos of the old East German days. Believe it or not, they still use Russian Cossack motorcycles and field cars.”
“So what are you saying?”
“In the past, I’ve gone in with my people when I’ve needed them, using those vehicles and uniforms. Would Dillon buy that?”
“Well, his German is fluent.”
“He couldn’t do it on his own.”
“What about you?”
“No way. My task would be to do the extracting. Dillon and whoever, helped by Klein’s intelligence, pull Ferguson, and all hell breaks out, so the smart thing would be for me to fly in from Arnheim. It’s a short flight. I’d drop in at the Schloss in my Storch and pick them up.”
“And you’re confident you could do that?”
“To the great Kubel, anything is possible, and to avoid any problem with angry foresters, it would be the only way. These are the Baron’s people.”
“You mean it’s Indian territory?”
“Exactly. Another thing. In the Storch, I could manage Ferguson, but only two others. Two men only to take on the situation at the castle. I’ve got the idea that Dillon’s that crazy, but does he know someone else who is?”
“Oh, yes,” Roper said. “I think so. There’s a big payday for you on this, by the way.”
“Stuff the payday. I’ve been getting stale and I’ve looked you up, Roper. You’re what the Jews call a mensch. I’m a great admirer.”
“Flattery is always appreciated.”
“I’ll speak to Klein and get things moving.”
At his cottage behind the church at Neustadt, Klein took the call from Kubel and listened to what he had to say.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Let me know the minute the Baron turns up in the helicopter. After that, Rossi in his plane. Can you get into the Schloss?”
“Of course I can. I’ve known it backwards since I was a child.”
“In spite of security?”
“The security is crap. I can go around all that.”
“Get this right, Hans. There’s a lot of money in it for you.”
“And where the Baron is concerned, it will be a pleasure. I’ll go and check things out up there.”
Kubel switched off and Klein got a hunting jacket on, put a sawn-off shotgun in one pocket, a double handful of cartridges in the other and went out, smiling.
On the final stretch back to London, Dillon listened to everything Roper had to say. “Fine,” he said. “Alert Hannah. Tell her to book Lacey and Parry. Alert the quartermaster. The destination will be Arnheim.”
“There’s one thing, Sean,” Roper said. “You can’t do this on your own. Don’t tell me you’re going to ride a Cossack through the Schwarze Platz and do a ‘Dirty Harry.’ You need a friend.”
“I’ll get a friend.”
“You’re sure?”
“Trust me. I’ll ask him, and for this, he’ll be there.”
Dillon turned down to Hangman’s Wharf and The Dark Man, parked and went inside. There were only a couple of customers, Dora at the bar, and Harry and Billy in their usual corner booth. Harry looked up and frowned.
“You look stressed.”
“You could say that.” Dillon sat down. “Just listen.”
When he was finished, Harry said, “I knew that Rossi was bad news.”
Dillon’s phone sounded and Roper said, “No question, Sean, it’s Neustadt they’re aiming for. Everything all right with you? The extra man?”
“We’ll see.”
“I’m sure you will.” He switched off.
Dillon said, “Billy. You heard the story. I’m going to go in like a Vopo on a Cossack. It’s a good thing I speak German.”
“Which I don’t, but you need a gun, and I can wear one of these Vopo uniforms as well as you can.” Billy had that cold, pale smile on his face.
It was Harry who cut in. “We’d better get sorted, Dillon. We can’t leave Ferguson in the hands of these bastards. Anyway, I like the old sod. You and Billy do it. Billy’s come on a bit since you took him in hand. Right, Billy? Likes doing something because it’s the right thing to do.”
“I should say so.” Billy got up. “I’ll go and pack.” He smiled at Dillon. “This is getting to be a habit.”
At Farley Field, Dillon arrived to surprises. First of all, the presence of Hannah Bernstein. He said, “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“I speak German, Sean, and it’s my boss at the sharp end. I think I should be here.”
Then the Salter Rolls appeared and disgorged not only Billy, but Harry, both with hand luggage.
Dillon said, “What is this?”
“This German police thing. I’m going with you. I’ll stay back at base with the superintendent, if you want, but you always want to do it on your own. Well, this time you can’t. It’s too important.”
Dillon said, “Fine, just don’t get in the way.” He walked toward the Citation, and Lacey came out, dressed in anonymous flying overalls. “You know what we’re up to here?”
“The superintendent filled us in. You’ll notice we’ve sprayed over our RAF rondels. Don’t want anybody identifying us.”
“You know where we’re going?”
“Roper’s filled us in. Sean, this is something else. I mean, the general.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll bring him back, I swear it. I don’t want crew, just you and Parry. Board and I’ll see the quartermaster with Billy.”
The department’s quartermaster waited with his list.
“All loaded, Mr. Dillon. Walthers and Carswell silencers, three MP40 machine pistols.”
“That’s going back a bit.”
“I’ve checked, Mr. Dillon, and the police in the Holstein Heath area are rather old-fashioned. I would point out that the Schmeisser is still an extremely efficient weapon. Some stun grenades. Some smoke. That should do you in the present circumstances.”
“You know what they are?”
“Mr. Dillon,” the sergeant major said, “twenty-five years ago in the Grenadier Guards, I was trying to hunt you down in the IRA in South Armagh, and failed. I’m glad, because it means you’re here to save the general, who is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. Now, I’ll load these items for you, sir, and you’ll return them to me when you get back.”
Dil
lon walked out with Billy, who said, “Well, he’s got faith in you.”
“A lot of people do. It can be a burden, Billy. Come on, let’s go. We’re not saving the world; this time, we’re saving Charles Ferguson.”
He went up the Airstairs door, followed by Billy. Parry closed the door as they joined Harry and Hannah. A few moments later, the engines turned over on the Citation and it lifted up into the sky.
14.
CHARLES FERGUSON CAME back to the real world to find himself on a bed in a period-looking bedroom. The door was locked, and when he went to the window, the fall was at least a hundred feet down. It was immediately apparent that there was nowhere he could go. He was standing at the window, looking out, when the door opened. Derry Gibson came in.
“Ah, there you are, General. You look well.”
“Well, I’ve felt better. Where’s Rossi?”
“Busy elsewhere. You’ll have to compose yourself, the grand man you are. I’ll see you get some food.”
The door closed, and Ferguson looked out the window again, suddenly more alone than he’d ever felt. God dammit, he thought. You were right, Dillon.
At the same time, Rossi found his father in the Great Hall. The Baron was sitting by the fire, a drink at his hand.
Marco said, “Father, I think we should talk.”
“I think we should, too. Have you succeeded in your endeavor?”
“If you mean have I lifted Ferguson, yes. He’s here in the Schloss.”
“And you intend your purpose?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“And Dillon?”
“Hot on the trail.”
“And that’s what you want? A face-to-face confrontation?”
“Any time he likes.”
The Baron nodded. “I’ve given things a great deal of thought. I just don’t know if I agree.”
“It’s in motion, Father. Everything. I must see it through.”
“Must you? Unless I am mistaken, this is still Schloss Adler. I am still the Baron. Let me think about this, Marco. Me, your father.” And at that moment, the young SS Sturmbahnführer was in charge again. “I’ll let you know what I want. What I want, not you. Now, please, go away for the moment.”
Hans Klein had gone in at the lowest end of the Schloss and found what he called the chamber entrance, a great grill overgrown by shrubbery. It was a legacy of German army engineering, when the Schloss had been used as a command headquarters and the whole drainage system had been modernized.
Klein lifted the grill, moved in and switched on his light. The concrete tunnel was dry, except for a steady stream of water down a center channel. Klein walked along one of the sides, reached a steel ladder and climbed up, raising the manhole cover at the top.
He emerged into a basement area that he knew well, filled with storage rooms and kitchen areas, gradually reaching up to the glories of the Great Hall. He often penetrated that far, when the Baron and Rossi were away. It always gave him a feeling of power.
Now, he hovered in the basement area, was aware of voices resonating, and withdrew and went back down the ladder. When he emerged into the wooded area, he replaced the grill, moved away, squatted down by a tree and called Kubel.
Afterward, Kubel spoke to Roper. “All systems go. His secret way into the Schloss works. When the Gulfstream landed, he saw Rossi, and four other men, one of them being supported between two others.”
“The General. Probably Newton and Cook holding him up, plus Derry Gibson.”
“That would make sense.”
“Are you going to be ready for us, Max? The right gear?”
“All here, so I won’t need help, which means security will be nice and tight. We’ll be ready, Roper, whenever your friends are.”
It was a couple of hours later that a key rattled in the door. Ferguson turned and Rossi came in, with Derry Gibson.
“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”
“How kind. When do I get to see the Baron?”
“When he wants to see you. Compose yourself, your turn will come.”
He turned away. Ferguson said, “You seem to be going to a lot of trouble. I’d have thought you’d have given me a bullet in the head by now.”
Rossi smiled. “Not for you, General, you’re much too valuable.”
“What happens to me then?”
“I’ll probably sell you to the Arabs,” Rossi said, and the door closed.
At the same moment at Arnheim, they all grouped around the table in Max Kubel’s office and examined the map.
“That’s it,” Kubel said. “Neustadt.” He turned to Dillon. “It’s an old-fashioned motorcycle, the Cossack.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll manage,” Dillon said. He turned to Billy. “You get the sidecar.”
Kubel said, “Thanks to these mobiles you’ve brought, we’ll be in constant touch. You should get there in an hour at the most. Once you bring him out, I can make the meadow in twenty minutes. I’ll be sitting in the cockpit, ready to go.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Dillon said. “How about you, Billy?”
“I’m always reasonable.”
“Once you leave, I’ll call Klein. He’ll be waiting. His place is the only cottage at the back of the church. You can’t miss it.” He glanced around the table. “How does it sound?”
Lacey and Parry looked dubious. It was Hannah who said, “The whole thing seems to depend on split-second timing.”
“Absolutely, but it is possible. The distances involved are not great.”
“Well, in the circumstances,” Harry Salter said, “can they get on with it? It’s not good for my nerves.”
“Exactly,” Billy said. “Personally, I can’t wait to dress as a copper. The old lags I was at Wandsworth with will never believe it.”
“Fine, this way, then,” Kubel said.
In the hangar, the Storch waited, black, like something from another time. The old Cossack motorcycle waited, too. Everyone waited, uncertainty thick in the air. Kubel stood with Lacey and Parry and looked out, as it started to rain.
“Not good,” Lacey said.
“It never is when good is needed, Squadron Leader, haven’t you noticed that?”
A door clanged, they turned, and Dillon and Billy emerged, strange and menacing figures from the past in their steel helmets, Vopo uniforms and dispatch riders’ raincoats. Each had a Schmeisser machine pistol slung across his chest. Dillon was fastening his helmet strap.
“Have you got everything?” Kubel asked.
“Absolutely. Big pockets. Extra magazines, a Walther apiece, stick grenade in the boot. Just like the old days.”
“Christ, you look like you’re going to make a D-Day movie,” Salter said.
“Who knows?” Dillon looked out. “Nice evening for it.” He turned. “You up for this, Billy?”
“Let’s get going, for God’s sake. We’re going to get bleeding soaked.”
He settled himself in the sidecar, and Dillon mounted the Cossack and kicked it into life. Hannah ran forward and put a hand on his sleeve.
“Sean?” Her face was desperate.
“We’ll bring him back.” He smiled. “You worry too much,” and he drove away into the driving rain.
The road into the Schwarze Platz was well surfaced, but quite narrow, the forest crowding in, and already the gloom of early evening was turning toward darkness. The rain was relentless, and both Dillon and Billy wore goggles. The Cossack responded well and there was little traffic. Twice, they passed farm trucks going in the other direction, and once a sedan.
Dillon turned and shouted to Billy, “We’ll be there sooner than Kubel thought,” and in spite of the weather, he pushed the Cossack up to sixty.
At the Schloss, the Baron sat by the log fire, as Rossi came in with Ferguson. Newton and Cook stood on either side of the grand stairway on the landing, holding AK47s. Derry Gibson stood to one side of the fireplace.
“Ah, there you are, General. Join me. Perhap
s you’d like a drink?”
“How very kind. A large whiskey would do it.”
“Marco.”
It was an order, and Rossi went to a sideboard, poured the whiskey, and Ferguson savored it. “Your chaps look as if they’re expecting trouble.”
“No, actually we’re expecting Dillon,” Rossi said.
“How on earth would he know where I was?” Ferguson was wary. Could they know about Omega?
“Because he saw you being kidnapped and chased us all the way to Fotley airfield. Arrived just too late.”
“How unfortunate.”
“It certainly was for you.”
The Baron said, “Enough, Marco. Let’s show our guest some courtesy.” He got up and leaned on his cane. “Come with me, General, and I’ll show you some of the rarer sights of the Schloss.” He led the way to a door beside the stairway and nodded to Marco, who opened it. “A tunnel built in the fifteenth century to give access to the chapel, which, incidentally, is very fine. Let’s take a look,” and he led the way in.
At that moment, Dillon was kicking on Klein’s door. After a while, it opened and Klein stood there. He recoiled instinctively at the uniforms. They pushed him back inside.
“Don’t worry, we’re from Kubel,” Dillon said in German. “Are you ready to take us in?”
“Yes,” Klein said eagerly. He reeked of drink, but turned, took down his hunting coat and put the sawn-off shotgun in one of the pockets.
Dillon called Kubel on his Codex Four. It was answered instantly. “We’re here already and made contact with Klein, so we’re going straight in. To hell with waiting. You said it would take you twenty minutes. Leave in fifteen.”
“I’m your man,” Kubel said. “Good luck.”
Dillon said to Billy, “Right, let’s get it done.” He turned to Klein. “My friend doesn’t speak German. Just lead the way and let’s get on with it.”
The Baron leading, they went into the chapel, the candles guttering, the great bowl of the eternal flame burning. The heraldic banners hung from each side of the roof in the gloom.
