by Jack Higgins
'I don't think so,' Strasser said. 'My name is Strasser of the Prisoner of War Administration Department in Berlin, as the major here will confirm.'
Gaillard turned to Ritter, who smiled. 'We'll leave you to your patient, Doctor,' and he ushered Strasser outside and closed the door.
'Bormann,' Gaillard whispered. 'When was it we were introduced? Munich, 1935? Reichsleiter Martin Bormann. I'd stake my life on it.'
And at the same moment in the bunker in Berlin, Martin Bormann and General Wilhelm Burgdorf, Hitler's army adjutant, waited in the central passage outside the Fuhrer's personal suite. As the man who had delivered the poison with which Field-Marshal Erwin Rommel had been obliged to kill himself after the July 20th plot, it might have been thought that Burgdorf would have been used to such situations, but just now he looked terrified and was sweating profusely.
At 3.30 there was a pistol shot. Martin Bormann rushed into the Fuhrer's suite, followed by his valet, Heinz Linge and Colonel Otto Gunsche, his SS adjutant. The room reeked of the cyanide which Eva Hitler had used to take her life. The Fuhrer sprawled beside her, his face shattered.
Dr Stumpfegger, the Fuhrer's personal doctor, and Linge, the valet, carried the body up to the Chancellery garden, wrapped in a grey blanket. Martin Bormann came next, carrying Eva Hitler.
A curious incident then took place, for the Fuhrer's chauffeur, Erich Kempka, was reminded of the fact that in life Bormann had been Eva Hitler's greatest enemy. He stepped forward and took her body from the Reichsleiter for it did not seem right to him to leave her in his charge.
The bodies were placed in a shallow pit and fifty gallons of petrol poured over them and set on fire. As the flames cascaded into the sky, those present stood at attention, arms extended in a final party salute.
The Russians, at that point in time, were perhaps 150 yards away from the bunker.
12
Ritter sat at the desk in Meyer's office, going over the print of the ground plan of Schloss Arlberg yet again. Hoffer stood by the door, waiting quietly. Ritter put down his pencil and sat back.
Hoffer said, 'Can it be done?'
'I don't see why not,' Ritter said. 'All it requires is good discipline and a little nerve and I think our Finns aren't noticeably lacking in either.'
The door opened and Strasser entered. 'Jackson is back.'
'Ah, yes,' Ritter said. 'You sent him to Arnheim. May one ask why?'
'First tell me of your plan of attack.'
'Very well.' Ritter looked down at the print of the castle again. 'I will wait until dark. In fact, well after. Say midnight when the defenders will already have been on the alert for a considerable period of time, which means they will be tired. No use moving in with the half-tracks because we alert them the instant we start the engines.'
'So?'
'A force of say twenty men will approach the edge of the moat under cover of darkness. Two of them will cross the moat, climb the drawbridge and set a couple of demolition charges. Very easy to make up from what we've got and it won't need a particularly powerful charge to blow those chains. Another charge against the gate timed to explode in the same instant.'
'I see,' Strasser said. 'The drawbridge falls, the gates open and your shock-troops rush across to take possession?'
'Backed up by the half-tracks, which start moving the instant they hear the explosion. What do you think?'
'Very good,' Strasser said.
'Any weak points?'
'Only one. As it happens there's an outside floodlight at the entrance. They turned it on about fifteen minutes ago. I'm sure Sorsa will confirm that if you raise him on the field telephone.'
Ritter leaned back. 'You have an excellent and very immediate source of information.'
'So it would appear,' Strasser said, but made no effort to enlighten him. 'Of course, you could have a sniper shoot out this flood-light.'
'And immediately alert them to the fact that we were up to something.'
'An excellent plan, however, and it could still work.'
'How?'
'If we had someone able to do exactly the same thing from the inside.' Strasser walked to the door and opened it. 'All right?' he said.
Earl Jackson entered the room wearing a flying jacket with a sheepskin collar over the uniform of a captain in the United States Army Air Corps.
As Colonel Hesser and Schneider mounted the steps to the east wall, the wind dashed frozen sleet into their faces. It was bitterly cold and the sergeant-major adjusted his grip on Magda's lead.
'A bitch of a night,' Hesser said. 'Takes me back to forty-two and the Winter War. The kind of cold that eats into the brain.'
He shuddered, remembering, and Schneider said, 'I wouldn't think they'd bother us on a night like this.'
'Isn't that what we used to say about the Russians?' Hesser said. 'Until we learned better? And so, I presume, did Ritter. He's spent enough time on the Eastern Front, God knows.'
The sentries were spread woefully thin, not that he could do much about that. There was one at the east watchtower. Hesser had a word with him, then leaned out of an embrasure in the wall and looked back towards the pool of light at the gate.
'I wonder how long it will be before one of them can't resist shooting that out? I almost wish they would. An end to this damned uncertainty.'
'You think they'll come then, Herr Oberst?' Schneider asked.
'You saw Ritter for yourself, didn't you? Did he look like the kind of man to just run away? And what about those ski patrols, circling endlessly through the forest right up until dark. No, he's there all right. And when he's ready, you'll know about it. Anyway, let's check the water gate.'
They went down the watchtower steps. There was a small damp tunnel blocked by a heavy iron grille. A corporal called Wagner stood guard there, a veteran of the Eastern Front, his left arm partially wasted away from bad shrapnel wounds. He was leaning against the gate looking out, his Schmeisser ready in his right hand.
'Everything is in order here?' Hesser demanded.
'I'm not sure, Herr Oberst. I thought I heard something.'
They stood listening. Snow drifted through the grille and Hesser said, 'Only the wind.'
And then Magda whined, straining forward on the leash. 'No, Herr Oberst,' Schneider said. 'He's right. Something moves.'
He and Hesser drew their pistols. There was a distinct slithering sound on the other side of the moat, snow falling into the water, and then a hoarse whisper in English. 'Is there anyone there? Don't shoot. I'm an American officer.'
Someone entered the water. Hesser said to Schneider, 'Switch on your torch, a second only, then down on the ground.'
There was a pause, then Schneider's torch flashed, the beam picking Earl Jackson out of the darkness instantly. He was in the middle of the moat, swimming strongly, only his head and the sheepskin collar of his flying jacket showing above the water.
'Kamerad!' he called, gasping for breath. 'American officer. I'm looking for General Hamilton Canning.'
It was Finebaum, crouched in the shadow of the wall above the main gate, who spotted the momentary spot of light on his left. Below him, Howard and Hoover crouched against the wall, smoking cigarettes.
'Hey, Captain, there was a light down there below the east watchtower in the moat.'
They were on their feet instantly. 'You certain?' Howard leaned out of the embrasure. 'I can't see a thing.'
'There was a light. Just for a minute.'
'Okay, let's move it,' Howard said and started along the wall.
When they entered the water-gate tunnel, Jackson was on the other side from Hesser and his men, clutching the grille, knee-deep in water. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake. I've got to see General Canning.'
'What is it?' Howard demanded. 'What's going?'
Hesser switched on the torch without a word. Jackson blinked in the sudden light. He was soaked to the skin, water dripping from his uniform, teeth chattering. He tried to peer into the darkness at Howard.
'You American, buddy? For Christ's sakes, make these crazy bastards let me in. Another five minutes of this and I'll die of exposure.'
'Hey, he's right, Captain,' Finebaum said. 'He don't look too good.'
'Who are you?' Howard demanded.
'Harry Bannerman's the name. Crash-landed this morning about ten miles from here in a P47. Got picked up by an SS unit. They had me down in the village here until an hour ago. In an inn called the Golden Eagle.'
'How did you get away?'
'The landlord helped me - a guy called Meyer. There was another prisoner there. He put him up to it. A Frenchman named Gaillard. He told me to get up here fast and see General Canning. I've got information about when the krauts intend to hit this place.' He rattled the grille ineffectively, his voice breaking. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake - if you don't want to die, that is.'
'Okay,' Howard said to Hesser. 'Open the gate and drag him in - but fast. And you, Finebaum, I make personally responsible for blowing his backbone in half if he makes a wrong move.'
In the darkness among the trees on the far side of the moat, Strasser, Ritter and Hoffer listened to the clang of the grille shutting.
'So, he's in,' Ritter said. 'Let's hope they buy his story.'
'I don't see why not,' Strasser said. 'Jackson's strength, as I said before, lies in the fact that he's a genuine American, not the ersatz variety that let Skorzeny down so badly in the Ardennes.'
'So now we wait,' Ritter said.
'Until it's time for my part in this rather interesting drama.' Strasser smiled through the darkness. 'You know, I'm really rather looking forward to it.'
General Canning, Birr, Madame Chevalier and Claire were having a late supper of sandwiches and coffee when Hesser and Howard entered, followed by Jackson, an army blanket draped around his shoulders. Finebaum was right behind him, the muzzle of his M1 no more than an inch away from Jackson's backbone.
'What have we here?' Canning demanded, rising to his feet.
'Swam across the moat to the water gate, General,' Howard said. 'Claims to be an Army Air Corps officer. No papers - no identification on him whatsoever. Not even his dog tags.'
'They took them off me,' Jackson said. 'Those damned SS stripped me of everything. I mean, how many times do I have to tell you?'
'What outfit?' Canning demanded.
'Five hundred and tenth squadron, 405th group, sir. Operating out of what was a Luftwaffe base at Hellenbach until we took it four days ago.'
'What's your story?'
'My squadron was ordered to hit a Panzer column on the other side of Salzburg from here. This morning it was, General. We dropped our bombs dead on target, no problem, there being no Luftwaffe to speak of in this area any more. Then on the way back my battery went dead and I had to crash-land.'
'What was your aircraft?'
'P47 Thunderbolt, sir. I made it down in one piece in a clearing in the forest, then struck out for the main road. It's a pretty fluid situation in this area, General. There are plenty of our people around. It's just a question of knowing where.'
'And you say you were picked up by an SS unit?'
'That's right, sir. Mostly Finns, but there was a German officer in charge. A man called Ritter.'
'And they've been holding you all day?'
'That's right, sir, at an inn called the Golden Eagle in Arlberg.' There was a slight pause. He gazed around him wildly. 'Say, what goes on here? What do you people think I am -a kraut or something?'
'Well, I'll tell you, Captain,' Finebaum put in. 'Because it's really funny you should say that. When we were in the Ardennes in forty-four - and it was snowing then too, I might add - there was guys popping up all over the place, just like you, GI uniform - everything. Saying they'd lost their units, asking the way to Malmedy. Stuff like that. An interesting thing. They was all krautheads.'
'Any chance of you shutting this man up?' Canning inquired coldly.
Howard said, 'Button it, Finebaum.'
Canning said to Jackson, 'We're in a hell of a position in here, Bannerman. We can't afford to take anything on trust, you understand?'
'He says he's met Dr Gaillard, sir,' Howard put in.
Claire said excitedly, 'You've seen Paul?'
'Sure I've seen him.'
'How is he?'
'He's looking after a sick kid down there at the inn. Son of the landlord, a guy named Meyer.'
'And the SS have him?' Canning asked.
'Oh, yes. Major Ritter, the officer in command, lets him see to the kid regularly, but they had us locked up together for quite a while. Meyer brought our food and Gaillard saw him quite a lot each time he went to see to the kid. He's in a pretty bad way.'
'All right, how did you escape?'
'Well, it was mostly Meyer who made that possible. He overheard Ritter and some guy called Strasser - a civilian he has with him -discussing their plans for an attack just before dawn. They're going to put some guys across the moat with explosives to blow down your drawbridge. When Gaillard heard that, he told me I'd have to get away somehow and come and warn you people.'
'Which you seem to have managed without too much trouble,' Birr said.
'That was Meyer again. He tipped me off he'd leave the back door near the kitchen unlocked. I asked to go to the lavatory, gave the Finn who was escorting me a shove at the right moment, got the door open and ran like hell.'
There was a long and heavy silence now in which everyone seemed to be looking at him. Jackson said, 'General, I'm Captain Harry Bannerman of the United States Army Air Corps and when that drawbridge of yours is blown to hell and gone just before dawn tomorrow, you'll know I was telling the truth. Just now, I'd settle for a cup of coffee, dry clothes and somewhere to lay my head.'
Canning smiled suddenly and held out his hand. 'I'll tell you something, son. All of a sudden I've decided to believe you.' He turned to Hesser. 'Can you find him some dry clothes?'
'Certainly,' Hesser said. 'If the Herr Captain doesn't mind German uniform. This way, if you please.'
Jackson started to follow him, paused and turned. 'Heh, there's just one thing, General. Something kind of funny. It doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Maybe it does to you.'
'What's that?' Canning asked him.
'This guy Strasser - the civilian I told you about?'
'Well?'
'It's just that he seems to swing a lot of weight. I mean a couple of times there he acted as if he was in charge and I heard Ritter call him Reichsleiter. That ring any bells with you?'
Hesser turned pale. 'Bormann?' he whispered.
'That's it,' Canning said excitedly. 'I knew I'd seen that ugly face somewhere before. Martin Bormann, Secretary to Hitler himself. I saw him just once on the stand at the Berlin Olympic Games in thirty-six.' He turned on Hesser. 'You didn't recognize him?'
'I've never laid eyes on Bormann in my life,' Hesser said. 'He's a man of the shadows, always has been.'
'Now we know why they wanted us so urgently,' Canning said. 'Hostages to bargain with in the hope he might save his rotten neck.' He rubbed his hands together excitedly. 'Good work, Bannerman. You've really earned your keep with that one. Take him away now, Max, and get some dry clothes on him.'
Hesser and Jackson went out. Madame Chevalier said, 'What does this mean, General? I've heard of this man, Bormann. A member of the inner circle, isn't that so?'
'Not a thing to worry about, I assure you,' Canning said. 'Now have some more coffee, sit down and take it easy and I'll be back in a moment.'
He went out with Howard and Finebaum, closed the door behind him and paused in the shadows at the head of the stairs.
'What do you think, sir?' Howard asked.
Canning looked down at Finebaum. 'Is he any good?'
'A sackful of medals. He seems to have a talent for killing people, General.'
'Okay, soldier,' Canning said. 'You watch Bannerman like a hawk. Not too close, but be around just in case.'
'I'm your man, General.' F
inebaum went down the stairs into the shadows.
'You don't believe Bannerman, sir?' Howard asked.
'I had a Scottish grandmother, Captain, from the Isle of Skye, who used to say she had an instinct for things. No proof, because there was no need. She just knew. I sometimes think some of it rubbed off on me. Now get back to that gate. I'll join you there as soon as I can.'
He opened the door and went back into the dining hall.
When Howard climbed up to the ramparts above the gate it was snowing hard, large flakes drifting down through the yellow glare of the spotlight, spiralling in the slight wind. Hoover was up there with three Germans. Like them, the American was wearing a Wehrmacht winter-issue parka.
'Decided to change sides, I see,' Howard said. 'Kind of late in the war, isn't it?'
'The romantic in me,' Hoover said. 'My great-grandfather was in the Army of the Confederacy. We Hoovers just take to losing naturally, I guess. What about Bannerman?'
'He tells a convincing story. Says the opposition are going to hit us just before dawn. Slip a couple of guys across the moat with explosives and come running.'
He carried on to explain the rest of it, and when he was finished Hoover said, 'That last part doesn't make too much sense to me. I never even heard of this guy Bormann. Did you?'
'Somewhere or other,' Howard said. 'But I never thought he was particularly important. I mean, not like Ribbentropp or Goebbels or one of those guys. Sending someone like him sure lays it on the line how much they want to get their hands on these people as hostages.'
'Where's Finebaum?'
'Somewhere back there in the north tower, keeping an eye out for Bannerman on General Canning's orders.'
One of the sentries said quickly in German, 'Something moves - out there.'
He grabbed Howard's arm and pointed. A moment later, Karl Ritter, Hoffer and Strasser moved out of the darkness into the circle of light.
