Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Michael turned to the red-haired girl.

  “What is Himmler’s private number?” he asked.

  “No!” the guard almost shrieked. “Do not call him. It will not be necessary. I—I will take you to the marshal’s office. Come with me.” Michael’s hand closed tightly over the girl’s as they followed the guard up the steps of the building to the main entrance.

  The guard swung wide the heavy brass doors and preceded them into the darkened interior of the building. He drew a torch from his pocket and shot a beam of light down a wide, heavily carpeted hallway.

  “Because of the blackout,” he said, “we can have no lights.”

  “Oh, is that why?” Michael said. “I thought for a minute you were just being economical.”

  “Oh, no,” the guard chuckled. “It is the blackout orders. It is silly, but it is an order.”

  “Silly?” Michael said. “You don’t think the R.A.F. will come this way?”

  “Of course not,” the guard said. He led them down the wide corridor, past imposingly lettered doors, toward a heavy double door at the end of the hall.

  “You seem confident about not being bombed,” Michael said, “but how about Cologne? They tell me there was a raid over that city.”

  “British lies,” the guard scoffed. “The German radio said no damage was done. One report said that only a few cows were hit by bombs.”

  “That’s right,” Michael said, “but those cows burned for five days.”

  “That’s right,” the guard smiled. “They burned for five—”

  HE stopped smiling and looked sharply at Michael. He scratched his head slowly and a peculiar look of bewilderment spread over his blunt features.

  “Five days,” he mumbled. “That’s a long time for cows to burn, no?”

  “An ordinary cow might not burn that long,” Michael said, “but naturally the superior breed of German cow would be a different matter.”

  They stopped in front of the double doors at the end of the corridor and the guard stepped aside.

  “This is Marshal von Umbreit’s office. You can wait for him here. Will you need my light?”

  “Possibly,” Michael said. “I’d better take it just in case. Thank you very much. I shall see that your superiors hear of your good work.”

  The guard’s face beamed.

  “Thank you, Herr Faber.”

  He started away and then turned back, his forehead wrinkled in perplexity.

  “I do not mean to be disloyal,” he said, “but five days is still a long time for cows to burn.” With an embarrassed frown he wheeled and marched back down the corridor.

  Michael watched until he opened the building’s brass doors and disappeared into the street, before drawing Marie into Marshal von Umbreit’s office and closing and locking the door.

  Marie leaned weakly against the wall and laughed hysterically.

  Michael took her by the shoulders and shook her roughly.

  “Stop it!” he said tensely. “The big job is still ahead of us. Get hold of yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marie said, pressing her hands to her face. “I’m all right now. But sometimes I have the feeling that something inside of me is ready to snap. I’ve had that feeling many times in the last two years.”

  “I know,” Michael said softly. He lifted her chin with his finger and smiled into her deep gray eyes. “I’ve felt that myself. It’s not pleasant. But then neither is the thing we’re fighting against pleasant.”

  “I’m ashamed of myself,” the girl said.

  “You haven’t any reason for being.” Michael said quietly. “You’ve been magnificent. But you can’t fold now. We still have a job ahead of us.”

  He flashed the torch about the large, luxuriously appointed office. Under the inevitable swastika there was a huge mahogany desk in immaculate order.

  Michael crossed to the desk and studied the drawers for an instant.

  “It wouldn’t be in a drawer,” he muttered. Nevertheless he tried the drawers, but all were locked.

  “You haven’t told me what you’re looking for,” Marie said.

  “I’m after a roll of film,” Michael answered. “Our Intelligence learned that the Germans had photographed the camouflaging that has been done on the French coast. These films are in microscopic scale. With special reproduction apparatus they can be blown up into eight by ten photographs. It is extremely vital that these films reach British hands. The entire plan for the second front depends on discovering what areas are camouflaged. Aerial photography isn’t completely satisfactory, so the only alternative is to borrow the actual small scale German films. And that’s just what we’re going to do.”

  “Have you any idea where they are?”

  “Roughly, they’re in this office.”

  HE played his torch over the walls and ceiling and then inspected the desk again.

  “Hardly in the desk. Too easy to steal.” He frowned. “But there’d be no point in hiding them. The logical place would be an easily accessible repository that would be burglar proof.”

  “A wall safe?” Marie suggested. “Probably,” Michael nodded.

  Marie turned suddenly and swept back the swastika from the wall.

  “This is what you want, then. This is a favorite place of concealment in German offices.”

  Michael saw a small steel wall safe set in the bared wall. He stepped quickly to it and slowly turned the dial with his long, sensitive fingers.

  “I have the combination,” he murmured. “It was obligingly furnished by one of our workers here.”

  For several seconds he spun the tiny gleaming dial, then he pulled suddenly and the door swung noiselessly open. He pointed the flash into the small dark interior and saw several sheafs of paper and, at the far end of the safe, the object for which he was searching. A tiny roll of films.

  “We’ve done it,” he said excitedly. He removed the films, checked them carefully but hastily, then shoved them into his trouser pocket. His lean face was gleaming with triumph.

  “By dawn we’ll be flying for London,” he cried. “We’ve got to leave immediately. Every second is working against us.”

  He turned back to close the wall safe. When he had closed it and drawn the swastika back into place he wheeled to the girl.

  “Every step takes us nearer England,” he said tensely. “We mustn’t falter.”

  “We won’t,” Marie said.

  Michael took her arm and started across the floor. Suddenly lights flashed on in the room. From overhead and wall sockets bright bulbs blazed into brilliance.

  Michael’s body froze in a crouch. He jerked Marie to a stop.

  “Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “We’ll have to find another way out.” Hardly had the words passed his lips when the great double door of the office swung inward, and the short, pigeon-puffy form of Marshal von Bock stepped into the room.

  Two Storm Troopers followed him, Lugers drawn.

  Von Bock’s thick lips were curved in a sadistic smile. But his eyes were angry and cold.

  “How fortunate we discovered your little game, Herr Faber,” he said in his soft, lisping voice.

  CHAPTER VII

  FOR an instant there was complete silence in the room. The tension grew until Michael gradually relaxed and allowed a slow ironic smile to light his pale, thin features.

  “What a suspicious nature you have, Marshal,” he remarked mildly. “Please tell those determined men with you to put their guns away before they shoot someone accidentally.”

  “They will not shoot anyone by accident,” von Bock said significantly. “Your clever tongue will not save you this time, Herr Faber. You have reached the end of your very long rope. I have just seen the body of Captain Mueller.”

  “Gracious,” Michael murmured. “Is he dead? What happened to the poor chap?”

  “Stop stalling!” von Bock snapped. “You killed him. I know that. And it will be our pleasure to execute you as a British agent. Or is it America
you’re working for, Herr Faber?”

  Michael shrugged. “That’s a technicality, isn’t it? What difference does it make?”

  Von Bock nodded to the two Storm Troopers.

  “Search him.”

  The two men went over Michael carefully. They handed the roll of film to von Bock along with his personal effects.

  “I think I know what this is,” von Bock said, studying the film. “Yes, it is very fortunate we stopped you before you left Europe, Herr Faber.” He turned his round head slightly and studied the red-haired girl. “Your presence here, Fraulein Kahn, I find rather puzzling. Perhaps you can clear the doubts that are plucking at my mind.”

  “There is nothing puzzling about my presence here, Marshal von Bock,” the girl answered coldly. “Captain Mueller and I were working together to trap the American. Unfortunately we underestimated our opponent. He shot Captain Mueller with his own gun and forced me to accompany him here because I knew the layout of the building. I imagine he intended to kill me later.”

  “What a harrowing experience for you, Fraulein” von Bock said mildly.

  Michael risked a quick glance at the marshal, but it was impossible to tell from the man’s expressionless, moonlike face what he was thinking.

  He paced slowly back and forth, tugging at his fat under lip.

  “I must make a report of this matter personally,” he said thoughtfully. “Marshal von Umbreit must be notified immediately.” He turned again to Marie. “I shall leave the American in your hands. I shall leave these two men with you, however, for he might become troublesome.” He nodded to one of the Storm Troopers. “Tie his arms behind him and watch him carefully. He is very clever.”

  With a cynical wave of his hand to Michael, he stepped from the room, closing the door after him.

  “You have your orders,” Marie snapped to the Troopers. “Bind his arms.”

  AS the Nazi soldiers knotted a belt about his wrists, Michael nodded slowly to the girl. She turned away and removed his coat from her shoulders, tossed it over a chair.

  “Do either of you have a cigarette?” she asked of the Storm Troopers.

  Michael smiled faintly. The girl was acting her part admirably. This was obviously a trap by von Bock to see if she had been telling the truth. Probably the marshal was waiting cutside the door with a dozen men. If she made the slightest move to help him it would cost both their lives.

  One of the soldiers offered her a cigarette and held a match until the tip was glowing brightly. She blew a cloud of blue smoke into the air and faced Michael, a cool smile curving her lips; but there was an anguish in her gray eyes that she could not conceal.

  “So,” she said softly, “you thought you could fool the Gestapo indefinitely!”

  Michael shrugged.

  “We all make mistakes. I made one in forcing you to accompany me. Had I gone on alone I would probably have been successful.”

  Michael hoped that von Bock heard that much.

  “I—” The girl started to speak, but she stopped suddenly. A tense, startled expression spread over her white features.

  The Storm Troopers noticed the sudden change.

  “What is it?” one of them demanded. He raised his gun and glanced about the room with suspicious eyes.

  Michael raised his head slightly. A fierce, exultant hope was pounding through his veins.

  For he could hear distinctly a faint humming sound in the large office and from the corner of his eye he saw a shadowy shape moving toward the girl. She obviously had heard the sound and had recognized it as did Michael.

  Paul Cheval, the one man to survive the horror of Lidice, was in the room, a grim phantom of vengeance and retribution!

  This was one development that von Bock hadn’t planned when he had set this little trap.

  “It is nothing,” the girl said quickly. “I—I’ve been through so much in the last few hours that my nerves are jumpy. I thought I saw the figure of a man on the other side of the room.”

  BOTH Troopers turned in the direction she indicated and at that same instant the stocky, black-browed figure of Paul Cheval materialized beside the girl. With a swift rush he lunged at one of the soldiers, ripped the Luger from his hand. He shoved the man away from him and swung the gun to cover the second Trooper.

  “Drop your gun!” he said. His voice was like thin ice cracking. There was no mistaking the chilling intention in his hot, black eyes.

  The soldier dropped his gun to the floor with trembling fingers.

  Marie stepped quickly to Michael’s side and went to work on the belt that was strapped about his wrists.

  “Hurry!” Paul Cheval snapped.

  He swung one Nazi about and brought the barrel of his gun down across the man’s temple. He sagged to the floor like a damp sack of oats. The other Trooper opened his mouth to cry out, but Paul rammed his gun, butt-deep into the man’s stomach.

  “One squeak and you die,” he whispered.

  The Nazi’s eyes circled in terror, whites gleaming, but his mouth clamped suddenly shut.

  Michael felt his bonds giving, but before he could slip his wrists free, the door of the office burst open and von Bock strode into the room. He was alone, but he held an unwavering Luger in his hand.

  He saw Paul and his face went blank with amazement.

  Paul jerked his gun up, but von Bock fired first. The bullet slammed into Paul, knocking him about in a halfcircle. He fell slowly to the floor, his face a mask of agony. Blood stained his shirt and his face was an ashen gray. Desperately he tried to raise the gun in his hand, but it slipped from his nerveless fingers as he slumped to the floor.

  Von Bock swung around to cover Marie.

  “So!” he snapped harshly. “You were in with him!”

  He strode across the room on his thick, stubby legs, flushed with anger.

  “I caught you attempting to free him,” he said. “For that you will die with him, Fraulein”

  Without taking his eyes from the girl, he signaled to the Trooper who was still on his feet.

  “Drag the swine I shot from the room. I don’t like the smell of fresh blood.”

  The Trooper put his hands under Paul’s shoulders and dragged him across the floor and out of the room, slamming the door after him.

  “Now,” von Bock said harshly, “we will see, Fraulein, if your tricks will work on me. We have been altogether too lenient in dealing with enemies of the Reich. From now on, we shall be more firm.”

  He shifted his gun to his left hand as he spoke. Then he stepped forward and slapped the girl savagely across the cheek.

  “That, Fraulein, is only the start.”

  “You inhuman beast!” the girl cried.

  MICHAEL said nothing, but his face was set and pale. He was working desperately at his bonds. The girl had loosened them, but not enough to free his wrists. If only he had time . . .

  Von Bock sauntered slowly over to him. His thick lips were smiling grimly.

  “You have made quite a fool of me, Herr Faber,” he said. “My superiors are going to wonder how you were able to deceive me for over two years. It is possible that I may be demoted because of you. You were very clever. Many times you must have been laughing at me, Herr Faber.”

  His face clouded suddenly with bitter rage and the veins at his temples throbbed visibly.

  “Didn’t you laugh, Herr Faber?” he shouted, his voice hoarse and ragged.

  Michael smiled and shook his head.

  “I never laughed at you, Herr Marshal,” he said. “But many times I pitied you.”

  “Pity!” Von Bock’s voice shook with insane rage.

  He drove his right fist suddenly into Michael’s face. The unexpectedness, rather than the force of the blow staggered him and he slumped to his knees. Blood streamed from his lip.

  But as he fell he strained desperately at the belt about his wrists and he felt it give slightly. On his knees before von Bock he slipped one hand free. As his other hand came loose he dropped his head
to his chest to hide the elated expression on his face.

  “That is a fitting posture for you,” von Bock snarled. “On your knees, head bowed before the Herrenvolk

  He raised his booted foot, but as he kicked at Michael’s face, Michael shifted slightly and von Bock’s leg shot across his shoulder. Michael ducked swiftly and his hands shot out, grabbing the marshal’s other leg.

  A savage jerk brought the German’s portly figure crashing to the floor. Michael lunged for von Bock’s gun hand, but the Luger had dropped to the floor in the fall. The marshal squirmed on top of Michael and dug his thumbs into his eyes.

  “You dog!” he cried. “I’ll tear your eyes—”

  A shot sounded. And the marshal’s voice faded into a cracked, choking bleat. He rolled off Michael’s body and his short legs pumped wildly, spasmodically for an instant and then they were still.

  Michael climbed weakly to his feet.

  Marie held the marshal’s Luger, and a wisp of smoke was trailing from the muzzle of the gun. She brushed a lock of hair from her white forehead and leaned limply against the desk.

  “I shot him in the back,” she said dully.

  Michael took her shoulders and shook her gently.

  “Forget that,” he said quietly. “Never think of it. It was simply something you had to do. Now pull yourself together. We’ve got a million-to-one chance to get out of here, but we can’t waste a second.”

  He dropped to his knees beside von Bock’s body and transferred the vital roll of film to his own pocket.

  Then he led the girl to the door and opened it cautiously. The corridor was deserted. Michael’s chief worry was the Storm Trooper who had carried out Paul’s body. He should be back on the scene any minute.

  “Come on,” he said. “This is our only chance.”

  HE closed the door and, with Marie at his side, strode down the long carpeted corridor to the double brass doors that led to the street. His heart was hammering in his throat.

  Opening the door boldly, he stepped out into the cool gray dawn. Instantly two guards confronted him. One of them was the florid-faced soldier who had originally let them in.

  Michael nodded casually to him and gave his arm to Marie.