by John Creasey
‘Herr Doktor—’ Raffleck began, but his voice trailed off, he stared at Stefan and the two victims held so ludicrously in Stefan’s grasp.
Brian and Conroy had disappeared, but Drusilla was in the doorway.
‘It’s all right,’ she said swiftly, ‘they’ve gone to look after the guards.’
Palfrey said to Raffleck: ‘Just do what you’re told, you’ve nothing to fear.’ He smiled a little into the man’s startled eyes. ‘Not Pretzel, not German,’ he went on. ‘We’re taking you to England.’
Raffleck gasped: ‘It—it cannot be true! It—’ he stared at Oster, whose struggles had ceased as he had lost consciousness, then turned towards the door.
Palfrey wondered what was in his mind, was afraid for a moment that the prospect was too much for the Norwegian. He should have contrived to have broached it more care fully, he
Raffleck gabbled: ‘There are some records I must get, some formulae—I will not be more than two minutes, just two minutes!’ He moved towards the door so swiftly that he was out of sight before Palfrey started to go in his wake.
Stefan said: ‘All right, Sap, I can look after these.’
They had made no noise. No one in the adjoining rooms could have had the slightest idea of what was happening and the secretary was unconscious. As Palfrey hurried in Raffleck’s wake, Stefan let the two victims slide softly to the floor, then took a length of cord from his pocket. Drusilla passed Palfrey, her eyes flashing a smile.
‘I’ll give him a hand,’ she said.
‘Yes.’ Palfrey hurried in Raffleck’s wake. Despite the Norwegian’s haste, he was making little noise. The doors of the laboratory were standing open and Palfrey went through.
Raffleck was standing in front of his table, pulling open a drawer. Palfrey paused. The other’s movements were swift and yet he knew exactly what he was doing; he piled several notebooks and papers on top of each other neatly and with a deliberation which made Palfrey widen his eyes. Except for the one startled sentence Raffleck had shown neither surprise nor alarm; obviously he was quite sure that Palfrey told the truth.
He said, in broken English: ‘A small case, Herr Doktor—by the bench. Please!’ He continued to take things from the drawer while Palfrey picked up a small pigskin attache case. He opened it for Raffleck to bundle the papers into it. Then Raffleck’s hot eyes, showing a far different expression from that which Palfrey had first noted, turned towards Palfrey. He said simply: ‘I am ready now.’
‘We’ll manage,’ said Palfrey. ‘Come on!’ He led the way into the passage and the hall, reaching the front door as Stefan and Drusilla came down the stairs.
The party moved crabwise towards the neck of the carriage-way towards the steep hill. It grew obvious that Stefan was going to lead them first towards the river and then round to the back. Conroy stumbled and let forth a tense oath, but there was no other sound until the steep road made them hurry downhill in spite of themselves. Stefan was still leading them, and it was his figure that was suddenly turned into silhouette against a blaze of light along the road from a powerful torch. Not a torch, thought Palfrey as the light blinded his eyes.
Not a torch—
The engine of a car suddenly awakened to life and the light came nearer.
Chapter Six
Six People and a Boat
Raffleck gasped: ‘Where do we go? What do we do?’
‘We put an end to them,’ said Conroy, in English.
The flash of a shot from his automatic was lost in the brilliant headlights; the noise was covered by the humming of the motor. One of two bright orbs of light went out and the car swerved a little to one side.
‘Down!’ said Palfrey urgently. ‘All of you, down!’
He suited his action to his words. Raffleck needed no further telling, nor did Drusilla. Stefan leapt towards the tree-clad side of the drive, Brian went in the other direction, and Conroy fired again. There was a metallic clang but the single light remained; the car came on as its driver recovered from the sudden dousing of one of his lamps. Then Palfrey, on the ground, saw what he had expected earlier – a different kind of light from the car, quick flashes from a machine-gun or an automatic rifle. He thought the bullets would strike the drive near him, but heard nothing; suddenly he realised that they were going high above his head. At that angle good shooting was almost impossible.
In the light of the remaining lamp he saw Stefan leap along the road on one side and Brian on the other. They worked in unison as if it had been prearranged. When they reached the car Palfrey heard the reports of their shots; their guns were not silenced like Conroy’s.
The car stopped, and Palfrey saw that it was beginning to go backwards, down the incline.
He straightened up and moved towards the white post, clear in the one bright light. Not far away was the Aker, and the boat which Orleck had promised them. But if the people in the car had realised that there might be trouble, it was at least possible that the boat had been located. He drew Raffleck towards the verge as Drusilla came after them, while the shooting stopped by the car. Stefan was on the running-board on one side, Brian on the other. There was a squeal of brakes and the car came to a standstill.
An eerie silence descended upon the grounds.
It did not last long but was broken soon afterwards by the shrill piping of a whistle which seemed to float upwards towards them on the wind. Palfrey knew that the alarm had been raised, but thought of the stiff climb and the fact that no one would be able to hurry up the slope. He saw Stefan come away from the car and hurry towards him; Brian followed a few seconds afterwards. Conroy had already joined them.
‘No torches,’ Palfrey said, for Brian was shining a light.
It went out abruptly. The shrill whistle sounded several times again but was drowned by the whining of the wind through the trees. Palfrey broke through to the other side and for the first time saw the faintest glimmer of light reflected on the water of the narrow Aker river.
It revealed the outline of a boat and the man holding the torch.
‘Hurry, please!’ said a youthful voice, agitatedly, ‘or they find us.’
‘He’s right,’ said Stefan. ‘I’m going to create a diversion. I will find you later.’
Then he turned and they heard him scrambling up the bank; once they saw a torch shine towards him which revealed him clinging to the slim trunk of a tree as he hauled himself up.
It had an unreal effect. Palfrey, as the boat was propelled with surprising speed towards the middle of the river, heard Stefan bellow in German: ‘Not here, they are not here! To the hills!’
Torches were flashing towards him, but turned as he made his way through the trees, going upwards towards the sanatorium and the way of escape they would have taken, had the choice been free.
The lights went further away.
Palfrey relaxed a little, lowering himself to a seat. The others were all between him and the oarsman, who pulled through the ruffled water with a speed and precision which seemed inherent in the Norwegians. The sea was rougher than it had been five nights before, but the old, sturdy craft moved well enough.
The voices from the bank had almost faded by then, and the lights from the torches were no more than little pinpoints. All sense of immediate danger had gone.
Then Palfrey began to think of the mines in the fjord, of the probability that, when the alarm was raised in Oslo itself, the river and the head of the fjord would be watched. There was little sound but the dipping of the oars, the rougher lapping of the sea and the creaking of rowlocks. The river was swift, and Palfrey realised suddenly that was why they were able to make such speed. He took a little reassurance from that, then tried to estimate the speed of the current. He gave it up – then saw what he imagined to be a cliff rising out of the water to their left.
His heart turned over.
It was not the shore, but a ship lying at anchor, which was passed fully ten feet away. The lad at the oars said nothing, their speed gradually slackened
as they reached the broader waters.
After what seemed an age, the flat bottom touched ground. The youth shipped his oars speedily and jumped out. Brian was quickly after him, and they pulled the boat ashore.
The youth said, urgently: ‘You will be safe here, for there is room to hide. It is the old monastery, of course, where you will be quite safe. Look, please, for iron rings in the floor. You understand? Iron rings in the floor.’
He began to push the boat into the water again, then leapt aboard it, all the sounds muffled. The boat went off sluggishly, soon to disappear against the dark water.
It was very quiet except for the occasional whine of the wind. None of them spoke for several seconds. Drusilla, at Palfrey’s side, shivered.
‘Cold, yes,’ said Palfrey. ‘Where there are walls there’s shelter. We’d better move.’ He turned away from contemplation of the dark waters, and after a few seconds was able to pick out the outline of the ruined monastery, which he had seen from the city so short a time ago, and admired, detachedly.
They linked hands and walked slowly up the shingle beach towards the ruins. Drusilla was on Palfrey’s right; Raffleck, who had said no word, on his left. Conroy, next to Raffleck, was the first to say, in a low-pitched voice: ‘I’d like to know where Stefan’s found himself.’
‘He’ll be all right,’ called Brian with forced confidence.
They stopped talking as they laboured up the beach, until Brian stumbled. The others stopped and Brian muttered ruefully: ‘A low wall of some kind! Step over it, all of you!’
It was a crumbling wall, parts of which fell away a little when Palfrey knocked against it in spite of the warning, but it reassured him because it was part of the old buildings. Another wall showed, much higher than the first. They found a gap in it and stepped through into the enclosure which was open to the skies. But because of the walls it was very dark, and they stood quietly for a few seconds, all breathing heavily.
Raffleck broke his long silence.
‘The lad was right, Herr Doktor, we cannot be seen from here, I know this island well. We shall have shelter from the wind, which will be pleasant.’ There was no sign of strain in his voice. ‘If they do now what they have done always before, we shall soon see a picture of great beauty.’
‘Beauty?’ ejaculated Conroy.
‘On nights when there is no danger from English aircraft and there is a disturbance in the city,’ said Raffleck with quiet gravity, ‘they switch on the lights, which are beautiful. The beastliness of man cannot corrupt inanimate things,’ he added musingly, ‘even when it puts them to corrupt purposes.’
He broke off abruptly and fell silent; none of the others spoke. It seemed to them that across the city and the ruffled waters there was a hush which even the wind and the lapping waves did not really break. It was as if they stood still, with the elements and time. To the north the sky became bright with a sudden light, a rainbow brilliance spreading for at least a mile across and reaching some distance into the skies. It reached mostly over the roofs of the houses of the city, making a weird yet beautiful silhouette.
The light had a clear, even garish quality; Palfrey likened it to aircraft flares dropping and illuminating their target, but the glow, which came from the ground, was more diffused. The pointed spires of the churches and the tops of the high modern buildings showed in bold relief, stark and clear, To one side was a different silhouette, as if they were looking at a city of the middle ages set down amongst the bricks and cement of modern Oslo.
‘The Huns are dumber than I’ve calculated if they don’t come to look here,’ drawled Conroy a little uneasily, ‘unless this is a bit of no man’s land?’
Raffleck said in a low voice: ‘The Germans are as thorough here as everywhere else, but they will not come to the island. They have ringed the beaches with mines, there are three circuits of them. Sometimes unfortunates who do not know that come here, and they get blown to pieces. But on certain nights and for certain purposes, patriots come and remove a number of the mines—we were sent along a cleared stretch tonight, you understand.’
Palfrey exclaimed: ‘No wonder Orleck was definite about obeying our guide!’
Raffleck had turned and was staring at Palfrey, the light lending his eyes an unnatural glow.
After a long pause he said, in a hushed voice: ‘Did you say Orleck, Herr Doktor?’
‘We wouldn’t be here had it not been for him,’ Palfrey said.
‘It is incredible!’ breathed Raffleck. ‘It is the most incredible thing I have ever heard! Orleck is the most hated man in Oslo, next to Quisling. He is in constant touch with the Germans, has taken a leading part in obtaining forced labour for them, is suspected of betraying countless patriots. The wonder is that he has been allowed to live for so long! And he has helped to make this possible?’
Palfrey said, simply: ‘He made it possible.’
Raffleck drew a deep breath and turned aside.
Palfrey looked about him, then tucked Drusilla’s arm in his; somehow it was reassuring and comforting. He looked towards the city and saw that the lights were even more brilliant, the garish vividness of the outlines was like a surrealist picture painted by a crazy artist; there was nothing real about it; everything seemed symptomatic.
The silence was the most remarkable thing next to the light.
Something which the little oarsman had said came to his mind.
‘Look for the rings in the floor!’ he said aloud.
‘What rings?’ asked Raffleck.
‘We’re just going to find out,’ said Palfrey. ‘The light is good enough.’ He turned and went on his knees, peering about him; all of them except Raffleck following his example. It was Conroy who said abruptly: ‘Here’s something!’ He was digging in the soil with his penknife. The others, still on their knees, stared towards him. A moment later he exclaimed, ‘An iron ring, I guess! Sap, we’re still having the luck!’
He pulled at the ring which showed against the background of dark earth between the pieces of stone, but it did not yield. Hurriedly he cleared more dirt away and Brian scrambled nearer to help him. They were all intent on it, even Raffleck bending down to watch; the only sound was their breathing. But although they pulled together at the ring and cleared a space a yard across, there was no result. They were straining at it, fighting against a feeling of disappointment, when Palfrey thought he heard a sound behind him.
He turned his head swiftly.
As he did so he saw the shape of a man’s head and shoulders rising from the ground not two yards away. He dropped his hand to his gun and uttered a low-pitched cry of warning.
Chapter Seven
The Lights Go Out
‘There is no need for alarm, my friends,’ said the man who looked towards them. ‘I am glad to see you again.’
All of the others were turned towards him, but although he was facing them it was impossible to distinguish his features. As he spoke, Conroy whistled beneath his breath, before saying in a clear whisper: ‘Orleck!’
‘In the very flesh,’ said Orleck dryly.
By then they saw that a slab of the stone on which they had barked their knuckles was raised behind him; he climbed from a hole in the ground and brushed his hands against each other. ‘I am very glad you are here, Dr. Raffleck.’
Raffleck stared at him, incredulous.
‘But before we go—’ Orleck looked at Palfrey with a twisted smile, although the strange light robbed his face of much of the villainy which was so apparent during the day – ‘there is a sight to see! The shooting and the general disturbance and the success of the escape have not pleased our conquerors,’ said Orleck, harshly. ‘There will be savage reprisals. Do not be afraid, Dr. Raffleck, there is not a man in Oslo who will not rejoice to know that you are safe. But since reprisals will come, we have decided they shall be fully deserved!’ He paused, then dropped a simple sentence into the tension: ‘We shall make the lights go out!’
He turned and led the way to
the wall which overlooked the city. The unnatural glow was everywhere; it seemed brighter. They peered towards it, seeing that the men at the ships were still working; one or two small boats were patrolling the harbour.
Then there was a vivid flash.
It had an eerie quality – as if a flash of lightning had brightened a dull day. Palfrey likened it to lightning behind the clouds of a sky filled with the metallic rays of the sun through the storm clouds. It made them blink yet had no appreciable effect on the general brightness. When it stopped, there seemed to be a long spell of waiting – but actually only a second passed before they heard a distant rumble, saw another flash; then there was a sound of a roaring explosion from the heart of the city.
The lights went out.
They did not fade slowly or go out in ones and twos; they were bright and garish one moment, the next they were gone. About them was abysmal darkness broken in one point towards the north of the city by a puny flame which seemed insignificant. The darkness was so intense that it hurt their eyes. They kept staring towards the city, although they could see so little, but the tongue of flame grew higher and brighter. Then there was another flash in the western suburbs. It was blinding and, because they were expecting the explosion, it seemed to follow without a pause. As its rumbling ceased they saw a second shoot of flame and, while they were watching it in startled silence, a third flash and third explosion came from the east.
Orleck’s voice was filled with a deep satisfaction as he moved.
‘That is all!’ he said. ‘The three main power-stations have gone.’ He weighed his words. ‘We planned to do that some time ago, but decided that we would wait until something else aroused the Huns’ brutality again. This will be well worth while, have no doubt of that! Not a factory within a twenty-mile radius will be able to work for many days to come if the independent plants are destroyed successfully—we have made plans—probably for weeks. A good night’s work, I think! Now, come!’
