Clearly, Raeder’s words had struck a raw nerve in the other three men. They seldom agreed with him on much of anything, but this time it appeared they might. Von Lindemann was kneeling on the ground and he had to lean heavily on his cane to get to his feet. “No further assurances are necessary, Herr Doktor,” he grimaced with a thin, forced smile as he elevated to his full height and stared down on the meddlesome engineer. “The Gestapo is absolutely right; this installation is no longer safe. The difference between Herr Dietrich and us is that Captain Schmitt and I are under direct orders from the High Command to relocate this entire operation to a top secret location, and that is all you need to know for the moment.”
“The High Command?” Raeder laughed contemptuously as he folded his arms across his chest. “Why don’t you show us these precious orders of yours, Major?”
“It is a Führer Order, Herr Doktor, from him to Göring to us. That is why they remain verbal, to keep the location top secret from spies and from traitors.”
“Are you calling me a traitor, Major? Because I ask to see some proof of these verbal orders of yours?” Raeder laughed. “What next? Will you shoot me, Von Lindemann?”
“Oh, no, Herr Doktor,” Scanlon stepped forward with a thin, steely grin on his lips. “That would be my job. Summary executions are always delegated to the junior officer — military protocol, you see.”
“Are you threatening me, Captain? How dare you?” Raeder puffed, but his smile quickly faded as he looked into Scanlon’s eyes.
“How dare I?” Scanlon sounded surprised by the question and stepped closer, crowding Raeder. The Major was an upper-class gentleman, a known commodity for Raeder to try to manipulate; but there was something sinister in this new fellow’s eyes that told him the Captain really would shoot, and he would enjoy doing it. That sent a shiver up the Doktor’s spine.
“I spent the last year on the Eastern Front,” Scanlon said, “and you have no idea how inexpensive life is out there. The ground froze so hard that our men would make a foxhole by stacking dead Russians in front of their positions. I can still hear the dull thud of sniper bullets smacking into frozen flesh. That can give a man a different moral perspective, Herr Doktor. So, if Major Von Lindemann tells me to put a bullet in you, that is exactly what I will do; and I suspect it will bother him a whole lot more than it will bother me. Of course, it will bother you even more, won’t it?” Scanlon chuckled.
Raeder’s jaw dropped as he looked into those cold gray eyes. “This is an outrage,” he muttered as he beat a quick retreat back toward his office. “An outrage!”
“See that you are back here at 6:00 p.m., Herr Doktor,” Scanlon called after him. “You don’t want me to come looking for you.”
After his office door slammed shut, Scanlon turned back and saw Christina Raeder standing alone beside one of the trucks, watching the entire escapade unseen by any of them. She smiled at Scanlon and clapped her hands, her fingers spread wide apart like a young child. “Bravo!” he heard her giggle, “Bravo,” she repeated, before she turned and disappeared.
Scanlon could deal with all the others, even Raeder, but the girl was a wild card. At first, he thought she might be mentally retarded. She rarely spoke, except to Rudy Mannheim and occasionally to Eugen Bracht. When she did, she had the odd habit of using quotations from Italian grand opera, as if they were some kind of crutch. Maybe so, he thought. Everyone else around here seemed to need one, whether it was old movies, fanatical causes, chivalry that died with knights in armor, greed, envy, young men, a healthy dose of self-preservation, or a blue-eyed blonde with ice water in her veins, who could set a cold, alpine winter night ablaze. So, what was a little grand opera between friends? Compared to the others, she might be the only sane person in the place. As for her odd appearance, it was not that she was unattractive. It seemed intentional — no makeup, hair cut short and straight, and clothes from an auto repair shop. Retarded? Not likely. Those dark, haunting eyes of hers did not appear to miss much.
Opera was not the only thing that appeared to interest Christina Raeder, Scanlon noted. She appeared to be infatuated by Paul Von Lindemann, but the thick-skulled Major never noticed. True, she was half his age and rarely out of her father’s sight. When she did manage to slip out, she tagged along with him, observing, hovering, and occasionally talking to him. To Scanlon, at least that small part of the operation was amusing.
“Do not worry about Christina, Captain,” Rudy Mannfried took Scanlon aside when he was sure the others were well out of hearing distance. “She is a very, very special child. You may think she behaves a bit odd; but growing up out here with that monster of a father, it is a wonder she is not far worse.” Mannfried’s jovial smile then faded and his eyes grew deadly serious. “I assure you, she will cause you no problems. Please see that you cause her none.”
“Is that a threat, Rudy?” Scanlon laughed at the plump, ungainly engineer.
“No, simply a piece of good advice — one that you should invest wisely. We all have our little secrets, eh, Captain, like that odd accent of yours. It is almost perfect, almost; but you never did say where you were from, did you?”
The fat engineer quickly walked away, leaving Scanlon to wonder what Rudy did know. It was already 4:00 p.m. The second truck would be loaded in another hour, and they would be ready to roll by 6:00. He could hardly wait. A piece of cake. This trip was going to be such a lovely piece of cake.
Hanni Steiner hid in the trees on the edge of the meadow and watched them through of a pair of powerful Zeiss binoculars. The Luftwaffe uniform Edward wore did not fool her for a second. Even at this distance, she instantly recognized him. It was the subtle things: the way he moved, the way he walked, and the way he leaned against the truck. She would recognize him at the bottom of a mineshaft with the lights off, even without using her hands. One look and a blue-white spark jumped all the way across the clearing, leaving her tingling all over. Yes, she thought hopelessly, she still had it. She had it in spades.
It was one thing to sit in a cold, gray cell on the top floor of Gestapo headquarters and tell Otto Dietrich where he could find Edward, sight unseen. It was another to see him here in living color, and have those vivid memories cascade down on her like an avalanche. How could she forget the steamy nights in the hayloft, where nothing was off-limits, nothing unsaid, nothing undone. She savored every moment she had spent alone with that supple body of his. She could feel his hands, his mouth, his fingers, and his body on her and in her as if he were lying here with her. She burned all over. She knew the feel of his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing in her ear, the taste of his sweat, and the way he responded to her every move. Of course, she recognized him. Those memories had a life of their own, like his child growing inside her.
“Well?” Dietrich demanded, louder and more insistently this time. “Is it him? Tell me. Yes or no?”
“They are too far away. I see a blue uniform, but it could be anyone.”
“Anyone? You are sweating like a bitch in heat!”
She had slept with her share of men, but her first mistake with Edward was enjoying it far too much. Her second mistake was being stupid enough to fall in love with him. And third, allowing herself get pregnant. “You were supposed to be using him, you little fool,” she told herself. “It was all a big game, until you let him get to you. Now, you will pay for it and pay dearly.”
Dietrich grabbed the binoculars from her hands and turned them on the clearing. “You are lying through your pretty little teeth. I know it is him.”
“You have spent so many years questioning people,” she answered, “you would not know the truth if it bit you on the ass — too many old movies, too many old songs, too many old lies.”
“And too many liars,” he shot back. Like it or not, it would be a standoff until they reached Red Army lines. Then, one of them would likely die; and they both knew it. He turned the binoculars back on the men standing around the trucks, trying unsuccessfully to bring the figures into clea
r focus once again. “Scheisse!” he cursed as he finally put them down. “I know it is Scanlon. I can smell him from up here.”
“Then go down and see for yourself,” she said. “He killed three of your men last night. I am certain he would love to see you, too.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you;” he said humorlessly, “but there are at least a dozen other men down there, counting the guards, and I prefer better odds.”
“It is your overactive imagination, Otto. You told Raeder to have everything packed and ready to leave tomorrow. I would say that is exactly what he is doing.”
His expression turned cold and humorless. “It hurts to watch a skilled professional like you degenerate into just another… woman. You are getting all wet just thinking about him, are you not, my dear? Well, you need to find a cure for that before Moscow does.”
Her bright, blue eyes flashed; but she said nothing. Once again, he was right, she thought. Damn him anyway. She was letting her emotions get the best of her.
“You are right, my dear. They have loaded two trucks as I told him, but I think Raeder has no intentions of waiting for us. If you had been watching them, instead of Scanlon, you would have noticed that Raeder is nowhere to be seen down there. All the others are, but not him. How interesting. I suspect the good Doktor is in his office or the laboratory, so I suggest we work around to the rear gate and let ourselves in. Perhaps we should grab him now — a bird in the hand, eh? We can come back for the others later, when we have more men.”
“What if they leave before we get back?”
“As long as we have Raeder, do we really care?” he asked with a cold, cunning smile. “Besides, how far can they get?”
She turned her eyes and stared down into the compound again. Liebchen, you really did trick me, didn’t you, she thought. Horstmann convinced me that you came back for me and nothing else, and I fell for it. What a romantic fool I was, when the cold truth is standing down there in that compound. Silly girl! He came back for Raeder and the engineers, and he has been playing you like a violin ever since.
“You are right,” she finally agreed. “We should grab Raeder while we can.”
“And I am right about something else, too. You are all mine now, Hanni, dearest; and I do not share well. If your young Captain gets in my way again, I will cut his balls off and have them bronzed for you. It will be something you can remember him by.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, squeezing and hurting her. “I intend to outlive this war, and I intend to prosper, with you or without you. Do not forget that. Now, you and I shall make a house call on the Doktor, eh?”
Later that afternoon as the evening shadows lengthened, Paul Von Lindemann and Ed Scanlon sat together in the camp office studying the maps and aerial photographs the Luftwaffe had provided, making their final plans. It was almost 6:00 p.m. and the time had come to leave. The trucks were loaded with the documents, blueprints, cartons of food, cans of water, emergency supplies, and a few suitcases. Everyone was there, Scanlon thought as he looked around the room, everyone except Raeder and his daughter, Christina.
“Has anyone seen them?” he asked, as he looked around.
“Emil,” Scanlon said as he turned to Nossing. “Check the Doktor’s office. Rudy, please see if they are in their cottage.”
Both men came back confused and empty-handed. That was when one of the guards commented that he had seen a large black car on the entry road earlier.
“Verdamten!” Von Lindemann cursed. “How could we be this stupid? They went out the back, while the rest of us were busy packing. They just walked away.”
“That black car — it must have been Dietrich’s.”
“He will be taking them back to Leipzig.”
“This is terrible, Captain,” Rudy Mannfried said as he rushed back from the cottage, sweating and breathing heavily. “Christina’s wooden case is missing, the one with her phonograph records. If she took those with her, she will not be coming back.”
Ed Scanlon and Paul Von Lindemann looked at each other in helpless frustration. “What does Raeder think he can get from the Gestapo that he cannot get from us?” the Major asked. “I do not understand.”
“That is because you do not know him, Major,” Rudy Mannfried replied, sounding concerned. “He is utterly self-centered and ruthless. I do not know what they offered him, either; but you must go after them and bring them back, for Christina’s sake if nothing else. You cannot let them have her.”
“We can’t let them have Raeder either,” Scanlon said as he unfolded his map on the desk. “It is all or nothing, remember?”
Paul Von Lindemann nodded reluctantly.
“Dietrich is heading back to Leipzig. Like a rat running back to its nest; it’s the only place he’ll feel safe,” Scanlon said, glancing at his watch. “When he gets there, he’ll have a hundred men on our tail by morning; so, I’ll take your car and try to catch them, Paul. You take the trucks and head south. With luck, I’ll meet you in Bayreuth tomorrow morning. If I’m not there by noon, go on without me; because I doubt I’ll be coming.”
“No, you cannot go there alone. That would be suicide.”
“Paul, I know the city and I’ll be fine. Besides, taking care of the strays is my job. That’s why they sent me here, remember?”
“No, my friend, if we do not stop Dietrich tonight, he will surely stop me and the trucks tomorrow anyway; and I do not relish staring down the barrels of a Gestapo firing squad. The others can take the trucks south to Bayreuth,” Von Lindemann said. “They can wait for us there. It is our only choice.”
Scanlon nodded, realizing Von Lindemann was right, getting angrier and angrier as he realized how intricate the spider web was into which Bromley dropped him. That bastard! “Little Bo-Peep” rounding up a few strays? Well, it no longer mattered. Dietrich’s trail was leading Scanlon back to Leipzig and back to Hanni Steiner, and this could be the last chance he would have to find her and get her back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was 10:00 p.m. and well after dark before they arrived in Leipzig. The streets were deserted. The wind had picked up and turned to the north, bringing with it a steady, cold rain. Perfect weather for killing, Scanlon thought. They parked the staff car two streets over and he and Von Lindemann approached the rear of Gestapo headquarters on foot, working their way slowly and carefully through a rubble-strewn alley and a vacant lot. As they got closer, they saw Dietrich’s Maybach parked near the police station’s rear door. Looking at the building’s rear facade for the first time in two months, Scanlon broke out in a cold sweat. For two days now, he had tried to rebuild a confident, outer shell, only to feel it shatter. His memories of those days he spent in Otto Dietrich’s basement were too strong. They hit him like a hammer on a plate glass window. He could not even breathe until a gentle hand closed over his shoulder.
“Easy, my friend, easy,” Paul’s voice counseled. “I felt precisely the same paralyzing fear in my gut after my crash. The thought of flying again made my hands shake so bad, I thought I was losing my mind. I went through it all: the cold sweats, the pain, and the agony, like yours. Do you know what I finally did to conquer it? I forced myself back into a cockpit and just sat, that was all. That was how I conquered them, both the fears and the memories.”
Scanlon swallowed hard. He saw the German leaning on that hideous cane, still smiling, and felt his own fears begin to ebb. He took one deep breath, then another until he was able to turn and face the building again.
“I learned it was not necessary for me to actually fly again,” Von Lindemann added, “but I refused to let that damned cockpit beat me.”
“Thanks, Paul,” he heard himself say, realizing the man’s words helped.
On his last trip inside, Dietrich’s goons had dragged him up the stairs and down the hall a sufficient number of times for him to know that the Chief Inspector’s office was on this rear façade at the end of the second floor. Sure enough, as his anxious eyes searched the building, win
dow by window, looking for signs of activity, he saw thin slivers of light coming around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains where Dietrich’s office should be. Like a rat scurrying to its nest, the Chief Inspector would have run back to where he would feel safest. Scanlon knew that Dietrich would be in there right now with his back to the wall, teeth bared, and his sharp claws at the ready. And Hanni would not be far away.
Looking up at the rear of the badly battered police station, Scanlon realized it was not the building he feared, only the sadistic bastard inside. If he ever hoped to be whole again, he must cut the chief bastard down to size, crush him, and inevitably kill him. What were the odds of that? Two cripples forcing their way in and grabbing Otto Dietrich inside his own den? Perhaps it was not that preposterous after all, he realized. Dietrich had no idea that Scanlon was within fifty miles of his office back window. They had surprise on their side, and this time, Scanlon had a gun, too. Perhaps the odds were not that long after all.
"There is a sentry standing by the rear door, back in the shadows,” Von Lindemann pointed out. “I assume he would post another one to walk the perimeter, perhaps two, and have more inside.”
“Yeah, Otto would never trust just one guard on the door, not now,” Scanlon added as he took another deep breath and tried to relax. As the German turned and began to walk away, Scanlon touched his arm. “Wait, Paul. If we become separated in there, you grab Raeder and his daughter and get the hell out. Don’t wait for me. Understand?”
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