by Jack Higgins
Preston shot him at point-blank range. As Wilde fell back across the steps below the roodscreen, blood on his face, there was pandemonium. Women were screaming hysterically. Preston fired another shot into the air. ‘Stay where you are!’
There was the kind of frozen silence produced by complete panic. Vereker got down on one knee awkwardly and examined Wilde as he groaned and moved his head from side to side. Betty Wilde ran up the aisle, followed by her son, and dropped to her knees beside her husband.
‘He’ll be all right, Betty, his luck is good,’ Vereker told her. ‘See, the bullet has just gouged his cheek.’
At that moment the door at the other end of the church crashed open and Ritter Neumann rushed in, his Browning in his hand. He ran up the centre aisle and paused. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Ask your colleague from the SS,’ Vereker suggested.
Ritter glanced at Preston, then dropped to one knee and examined Wilde. ‘Don’t you touch him, you—you bloody German swine,’ Betty said.
Ritter took a field dressing from one of his breast pockets and gave it to her. ‘Bandage him with that. He’ll be fine.’ He stood up and said to Vereker, ‘We are Fallschirmjäger, Father, and proud of our name. This gentleman, on the other hand … ‘ He turned in an almost casual gesture and struck Preston a heavy blow across the face with the Browning. The Englishman cried out and crumpled to the floor.
The door opened again and Joanna Grey ran in. ‘Herr Oberleutnant,’ she called in German. ‘Where’s Colonel Steiner? I must speak with him.’
Her face was streaked with dirt and her hands were filthy. Neumann went down the aisle to meet her. ‘He isn’t here. He’s gone to see Devlin. Why?’
Vereker said, ‘Joanna?’ There was a question in his voice, but more than that, a kind of dread as if he was afraid to know for certain what he feared.
She ignored him and said to Ritter, ‘I don’t know what’s been going on here, but about forty-five minutes ago, Pamela Vereker turned up at the cottage and she knew everything. Wanted my car to go to Meltham House to get the Rangers.’
‘What happened?’
‘I tried to stop her and ended up locked in the cellar. I only managed to break out five minutes ago. What are we going to do?’
Vereker put a hand on her arm and pulled her round to face him. ‘Are you saying you’re one of them?’
‘Yes,’ she said impatiently, ‘now will you leave me alone? I’ve work to do.’ She turned back to Ritter.
‘But why?’ Vereker said. ‘I don’t understand. You’re British …’
She rounded on him then. ‘British?’ she shouted. ‘Boer, damn you! Boer! How could I be British? You insult me with that name.’
There was a genuine horror on virtually every face there. The agony in Philip Vereker’s eyes was plain for all to see. ‘Oh, my God,’ he whispered.
Ritter took her by the arm. ‘Back to your house fast. Contact Landsvoort on the radio. Let Radl know the position. Keep the channel open.’
She nodded and hurried out. Ritter stood there, for the first time in his military career totally at a loss. What in the hell are we going to do? he thought. But there was no answer. Couldn’t be without Steiner.
He said to Corporal Becker. ‘You and Jansen stay here,’ and he hurried outside.
There was silence in the church. Vereker walked up the aisle, feeling inexpressibly weary. He mounted the chancel steps and turned to face them. ‘At times like these there is little left, but prayer,’ he said. ‘And it frequently helps. If you would all please kneel.’
He crossed himself, folded his hands and began to pray aloud in a firm and remarkably steady voice.
Seventeen
HARRY KANE WAS supervising a course in field tactics in the wood behind Meltham Farm when he received Shafto’s urgent summons to report to the house and bring the training squad with him. Kane left the sergeant, a Texan named Hustler from Fort Worth, to follow with the men and went on ahead.
As he arrived, Sections which had been training on various parts of the estate were all coming in together. He could hear the revving of engines from the motor pool in the stabling block at the rear. Several jeeps turned into the gravel drive in front of the house and drew up line abreast.
The crews started to check their machine-guns and equipment. An officer jumped out of the lead vehicle, a captain named Mallory.
‘What gives, for Christ’s sake?’ Kane demanded.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Mallory said. ‘I get the orders, I follow them through. He wants you in a hurry, I know that.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe it’s the Second Front.’
Kane went up the steps on the run. The outer office was a scene of frenzied activity. Master Sergeant Garvey paced up and down outside Shafto’s door, nervously smoking a cigarette. His face brightened as Kane entered.
‘What in the hell is going on?’ Kane demanded. ‘Have we orders to move out or something?’
‘Don’t ask me, Major. All I know is that lady friend of yours arrived in one hell of a state about fifteen minutes ago and nothing’s been the same since.’
Kane opened the door and went in. Shafto, in breeches and riding boots, was standing at the desk with his back to him. When he swung round Kane saw that he was loading the pearl-handled Colt. The change in him was extraordinary. He seemed to crackle with electricity, his eyes sparkled as if he was in a high fever, his face was pale with excitement.
‘Fast action, Major, that’s what I like.’
He reached for belt and holster and Kane said, ‘What is it, sir? Where’s Miss Vereker?’
‘In my bedroom. Under sedation and badly shocked.’
‘But what happened?’
‘She took a bullet in the side of the head.’ Shafto buckled his belt quickly, easing the holster low down on his right hip. ‘And the finger on the trigger was that friend of her brother’s, Mrs Grey. Ask her yourself. I can only spare you three minutes.’
Kane opened the bedroom door. Shafto followed him in. The curtains had been partially drawn and Pamela was in bed, the blankets up to her chin. She looked pale and very ill and there was a bandage around her head, a little blood soaking through.
As Kane approached, her eyes opened and she stared up at him fixedly. ‘Harry?’
‘It’s all right.’ He sat on the edge of the bed.
‘No, listen to me.’ She pushed herself up and tugged at his sleeve and when she spoke, her voice was remote, far-away. ‘Mr Churchill leaves King’s Lynn at three-thirty for Studley Grange with Sir Henry Willoughby. They’ll be coming by way of Walsingham. You must stop him.’
‘Why must I?’ Kane said gently.
‘Because Colonel Steiner and his men will get him if you don’t. They’re waiting at the village now. They’re holding everyone prisoner at the church.’
‘Steiner?’
‘The man you know as Colonel Carter. And his men, Harry. They aren’t Poles. They’re German paratroops.’
‘But Pamela,’ Kane said. ‘I met Carter. He’s as English as you are.’
‘No, his mother was American and he went to school in London. Don’t you see? That explains it.’ There was a kind of exasperation in her voice now. ‘I overheard them talking in the church, Steiner and my brother. I was hiding with Molly Prior. After we got away, we split up and I went to Joanna’s, only she’s one of them. She shot me and I—I locked her in the cellar.’ She frowned, trying hard. ‘Then I took her car and came here.’
There was a sudden release that was almost physical in its intensity. It was as if she had been holding herself together by willpower alone and now it didn’t matter. She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Kane said, ‘But how did you get away from the church, Pamela?’
She opened her eyes and stared at him, dazed, uncomprehending. ‘The church? Oh, the—the usual way.’ Her voice was the merest whisper. ‘And then I went to Joanna’s and she shot me.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘I’m so tired, Harry.’
>
Kane stood up and Shafto led the way back into the other room. He adjusted his sidecap in the mirror. ‘Well, what do you think? That Grey woman for a start. She must be the great original bitch of all time.’
‘Who have we notified? The War Office and GOC East Anglia for a start and …’
Shafto cut right in. ‘Have you any idea how long I’d be on the phone while those chair-bound bastards at Staff try to decide whether I’ve got it right or not?’ He slammed a fist down on the table. ‘No, by Godfrey. I’m going to nail these Krauts myself, here and now and I’ve got the men to do it. Action this day!’ He laughed harshly. ‘Churchill’s personal motto. I’d say that’s rather appropriate.’
Kane saw it all then. To Shafto it must have seemed like a dispensation from the gods themselves. Not only the salvaging of his career, but the making of it. The man who had saved Churchill. A feat of arms that would take its place in the history books. Let the Pentagon try to keep that general’s star from him after this and there would be rioting in the streets.
‘Look, sir,’ Kane said stubbornly. ‘If what Pamela said is true, this must be just about the hottest potato of all time. If I might respectfully suggest, the British War Office won’t take too kindly…’
Shafto’s fist slammed down on the desk again. ‘What’s got into you? Maybe those Gestapo boys did a better job than they knew?’ He turned to the window restlessly, then swung back as quickly, smiling like a contrite schoolboy. ‘Sorry, Harry, that was uncalled for. You’re right, of course.’
‘Okay, sir, what do we do?’
Shafto looked at his watch. ‘Four-fifteen. That means the Prime Minister must be getting close. We know the road he’s coming on. I think it might be a good idea if you took a jeep and headed him off. From what the girl said you should be able to catch him this side of Walsingham.’
‘I agree, sir. At least we can offer him one hundred and ten per cent security here.’
‘Exactly.’ Shafto sat down behind the desk and picked up the telephone. ‘Now get moving and take Garvey with you.’
‘Colonel.’
As Kane opened the door he heard Shafto say, ‘Get me the General Officer commanding East Anglia District and I want him personally—no one else.’
When the door closed Shafto removed his left index finger from the telephone rest. The operator’s voice crackled in his ear. ‘Did you want something, Colonel?’
‘Yes, get Captain Mallory in here on the double.’
Mallory was with him in about forty-five seconds. ‘You wanted me, Colonel?’
‘That’s right, plus a detail of forty men ready to move out five minutes from now. Eight jeeps should do it. Cram ’em in.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Mallory hesitated, breaking one of his strictest rules. ‘Is it permitted to ask what the Colonel intends?’
‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ Shafto said. ‘You’ll be a major by nightfall—or dead.’
Mallory went out, his heart pumping and Shafto went to the cupboard in the corner and took out a bottle of Bourbon and half-filled a glass. Rain beat against the window and he stood there, drinking his Bourbon, taking his time. Within twenty-four hours he would probably have the best-known name in America. His day had come, he knew that with absolute conviction.
When he went outside three minutes later the jeeps were drawn up in line, the crews on board. Mallory was standing in front talking to the unit’s youngest officer, a second lieutenant named Chalmers. They sprang to attention and Shafto paused at the top of the steps.
‘You’re wondering what all this is about. I’ll tell you. There’s a village named Studley Constable about eight miles from here. You’ll find it marked plainly enough on your maps. Most of you will have heard that Winston Churchill was visiting an RAF station near King’s Lynn today. What you don’t know is that he’s spending tonight at Studley Grange. This is where it gets interesting. There are sixteen men from the Polish Independent Parachute Squadron of the SAS training in Studley Constable. You can’t miss them in those pretty red berets and camouflage uniforms.’ Somebody laughed and Shafto paused until there was complete silence again. ‘I’ve got news for you. Those guys are Krauts. German paratroops here to get Churchill and we’re going to nail them to the wall.’ The silence was total and he nodded slowly. ‘One thing I can promise you boys. Handle this right and by tomorrow, your names will ring from California to Maine. Now get ready to move out.’
There was an instant burst of activity as engines roared into life. Shafto went down the steps and said to Mallory, ‘Make sure they go over those maps on the way. No time for any fancy briefing when we get there.’ Mallory hurried away and Shafto turned to Chalmers. ‘Hold the fort, boy, until Major Kane gets back.’ He slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t look too disappointed. He’ll have Mr Churchill with him. You see he gets the hospitality of the house.’ He jumped into the lead jeep and nodded to the driver. ‘Okay, son, let’s move out.’
They roared down the drive, the sentries on the massive front gate got it open fast and the convoy turned into the road. A couple of hundred yards farther on, Shafto waved them to a halt and told his driver to pull in close to the nearest telephone pole. He turned to Sergeant Hustler in the rear seat. ‘Give me that Thompson gun.’
Hustler handed it over. Shafto cocked it, took aim and sprayed the top of the pole, reducing the crossbars to matchwood. The telephone lines parted, springing wildly through the air.
Shafto handed the Thompson back to Hustler. ‘I guess that takes care of any unauthorized phone calls for a while.’ He slapped the side of the vehicle. ‘Okay, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!’
Garvey handled the jeep like a man possessed, roaring along the narrow country lanes at the kind of speed which assumed that nothing was coming the other way. Even then, they almost missed their target, for as they drove along the final stretch to join the Walsingham road, the small convoy flashed past at the end of the lane. Two military policemen on motorcycles leading the way, two Humber saloon cars, two more policemen bringing up the rear.
‘It’s him!’ Kane cried.
The jeep skidded into the main road, Garvey rammed his foot down hard. It was only a matter of moments before they caught up the convoy. As they roared up behind, the two military policemen at the rear glanced over their shoulders. One waved them back.
Kane said, ‘Sergeant, pull out and overtake and if you can’t stop them any other way you have my permission to ram that front car.’
Dexter Garvey grinned. ‘Major, I’m going to tell you something. If this goes wrong we’ll end up in that Leavenworth stockade so fast you won’t know which day it is.’
He swerved out to the right past the motor-cyclists and pulled alongside the rear Humber. Kane couldn’t see much of the man in the back seat because the side curtains were pulled forward just sufficiently to ensure privacy. The driver, who was in dark blue chauffeur’s uniform, glanced sideways in alarm and the man in the grey suit in the front passenger seat drew a revolver.
‘Try the next one,’ Kane ordered and Garvey pulled alongside the front saloon, blaring his horn.
There were four men in there, two in army uniform, both colonels, one with the red tabs of a staff officer. The other turned in alarm and Kane found himself looking at Sir Henry Willoughby. There was instant recognition and Kane shouted to Garvey, ‘Okay, pull out in front. I think they’ll stop now.’
Garvey accelerated, overtaking the military policemen at the head of the small convoy. A horn blared three times behind them, obviously some pre-arranged signal. When Kane looked over his shoulder they were pulling-in at the side of the road. Garvey braked and Kane jumped out and ran back.
The military policemen had a Sten gun apiece trained on him before he was anywhere close and the man in the grey suit, presumably the Prime Minister’s personal detective, was already out of the rear car, revolver in hand.
The staff colonel with the red tabs got out of the first car, Sir Henry in Home Gua
rd uniform at his heels. ‘Major Kane,’ Sir Henry said in bewilderment. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
The staff colonel said curtly, ‘My name is Corcoran, Chief Intelligence Officer to the GOC, East Anglia District. Will you kindly explain yourself, sir?’
‘The Prime Minister mustn’t go to Studley Grange,’ Kane told him. ‘The village has been taken over by German paratroops and…’
‘Good God,’ Sir Henry interrupted. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense …’
Corcoran waved him to silence. ‘Can you substantiate this statement, Major?’
‘Dear God Almighty,’ Kane shouted. ‘They’re here to get Churchill like Skorzeny dropped in for Mussolini, don’t you understand? What in the hell does it take to convince you guys? Won’t anybody listen?’
A voice from behind, a voice that was entirely familiar to him said, ‘I will, young man. Tell your story to me.’
Harry Kane turned slowly, leaned down at the rear window and was finally face-to-face with the great man himself.
When Steiner tried the door of the cottage at Hobs End it was locked. He went round to the barn, but there was no sign of the Irishman there either. Briegel shouted, ‘Herr Oberst, he’s coming.’
Devlin was riding the BSA across the network of narrow dyke paths. He turned into the yard, shoved the bike up on its stand and pushed up his goggles. ‘A bit public, Colonel.’
Steiner took him by the arm and led him across to the wall where, in a few brief sentences, he filled him in on the situation. ‘Well,’ he said when he was finished. ‘What do you think?’
‘Are you sure your mother wasn’t Irish?’
‘Her mother was.’
Devlin nodded. ‘I might have known. Still, who knows? We might get away with it.’ He smiled. ‘I know one thing. My fingernails will be down to the quick by nine tonight.’
Steiner jumped into the jeep and nodded to Klugl. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’
From the wood on the hill on the other side of the road Molly stood beside her horse and watched Devlin take out his key and unlock the front door. She had intended to confront him, filled with the desperate hope that even now she might be mistaken, but the sight of Steiner and his two men in the jeep was the ultimate truth of things.