by Jack Higgins
Steiner said, ‘Oberleutnant Neumann, you are undoubtedly the finest soldier I’ve ever known. From Narvik to Stalingrad, you’ve never shirked your duty or disobeyed an order of mine and I haven’t the slightest intention of letting you start now.’
Ritter tried to straighten up, bracing himself against the rail. ‘As the Herr Oberst wishes,’ he said formally.
‘Good,’ Steiner said. ‘Go now, please, Mr Devlin, and good luck.’
He opened the car door and Ritter called softly, ‘Herr Oberst.’
‘Yes?’
‘A privilege to serve with you, sir.’
‘Thank you, Herr Oberleutnant.’
Steiner got into the Morris, released the brake and the car started to roll down the track.
Devlin and Molly went through the trees, Ritter between them and paused at the side of the low wall. Devlin whispered, ‘Time for you to go, girl.’
‘I’ll see you to the beach, Liam,’ she said firmly.
He had no chance to argue because the car engine started forty yards up the road and the Morris’s slotted headlights were turned on. One of the Rangers took a red lamp from under his cape and waved it. Devlin had expected the German to drive straight on, but to his astonishment, he slowed. Steiner was taking a coldly calculated risk, something designed to draw every last man there. There was only one way he could do that. He waited for Garvey’s approach, his left hand on the wheel, his right holding the Mauser.
Garvey said as he approached, ‘Sorry, but you’ll have to identify yourself.’
He switched on the torch in his left hand, picking Steiner’s face out of the darkness. The Mauser coughed once as Steiner fired, apparently at point blank range, but a good two inches to one side, the wheels skidded as he stamped on the accelerator and was away.
‘That was Steiner himself, Goddammit!’ Garvey cried. ‘Get after him!’
There was a mad scramble as everyone jumped to get on board, Garvey’s jeep was away first, the other hard behind. The sound dwindled into the night.
Devlin said, ‘Right, let’s get out of it then,’ and he and Molly helped Ritter over the wall and started across the road.
Built in 1933, the Morris was still on the road only because of the wartime shortage of new cars. Her engine was virtually worn out and although she suited Vereker’s requirements adequately enough, they were not those of Steiner that night. With his foot flat on the boards, the needle hovered on forty and obstinately refused to move beyond that point
He had minutes only, not even that, for as he debated the merits of stopping suddenly and taking to the woods on foot, Garvey, in the lead jeep, started to fire its Browning. Steiner ducked over the wheel, bullets hammered through the body, the windscreen dissolved in a snowstorm of flying glass.
The Morris swerved to the right, smashed through some wooden railings and lumbered down a slope of young firs. The braking effect of these was such that the speed was not very great. Steiner got the car door open and tumbled out. He was on his feet in a moment, moving away through the trees into the darkness as the Morris went into the flooded waters of the marsh below and started to sink.
The jeeps skidded to a halt on the road above. Garvey was first out, going down the bank fast, the torch ready in his hand. As he reached the bank, the muddy waters of the marsh closed over the roof of the Morris.
He took off his helmet and started to unbuckle his belt and Krukowski, sliding down after him, grabbed him by the arm. ‘Don’t even think it. That isn’t just water down there. The mud in some of these places is deep enough to swallow a man whole.’
Garvey nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ He played his torch on the surface of the muddy pool where bubbles broke through, then turned and went back up the slope to radio in.
Kane and Corcoran were having supper in the ornate front drawing room, when the corporal from the radio room rushed in with the signal. Kane looked at it briefly then slid it across the polished surface of the table.
‘My God, and he was pointing in this direction, you realize that?’ Corcoran frowned in distaste. ‘What a way for such a man to go.’
Kane nodded. He should have been pleased and felt curiously depressed. He said to the corporal, ‘Tell Garvey to stay where he is, then get the motor pool to send some sort of recovery vehicle out to him. I want Colonel Steiner’s body out of there.’
The corporal went out and Corcoran said, ‘What about the other one and the Irishman?’
‘I don’t think we need worry. They’ll turn up, but not here.’ Kane sighed. ‘No, in the end it was Steiner on his own, I think. The sort of man who never knows when to give up.’
Corcoran went to the sideboard and poured two large whiskies. He handed one to Kane. ‘I won’t say cheers because I think I know how you feel. A strange sense of personal loss.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ve been at this game for too long, I think.’ Corcoran shivered and downed his whisky. ‘Will you tell the Prime Minister or shall I?’
‘Your privilege, I fancy, sir.’ Kane managed a smile. ‘I’d better let the men know.’
When he went out of the front door it was pouring with rain and he stood at the top of the steps in the porch and shouted, ‘Corporal Bleeker?’
Bleeker ran out of the darkness within a few moments and came up the steps. His combat jacket was soaked, his helmet shiny with rain and the dark camouflage cream on his face had streaked.
Kane said, ‘Garvey and his boys got Steiner back along the coast road. Spread the word.’
Bleeker said, ‘That’s it then. Do we stand down, sir?’
‘No, but you can phase the guard system now. Work it so you get some time off in turns for a hot meal and so on.’
Bleeker started down the steps and vanished into the darkness. The Major stayed there for quite some time, staring out into the rain and then finally turned and went back inside.
The cottage at Hobs End was in total darkness as Devlin, Molly and Ritter Neumann approached. They paused by the wall and Devlin whispered, ‘It looks quiet enough to me.’
‘Not worth the risk,’ Ritter whispered.
But Devlin, thinking of the S-phone, said stubbornly, ‘And bloody daft we’d be and no one in the place. You two keep moving along the dyke. I’ll catch you up.’
He slipped away before either of them could protest, and went across the yard cautiously and listened at the window. All was quiet, only the rain falling, not a chink of light anywhere. The front door opened to his touch with a slight creak and he moved into the hall, the Sten gun ready.
The living room door stood ajar, a few embers from the dying fire glowing redly on the hearth. He stepped inside and knew instantly that he had made a very bad mistake. The door slammed behind him, the muzzle of a Browning was rammed into the side of his neck and the Sten plucked from his hand.
‘Hold it right there,’ Jack Rogan said. ‘All right, Fergus, let’s have a little light on the situation.’
A match flared as Fergus Grant touched the wick of the oil lamp and replaced the glass chimney. Rogan put his knee into Devlin’s back and sent him staggering across the room. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’
Devlin half-turned, a foot on the hearth. He put a hand on the mantelpiece. ‘I haven’t had the honour.’
‘Chief Inspector Rogan, Inspector Grant, Special Branch.’
‘The Irish Section, is it?’
‘That’s right, son, and don’t ask for my warrant card or I’ll belt you.’ Rogan sat on the edge of the table, holding his Browning against his thigh. ‘You know, you’ve been a very naughty boy from what I hear.’
‘Do you tell me?’ Devlin said, leaning a little further into the hearth, knowing that even if he got to the Walther his chances were of the slimmest. Whatever Rogan might be doing, Grant was taking no chances and had him covered.
‘Yes, you really give me a pain, you people,’ Rogan said. ‘Why can’t you stay back there in the bogs where you belong?’
‘It’s a thought,’ Devlin said.
Rogan took a pair of handcuffs out of his coat pocket. ‘Get over here.’
A stone crashed through the window on the other side of the blackout curtain and both policemen turned in alarm. Devlin’s hand reached for the Walther hanging on the nail at the back of the beam that supported the chimney breast. He shot Rogan in the head, knocking him back off the table, but Grant was already turning. He got off one wild shot that caught the Irishman in the right shoulder and Devlin fell back in the easy chair, still firing, shattering the young inspector’s left arm, putting another bullet into the shoulder on the same side.
Grant fell back against the wall and slid down to the floor. He seemed in deep shock and gazed across the room uncomprehendingly at Rogan lying on the other side of the table. Devlin picked up the Browning and stuffed it in his waistband, then went to the door, took down the carrier bag and emptied the potatoes on the floor. The small canvas bag at the bottom contained the S-phone and a few other odds and ends and he slung it over his shoulder.
‘Why don’t you kill me as well?’ Fergus Grant said weakly.
‘You’re nicer than he was,’ Devlin said. ‘I’d find a better class of work, son, if I was you.’
He went out quickly. When he opened the front door, Molly was standing against the wall. ‘Thank God!’ she said, but he put a hand to her mouth and hurried her away. They reached the wall where Ritter waited. Molly said, ‘What happened?’
‘I killed a man, wounded another, that’s what happened,’ Devlin told her. ‘Two Special Branch detectives.’
‘I helped you do that?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Will you go now, Molly, while you still can?’
She turned from him suddenly and started to run back along the dyke. Devlin hesitated and then, unable to contain himself, went after her. He caught her within a few yards and pulled her into his arms. Her hands went to his neck, she kissed him with a passion that was all-consuming. He pushed her away. ‘Go now, girl, and God go with you.’
She turned without a word and ran into the night and Devlin went back to Ritter Neumann. ‘A very remarkable young woman,’ the Oberleutnant said.
‘Yes, you could say that,’ Devlin told him, ‘and you’d be making the understatement of the age.’ He got the S-phone out of the bag and switched on to channel. ‘Eagle to Wanderer. Eagle to Wanderer. Come in please.’
On the bridge of the E-boat where the S-phone receiver had been situated, his voice sounded as clearly as if he was just outside the door. Koenig reached for the mike quickly, his heart beating. ‘Eagle, this is Wanderer. What is your situation?’
‘Two fledglings still in the nest,’ Devlin said. ‘Can you come immediately?’
‘We’re on our way,’ Koenig told him. ‘Over and out.’ He put the mike back on its hook and turned to Muller. ‘Right, Erich, switch to silences and break out the White Ensign. We’re going in.’
As Devlin and Neumann reached the trees, the Irishman glanced back and saw car headlights turn out of the main road and move along the dyke path. Ritter said, ‘Who do you think it is?’
‘God knows,’ Devlin told him.
Garvey, waiting a couple of miles along the road for the recovery vehicle, had decided to send the other jeep back to check on the two Special Branch men.
Devlin got a hand under Ritter’s arm. ‘Come on, son, we’d better get out of this.’ He cursed suddenly at the searing pain in his shoulder now that the shock was beginning to wear off.
‘Are you all right?’ Ritter asked.
‘Bleeding like Mrs O’Grady’s pig. I stopped one in the shoulder back there, but never mind that now. Nothing like a sea voyage to cure what ails you.’
They went past the warning notice, picked their way gingerly through the barbed wire and started across the beach. Ritter was gasping with pain at every step. He leaned heavily on the rail Steiner had given him, yet he never faltered. The sands stretched wide and flat before them, fog rolling in on the wind, and then they were walking on water, only an inch or two at first, rather more in the depressions.
They paused to take stock and Devlin looked back and saw lights moving in the trees. ‘Christ almighty,’ he said, ‘don’t they ever give up?’
They stumbled on towards the estuary across the sands and as the tide flowed in, the water grew deeper. At first knee-deep and then it was up to their thighs. They were well out into the estuary now and Ritter groaned suddenly and fell to one knee, dropping his rail. ‘It’s no good, Devlin. I’ve had it. I’ve never known such pain.’
Devlin crouched beside him and raised the S-phone to his mouth again. ‘Wanderer, this is Eagle. We are waiting for you in the estuary a quarter of a mile off-shore. Signalling now.’
From the canvas bag he took out a luminous signal ball, another gift from the Abwehr by courtesy of SOE, and held it up in the palm of his right hand. He glanced round towards the shore, but the fog had rolled in now, blanketing everything back there.
Twenty minutes later, the water was up to his chest. He had never been so cold in his life before. He stood on the sandbank, legs apart, his left arm supporting Ritter, his right hand holding the luminous signalling ball high, the tide flowing around them.
‘It’s no good,’ Ritter whispered. ‘I can’t feel a thing. I’m finished. I can’t take any more.’
‘As Mrs O’Flynn said to the Bishop,’ Devlin said. ‘Come on, boy, don’t give in now. What would Steiner say?’
‘Steiner?’ Ritter coughed, choking a little as salt water slopped over his chin and into his mouth. ‘He’d have swum across.’
Devlin forced a laugh. ‘That’s the way, son, keep smiling.’ He started to sing at the top of his voice, ‘And down the glen rode Sarsfield’s men all in their jackets green.’
A wave passed right over his head and they went under. Oh, Christ, he thought, this is it, but when it had rolled on, still managed to find his feet, his right hand holding the signalling ball high, although by now, the water was up to his chin.
It was Teusen who caught sight of the light to port and ran to the bridge instantly. Three minutes later, the E-boat slid out of the darkness and someone shone a torch down on the two men. A net was thrown over, four seamen clambered down and willing hands reached for Ritter Neumann.
‘Watch him,’ Devlin urged. ‘He’s in a bad way.’
When he went over the rail himself a couple of moments later and collapsed, it was Koenig who knelt beside him with a blanket.
‘Mr Devlin, drink some of this.’ He passed him a bottle.
‘Cead mile Failte,’ Devlin said.
Koenig leaned close. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘And how would you? It’s Irish, the language of kings. I simply said, a hundred thousand welcomes.’
Koenig smiled through the darkness. ‘I am glad to see you, Mr Devlin. A miracle.’
‘The only one you’re likely to get this night.’
‘You are certain?’
‘As the coffin lid closing.’
Koenig stood up. ‘Then we will go now. Please excuse me.’
A moment later, the E-boat swung round and surged forward. Devlin got the cork out of the bottle and sniffed at the contents. Rum. Not one of his favourites, but he swallowed deep and huddled against the stern rail looking back towards the land.
In her bedroom at the farm, Molly sat up suddenly, then moved across the room and drew the curtains. She threw the windows open and leaned out into the rain, a tremendous feeling of elation, of release filling her and at that very moment, the E-boat moved from behind the Point and turned out towards the open sea.
In his office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse, Himmler worked at his eternal files in the light of the desk lamp. There was a knock at the door and Rossman entered.
‘Well?’ Himmler said.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Herr Reichsführer, but we’ve had a signal from Landsvoort. The Eagle is blown.’
Hi
mmler showed no emotion whatsoever. He laid down his pen carefully and held out his hand. ‘Let me see.’ Rossman gave him the signal and Himmler read it through. After a while, he looked up. ‘I have an errand for you.’
‘Herr Reichsführer.’
‘Take two of your most trusted men. Fly to Landsvoort at once and arrest Colonel Radl. I will see that you have all necessary authorization before you leave.’
‘Of course, Herr Reichsführer. And the charge?’
‘Treason against the state. That should do for a start. Report to me as soon as you get back.’ Himmler picked up his pen and started to write again and Rossman withdrew.
Just before nine o’clock Corporal George Watson of the Military Police ran his motorcycle into the side of the road a couple of miles south from Meltham House and pushed it up on its stand. Having ridden from Norwich with almost torrential rain the whole way, he was soaked to the skin, in spite of his long dispatch rider’s coat-bitterly cold and very hungry. He was also lost.
He opened his map case in the light of his headlamp and leaned down to check it. A slight movement to his right made him look up. A man in a trenchcoat was standing there. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Lost, are you?’
‘I’m trying to find Meltham House,’ Watson told him. ‘All the way from Norwich in this bloody rain. These country districts all look the same with the damned signposts missing.’
‘Here, let me show you,’ Steiner said.
Watson leaned down to examine the map again in the light from the headlamp, the Mauser rose and fell across the back of his neck. He lay in a puddle of water and Steiner pulled his dispatch case over his head and examined the contents quickly. There was only one letter, heavily sealed and marked Urgent. It was addressed to Colonel William Corcoran, Meltham House.
Steiner got hold of Watson under the armpits and dragged him into the shadows. When he re-appeared a few moments later, he was wearing the dispatch rider’s long raincoat, helmet and goggles and leather gauntlets. He pulled the sling of the dispatch case over his head, pushed the motorcycle off its stand, kicked the engine into life and rode away.