The Iranian desert was very big. Being dropped in the wrong spot could mean running out of water before you made it to somewhere people lived.
She was already donning her parachute. And her hands were shaking as she buckled the straps. Frightened nearly out of her skin, Alexsi thought. And why not? His knees had been knocking when he’d stepped off the train at Munich Station, years before. And no parachuting involved there. Once you had survived an Aida you would never sneer at a woman spy. But this was a wireless clerk who, when they called for volunteers, had put her hand up in a fever of National Socialist enthusiasm. No idea what she was getting into.
They were both wearing flight coveralls over civilian clothes. Alexsi reluctantly pulled off his coat and insulated boots and laced up the leather jump boots. Then the leather-covered sponge rubber kneepads.
He checked the RZ20 parachute carefully before throwing it across his back. Two straps that clipped around his legs at the groin, two more that buckled across his waist and chest.
German paratroopers who jumped into action wearing the RZ20 carried only a pistol, a knife, and perhaps a submachine gun due to the chute’s peculiarities. All their other equipment was dropped separately in containers. Alexsi and Fuchs didn’t have that option. She had insisted on carrying the radio, and the suitcase was strapped to her English rucksack. Alexsi had a rope wound around his, clipped to his waist belt. He’d go out with the pack in his arms and drop it once the chute opened.
One of the aircraft gunners came up and plugged his intercom wire into one of the cabin jacks. He opened the rearmost of the Junkers’s double side cargo doors and even colder air blasted in. Alexsi pointed to the hatch and Fuchs shook her head violently. She wanted to go first. Suit yourself.
The plane began to gradually lose altitude. Fuchs clipped her braided rope parachute static line to the beam overhead and put a death grip on one of the exposed aluminum ribs just shy of the hatch. Alexsi clipped his to the same beam and stood behind her, holding the static line to keep himself steady in the bouncing aircraft. He glanced out the small side window and was fairly sure they were passing over Qom.
The gunner was talking to the cockpit over his throat microphone. He held up one finger. One minute. Fuchs was staring out at the black hole. Alexsi nudged her with his boot until she looked over and saw the signal.
Holding on to that metal rib for dear life, Fuchs skidded forward until she was right on the edge of the door. The gunner signaled stand by. Alexsi gave his static line a tug. With a German parachute you had to go out the door in a headlong dive. If you weren’t horizontal when the chute opened you’d be flipped upside down and probably tangle in the lines.
The gunner signaled go. Fuchs just stood there, staring at the open hatch as if she didn’t quite believe it. They were flying over 125 kilometers per hour, and a lot of ground was rushing past while she made up her mind. Alexsi wasn’t about to fly back to Berlin because she froze up on him. He grabbed the overhead beam with one hand, swung himself forward, and kicked her out the door. Then he followed right behind, grasping his pack tight to his chest with both arms.
As he dove through the slipstream Alexsi had the impression that the forked tail of the Junkers was passing only millimeters over his head. Then he was falling through the night sky. As always it was eerily quiet. One parachute was the German way; if it didn’t open it was an even faster ride down. It hadn’t opened yet.
Then a bang, and the opening shock, hard enough to pop his eyeballs out, doubled him up so hard his knees nearly struck his face. Alexsi actually saw stars. They weren’t real stars because the two thick riser lines were attached to the sides of the waist belt, sending you toward the ground leaning forward, facedown. There was no holding on to his pack through that impact, and the line now dangled between his feet. The weight on it told him the pack was still there.
There was a desert wind tonight, and it was rocking his parachute back and forth. Not good. You couldn’t grab the lines on the RZ20 to steer yourself. All you could do was make a swimming motion so you were at least facing into the direction the wind was pushing you. Which made kneepads a necessity.
Now the parachute was oscillating wildly. Alexsi was afraid the canopy might collapse before he reached the ground. He was watching the horizon to try to gain some clue before it surprised him. He put his feet together and bent his knees. At least he’d know when his pack touched ground first.
Just then the wind pushed him back, swung him forward, and instead of making the standard German parachutists’ forward landing roll he smashed face-first into the side of a large sand dune.
He might have blacked out for a few seconds. It was the sort of thing you never knew until someone told you. But the next thing he realized was the still-inflated parachute yanking him out of the dune and dragging him down and over the ground.
He couldn’t reach the lines to collapse the chute, and there were too many buckles to undo. Alexsi felt for the special snap pocket on the right leg of his flight suit and grabbed ahold of the German parachutist gravity knife. The blade slid out of the handle as he pulled it from the pocket, and he pressed the thumb lever to lock it into place. He rolled sideways to grab one of the risers. He got ahold of it and slashed away with the knife. He was still being dragged. The line gave way. He rolled to the other side and slashed wildly at that line, trying hard not to cut his left hand off. A tearing sound, and his forward progress stopped as the canopy sailed along without him.
Alexsi just lay on the ground for a while, spitting out sand. He felt his face, and was pleasantly surprised to find that his nose was neither broken nor bleeding, and all his teeth were intact. He gingerly moved everything. No broken bones, though a grim foreboding of how he’d feel the next morning. He seemed to be in reasonable condition, and tentatively stood up. A little wobbly, but it could have been much worse.
Alexsi laboriously unbuckled the parachute harness and stripped off the flying coveralls. It was about three-quarter moonlight, and he could see the parachute canopy, finally deflated, in a pile on the ground about forty meters away. Alexsi pulled the entrenching tool from his pack and began digging a hole. The loose sand was easy going. He tossed in the coveralls, kneepads, helmet, parachute, and harness, covering them over and smoothing out the sand.
Finally he slung the rucksack onto his shoulders and climbed to the top of the nearest dune to see if he could get his bearings.
Nothing but dunes. And no sign of Lieutenant Fuchs. A German woman who spoke no Farsi, out in the Iranian desert? If she didn’t turn up she’d better hope she was found by the British. Otherwise it was either death from thirst or after rape by Iranians.
Alexsi took a long piss off the top of the dune and then pulled out his map and compass. A light suddenly shone off to his left. He dropped down flat on the dune. The light disappeared, then shone again. This wasn’t good. He’d either dropped right on top of someone, or someone had gotten there awfully quickly. He reached inside his coat for his pistol.
Alexsi cocked the Browning 9mm and waited patiently. The light popped into view again, closer this time. An instant later the wind shifted and he could hear the faint sound of someone shouting, “Shultz! Shultz!”
Fuchs. Wandering around the desert with her battery torch on, shouting at the top of her lungs. She would be shooting off signal flares next.
Alexsi had always been uncomfortably unsure whether the Soviets would own up to him if he were captured by the British. Depending upon which way the wind happened to be blowing in Moscow that day, the bastards might just sit back and let him be shot as a German spy.
He pondered his options and decided that she was so inept it was no danger having her along.
Fuchs was walking between the dunes, of course where she could see nothing. Battery torch in one hand, Luger in the other. Still bellowing, “Shultz!” Though now her voice had a fine edge of hysteria to it.
Alexsi wasn’t about to spring out at her. Not with a gun in her hand. From at
op the dune he said, in between all the shouting, “Careful with that pistol.”
The sound of his voice made Fuchs leap in alarm, and she accidentally fired the Luger into the side of the dune.
Alexsi just shook his head. Other than setting off some TNT, that was about as much noise as one could make in a night.
Fuchs practically slumped over with relief. “My God.”
Alexsi said, “Why not put that pistol back in your holster before you make any more noise? And for heaven’s sake shut off that torch.”
Shamefaced, she did as she was told. “Where were you?”
“Looking for you. Except without trying to alert everyone within two kilometers.”
“Christ, it’s cold,” she exclaimed, rubbing her arms with her hands.
“It’s the desert,” Alexsi said. “Did you bury your parachute?”
A defiant “Of course.”
“All right,” said Alexsi. “Then let’s get up to that hill over there so we can find our bearings.”
“There’s a road in that direction,” she said, pointing.
“Yes, I saw it while I was coming down. That’s the Qom–Teheran road.”
“Well why don’t we take it?”
“Because assuming we don’t flag down a British patrol, anyone we meet with an automobile will drive us right to the nearest British garrison to sell for cash.”
Chastened silence from the lieutenant.
“We’ll get our bearings and then walk to Qom,” said Alexsi. “It will be no more than twenty kilometers. We’ll make it before daylight.”
“Why not Teheran?”
“Teheran is full of British, American, and Russian soldiers. And they’re all looking for German spies. Qom is a Shia Muslim holy city, pilgrims and religious students coming and going all the time. We can lie low there until the time is right.”
“Why didn’t you mention this during our preparations?” she demanded.
“Because then someone who didn’t know all that would tell me to do it differently. I’m the Iran expert, remember?”
Silence in response.
Actually, Alexsi didn’t want to go charging right into Teheran only to find out that his Swiss identity was blown, and the British were still looking for Berger the German spy. Better to hide out in Qom and carefully dip a toe into that water first.
As he went to put his pack on, Fuchs caught his arm. There were headlights far off in the distance. And the headlights were following the exact route they had walked.
“Who do you think it is?” Fuchs asked anxiously.
Alexsi just shook his head in the darkness. Seriously? “A British patrol, of course. No one else would be driving around in the Iranian desert at night.”
“Why couldn’t it be criminals?” Fuchs demanded.
The fear in her voice was apparent. “Criminals wouldn’t have their lights on,” Alexsi explained patiently. “They would be worried about British patrols.”
“How do you think they found us?”
“I’m sure it had nothing to do with torches, shouting, and pistol shots,” Alexsi replied. “See for yourself how far light travels in the desert at night.”
As if in response Fuchs pulled out her Luger.
“Let me see your pistol for a moment,” Alexsi said.
Her gaze fixated on the light in the distance, she handed it over.
Alexsi made sure the safety was on and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
“What are you doing?” Fuchs demanded. “Give it back.”
“We’re not shooting them,” Alexsi said patiently. “If they don’t turn up the whole British Army will be out looking for them. If they’re found shot they’ll also find our buried parachutes, and there will be a nationwide manhunt for two German spies.” He thought for a moment. “Give me your torch.”
Fuchs handed over the battery torch.
“Just relax and don’t do anything foolish,” Alexsi advised. He leaned over her back and cut off a piece of the sacking that padded their radio. He wrapped the sacking around the lens of the torch and clicked it on. The light shone dimly through the fabric.
“What are you doing?” Fuchs demanded, close to panic.
“Bringing them up here,” Alexsi replied. He placed the torch on the ground so it shone toward the advancing headlights. They had been weaving slightly, but now were headed directly toward them. And much faster. As it approached he could see that it was one of those strange-looking American Willys vehicles they called a Jeep. “All right,” he said. “Now let’s head down the back side over here.” Fuchs followed him like a puppy.
The Jeep stopped at the base of the hill, the headlights shining on the pair of footprints in the loose soil that headed straight up. Two men got out, both wearing the distinctive pie plate helmets of the British Army. One pulled out a revolver; the other reached back into the Jeep for a rifle. To which he attached a long bayonet. They conferred quietly for a moment, then, well spread out, advanced up the hill on either side of the tracks, weapons at the ready.
On the edge of the hill, two dark shapes rose up from the rocky ground they had blended into. One figure circled quickly around the base of the hill, the other following.
Alexsi gently set his rucksack into the back of the Jeep and slid behind the wheel. The engine had been left running. The simplest tricks always worked the best. As soon as Fuchs was seated Alexsi let out the clutch and pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor. The Jeep bucked backward and stalled out. Two muzzle flashes exploded from the top of the hill, and the bullets cracked overhead. The dashboard was practically empty. Alexsi twisted a lever switch. Nothing happened and he twisted it back. A bullet snapped past his side and shot the side mirror off.
“Get it started,” Fuchs screamed.
Alexsi couldn’t see the floor, and was feeling around with his feet near the pedals. Over the gunfire he shouted, “Do you see a starter button?”
Fuchs dove underneath the dash, and Alexsi could see her thrashing around. She must have hit something because the engine turned over. Alexsi pumped the accelerator and he began with the shift lever down this time. The Jeep lurched forward. Alexsi swung it around and gave it more petrol. The forward gears ended at three, so that didn’t take long. Another bullet thumped into the bed right behind him. With the accelerator to the floor, Alexsi finally had time to push down the plunger that turned off the lights. In darkness the bullets were still coming, but not as close now.
It wasn’t a racer, but they were moving. Alexsi looked over. Fuchs was still on the floorboard, practically tucked under the dash. Alexsi shouted, “Don’t worry, we’re out of range.”
An instant later a bullet struck the windscreen right where her head would have been. “I stand corrected,” Alexsi said.
Fuchs was now sitting upright, staring at the bullet hole and gripping the sides of her seat with both hands.
“At least now we don’t have to walk,” Alexsi shouted.
She turned and gave him a look that was half terror and half fury. “We’re in the same boat as if we killed them. They’ll find this thing and find us.”
Alexsi had to laugh out loud, both at her and for the sheer joy of being alive. It carried over the sound of the motor, the wind rushing over the open vehicle, and the now faint crackle of gunshots that still continued obstinately in the distance. “Don’t worry. They’ll think they were tricked by Iranian thieves. We’ll leave this on a street I know. By noon there won’t be so much as a bolt left.”
He settled down and concentrated on the desert ahead. It would be shameful to run into something and then have to start walking all over again.
53
1943 Qom, Iran
Alexsi twisted the key in the lock and charged into the hotel room. The suitcase he’d bought for her was open and the contents carefully unpacked. For heaven’s sake, they were spying, not on holiday. He burst into the bath. Erna was in the tub, and the shock of his unexpected arrival had her nearly launching up into the ce
iling in a roiling surge of water.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, half up and half out, instinctively covering her breasts with one arm. And they were very nice.
“Get dressed quickly,” Alexsi ordered. “We have to get out of here.”
“What is it?” she said, fear making her voice rise.
“Quickly,” Alexsi repeated.
Back out in the room he tore open the drawers of the bureau and there was everything neatly folded and in order like a good German. He flung everything into the case and snapped it shut. And staged it, his unopened case, and the one containing their radio next to the door.
She came out of the bathroom, buttoning her blouse with one hand and brandishing her Luger in the other.
“Put that damned gun away,” Alexsi snapped, “and get your shoes on. We’re about to receive a visit from the British Army.”
“How do you know?” she said, voice shaking, struggling into her footwear, a missed puff of soap dangling under one ear.
“Always tip the staff generously.” He had the door open and their two suitcases in hand. The one containing the radio was hers. “Quickly, quickly.”
She put on her jacket, tucked the Luger away in her purse, and picked up the radio case.
Alexsi was already moving down the hallway. They reached the back stairs and went down fast. She turned toward the exit, but it was a small hotel and Alexsi already knew they kept the back door locked to keep the guests from departing with bills in arrears. He was holding the staff door for her.
The few employees were elsewhere in the middle of the day. There wasn’t even a laundry—they must send the sheets out. Or not at all. Down the dingy hall and there was the service exit. Alexsi opened it just a crack and checked for surprises. No, the alley was empty. “Come along,” he said.
At the end of the alley he poked one eye around the corner. Another British Jeep was sitting in front of the hotel entrance, a single soldier in khaki smoking and paying no attention at all.
Alexsi exited the alley and headed in the opposite direction. As it happened an empty horse-drawn cab was heading down the street toward the hotel to check for fares. Alexsi hailed it and the driver swung the cab around.
A Single Spy Page 30