The Eagle Has Flown

by Jack Higgins

  'It does indeed, but it must be done. We all have to do our bit.' The old man looked at his watch. 'In fact I'll have to be off there in a few minutes. Rounds to do.'

  'Do you have many patients there?'

  'It varies. Fifteen, sometimes twenty. Many are terminal. Some are special problems. Servicemen who've had breakdowns. Pilots occasionally. You know how it is.'

  'I do indeed,' Devlin said. I was interested when I walked by earlier to see a couple of military policemen going in. It struck me as odd. I mean, military policemen in a hospice.'

  'Ah, well, there's a reason for that. Occasionally they keep the odd German prisoner of war on the top floor. I don't know the background, but they're usually special cases.'

  'Oh, I see the reason for the MPs then. There's someone there now?'

  'Yes, a Luftwaffe colonel. A nice man. I've even managed to persuade him to come to Mass for the first time in years.'

  'Interesting.'

  'Well, I must make a move.' The old man reached for his raincoat and Devlin helped him on with it. As they went out into the church he said, 'I've been thinking, Father. Here's me with time on my hands and you carrying all this burden alone. Maybe I could give you a hand? Hear a few confessions for you at least.'

  'Why, that's extraordinarily kind of you,' Father Martin said.

  Liam Devlin had seldom felt lower in his life, but he carried on. 'And I'd love to see something of your work at the Priory.'

  'Then so you shall,' the old man said and led the way down the steps.

  The Priory chapel was as cold as could be. They moved down to the altar and Devlin said, 'It seems very damp. Is there a problem?'

  'Yes, the crypt has been flooded for years. Sometimes quite badly. No money available to put it right.'

  Devlin could see the stout oak door banded with iron in the shadows in the far corner. 'Is that the way in then?'

  'Yes, but no one goes down there any more.'

  'I once saw a church in France with the same trouble. Could I take a look?'

  'If you like.'

  The door was bolted. He eased it back and ventured halfway down the steps. When he flicked on his lighter he saw the dark water around the tombs and lapping at the grill. He retraced his steps and closed the door.

  'Dear, yes, there's not much to be done for it,' he called.

  'Yes. Well, make sure you bolt it again,' the old man called back. 'We don't want anyone going down there. They could do themselves an injury.'

  Devlin rammed the bolt home, the solid sound echoing through the chapel, then quietly eased it back. Shrouded in shadows, the door was in the corner; it would be remarkable if anyone noticed. He rejoined Father Martin and they moved up the aisle to the outer door. As they opened it, Sister Maria Palmer came out of her office.

  'Ah, there you are,' Father Martin said. 'I looked in when we arrived, but you weren't there. I've been showing Father Conlon -' He laughed, correcting himself. 'I'll start again. I've been showing Major Conlon the chapel. He's going to accompany me on my rounds.'

  'Father suits me just fine.' Devlin shook her hand. 'A pleasure, Sister.'

  'Major Conlon was wounded in Sicily.'

  'I see. Have they given you a London posting?' she asked.

  'No - I'm still on sick leave. In the neighbourhood for a few days. Just passing through, I met Father Martin at his church.'

  'He's been kind enough to offer to help me out at the church. Hear a few confessions and so on,' Martin said.

  'Good, you need a rest. We'll do the rounds together.' As they started up the stairs she said, 'By the way, Lieutenant Benson's gone on a three-day pass. That young sergeant's in charge. What's his name? Morgan, isn't it?'

  'The Welsh boy?' Martin said. 'I called in on Steiner last night. Did you?'

  'No, we had an emergency admission after you'd gone, Father. I didn't have time. I'll see him now though. I'm hoping the penicillin's finally cleared the last traces of his chest infection.'

  She went up the stairs in front of them briskly, skirts swirling, and Devlin and Martin followed.

  They worked their way from room to room, staying to talk here and there to various patients and it was half an hour before they reached the top floor. The MP on duty at the table outside the door jumped up and saluted automatically when he saw Devlin. The door was opened by another MP and they passed through.

  The young sergeant sitting in Benson's room stood up and came out. 'Sister - Father Martin.'

  'Good morning, Sergeant Morgan,' Sister Maria Palmer said. 'We'd like to see Colonel Steiner.'

  Morgan took in Devlin's uniform and the dog collar. 'I see,' he said uncertainly.

  'Major Conlon's having a look round with us,' she informed him.

  Devlin took out his wallet and produced the fake War Office pass Schellenberg's people had provided, the one that guaranteed unlimited access. He passed it across.

  'I think you'll find that takes care of it, Sergeant.'

  Morgan examined it. 'I'll just get the details for the admittance sheet, sir.' He did so and handed it back. 'If you'd follow me.'

  He led the way along to the end of the corridor, nodded and the MP on duty unlocked the door. Sister Maria Palmer led the way in followed by Father Martin, Devlin bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them.

  Steiner, sitting by the window, stood up and Sister Maria Palmer said, 'And how are you today, Colonel?'

  'Fine, Sister.'

  'I'm sorry I couldn't see you last night. I had an emergency, but Father Martin tells me he called in.'

  'As usual.' Steiner nodded.

  The old priest said, 'This is Major Conlon, by the way. As you can see, an Army chaplain. He's on sick leave. Like yourself, recently wounded.'

  Devlin smiled amiably and put out his hand. 'A great pleasure, Colonel.'

  Kurt Steiner, making one of the most supreme efforts of his life, managed to keep his face straight. 'Major Conlon.' Devlin gripped the German's hand hard and Steiner said, 'Anywhere interesting? Where you picked up your wound, I mean?'

  'Sicily,' Devlin said.

  'A hard campaign.'

  'Ah, well, I wouldn't really know. I got mine the first day.' He walked to the window and looked out down to the road beside the Thames. 'A fine view you've got here. You can see right down to those steps and that little beach, the boats passing. Something to look at.'

  'It helps pass the time.'

  'So, we must go now,' Sister Maria Palmer said and knocked at the door.

  Father Martin put a hand on Steiner's shoulder. 'Don't forget I'll be in the chapel tonight at eight to hear confessions. All sinners welcome.'

  Devlin said, 'Now then, Father, didn't you say I'd take some of the load off your shoulders? It's me who'll be sitting in the box tonight.' He turned to Steiner. 'But you're still welcome, Colonel.'

  'Are you sure you don't mind?' Father Martin said.

  As the door opened, Sister Maria Palmer cut in. 'An excellent idea.'

  They moved along the corridor and Morgan opened the outer door for them. Father Martin said, 'Just one thing. I usually start at seven. The MPs bring Steiner down at eight because everyone's gone by then. They prefer it that way.'

  'So you see him last?'

  'That's right.'

  'No problem,' Devlin said.

  They reached the foyer and the porter handed them their raincoats. Sister Maria Palmer said, 'We'll see you tonight then, Major.'

  'I'll look forward to it,' Devlin said and went down the steps with the old priest.

  'God save us, talk about Daniel in the lion's den,' Ryan said. 'You've the cheek of Old Nick himself.'

  'Yes, well it worked,' Devlin said. 'But I wouldn't like to hang out there too much. Asking for trouble that.'

  'But you will go back this evening?'

  'I have to. My one chance of speaking properly to Steiner.'

  Mary, sitting at one end of the table hugging herself, said, 'But Mr Devlin, to sit there in the box and hear pe
ople's confessions and some of them nuns - that's a mortal sin.'

  'I've no choice, Mary. It must be done. It doesn't sit well with me to make a fool of that fine old man, but there it is.'

  'Well, I still think it's a terrible thing to be doing.'

  She left the room, came back a moment later in her raincoat and went outside.

  'The temper on her sometimes,' Ryan said.

  'Never mind that now, we've things to discuss. My meeting tonight with Carver. Black Lion Dock. Could we get there in your boat?'

  'I know it well. Take about thirty minutes. Ten o'clock you said.'

  'I'd like to be there earlier. To review the situation, if you follow me.'

  'Leave at nine then. You'll be back from the Priory before, surely.'

  'I would think so.' Devlin lit a cigarette. 'I can't go down to Shaw Place

  in your taxi, Michael. A London cab would definitely look out of place in Romney Marsh. This Ford van of yours. Is it in running order?'

  'Yes. As I said, I use it now and then.'

  'One very important point,' Devlin said. 'When I get Steiner out, we move and move fast. Two hours to Shaw Place

  , the plane waiting and out of it before the authorities know what's hit them. I'll need the van that night and it would be a one-way trip. It wouldn't be a good idea for you to try and get it back.'

  Ryan smiled. 'I took it as payment for a bad debt from a dealer in Brixton two years ago. The log book's so crooked it's a joke and so is the number plate. No way could it be traced back to me and it's in good order. You know me and engines. They're my hobby.'

  'Ah, well, a bob or two extra for you for that,' Devlin said and got up. 'I'll go and make my peace with your niece now.'

  She was sitting under the awning in the boat reading again as he went down the steps.

  'What is it this time?' he said.

  'The Midnight Court,' she told him reluctantly.

  'In English or Irish?'

  'I don't have the Irish.'

  'The great pity. I used to be able to recite the whole of it in Irish. My uncle gave me a Bible for doing that. He was a priest.'

  'I wonder what he'd say about what you're doing this evening,' she said.

  'Oh, I know very well,' Devlin told her. 'He'd forgive me,' and he went back up the steps.

  Devlin sat in the box in uniform, just a violet stole about his neck and listened patiently to four nuns and two male patients as they confessed their sins. It was nothing very dreadful that he heard. Sins of omission in the main, or matters so petty they were hardly worth a thought, and yet they were to those anonymous people talking to him on the other side of the grill. He honestly did the best he could, tried to say the right thing, but it was an effort. His last client departed. He sat there in the silence and then the chapel door opened and he heard the ring of Army boots on the stone floor.

  The confessional box door opened and closed. From the darkness Steiner said, 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.'

  'Not as much as I have, Colonel.' Devlin switched on his light and smiled through the grill at him.

  'Mr Devlin,' Steiner said. 'What have they done to you?'

  'A few changes, just to put the hounds off.' Devlin ran his hands through his grey hair. 'How have you been?'

  'Never mind that. The British were hoping you would turn up. I was interviewed by a Brigadier Munro of Special Operations Executive. He told me they'd made sure my presence in London was known in Berlin by passing the information through a man at the Spanish Embassy called Vargas. He works for them.'

  'I knew it,' Devlin said. 'The bastard.'

  'They told me two things. That General Walter Schellenberg was in charge of organizing my escape and that they expected him to use you. They're waiting for you, hoping you'll show up.'

  'Yes, but I allowed for British Intelligence handling it the way they have. Vargas is still getting messages asking for more information. They will be thinking I'm still in Berlin.'

  'Good God!' Steiner said.

  'How many MPs escort you down here?'

  'Two. Usually, Benson the Lieutenant, but he's on leave.'

  'Right. I'm going to have you out of here in the next two or three days. We'll exit through the crypt. It's pretty well organized. There'll be a boat waiting on the river. After that a two-hour drive to a place where we'll be picked up by plane from France.'

  'I see. Everything organized down to the last detail, just like Operation Eagle, and remember how that turned out.'

  'Ah, yes, but I'm in charge this time.' Devlin smiled. 'The evening we go you'll come down to confession just like tonight. Usual time.'

  'How will I know?'

  'A fine view from your window and the steps down to the little beach by the Thames. Remember?'

  'Ah, yes.'

  'The day we decide to go, there'll be a young girl standing by the wall at the top of those steps. She'll be wearing a black beret and an old raincoat. She'll be there at noon exactly so watch at noon each day and she has a strong limp, Colonel, very pronounced. You can't miss her.'

  'So, I see her, then we go that evening?' Steiner hesitated. 'The MPs?'

  'A detail only.' Devlin smiled. 'Trust me. Now three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers and be off with you.'

  He switched off the light. The door banged, there was a murmur of voices, the sound of boots again and the outer door opening and closing. '

  Devlin came out and moved towards the altar. 'God forgive me,' he murmured.

  He checked that the bolt of the crypt door was still pulled back, then went into the sacristy, got his trenchcoat and left.

  Ryan stood at the door as Devlin changed quickly from the uniform into dark slacks and sweater. He pulled up his right trouser leg and strapped the ankle holster to it, tucking his sock up around the end. He slipped the Smith & Wesson .38 into it and pulled down his trouser.

  'Just in case.' He picked up the old leather jacket Ryan had loaned him and put it on. Then he opened his suitcase, took out a wad of fivers and put them in his inside pocket.

  They went downstairs and found Mary sitting at the table reading again. 'Is there any tea in the pot?' Devlin asked.

  'A mouthful, I think. Are we going now?' She poured the tea into a cup.

  He opened the kitchen table drawer, took out the Luger, checked it and slipped it inside his jacket. 'You're not going anywhere, girl dear, not this time,' he told her and swallowed his tea.

  She started to protest, but her uncle shook his head. 'He's right, girl, it could get nasty. Best stay out of it.'

  She watched, disconsolate, as they went down the steps to the boat and cast off. As Ryan started the engine, Devlin moved into the little wheelhouse beside him and lit a cigarette in cupped hands.

  'And the same applies to you, Michael,' he said. 'Stay out of it. My affair, not yours.'

  Jack and Eric Carver arrived at Black Lion Dock at nine forty-five in a Humber limousine, George driving. The dock was almost completely dark except for the light over the main warehouse doors, shaded as requested by the blackout regulations. The sign on the warehouse said: 'Carver Brothers — Export and Import' and Jack Carver looked up at it with satisfaction as he got out of the car.

  'Very nice that. The sign writer did a good job.'

  It was very quiet, the only sounds those of shipping on the river. Eric followed him and George limped round to the back of the car, opened the boot and took out the radio set in its wooden case painted olive green.

  Carver turned to his brother. 'All right, Eric, let's get on with it.'

  Eric unlocked the Judas gate in the main door, stepped inside and found the light switch. His brother and George followed him. The warehouse was stacked with packing cases of every kind. There was a table in the centre and a couple of chairs, obviously used by a shipping clerk.

  'Right, put it on the table.' George did as he was told and Carver added, 'You've got the shooter?'

  George took a Walther PPK from one pocket, a silencer from
the other and screwed it into place.

  Carver lit a cigar. 'Look at that, Eric, bloody marvellous. Just sounds like a cork popping.'

  'I can't wait for that little bastard to get here,' Eric said.

  But Devlin had actually been there for some time, hidden in the shadows at the rear of the building having gained access through an upstairs window. He watched George position himself behind a stack of packing cases, the Carver brothers sitting down at the table, then turned and slipped out the way he had come.

  A couple of minutes later he approached the main door, whistling cheerfully, opened the Judas and went in. 'God save all here,' he called, and approached the table. 'You got it then, Mr Carver?'

  'I told you. I can get anything. You didn't mention your name last night, by the way.'

  'Churchill,' Devlin said. 'Winston.'

  'Very funny.'

  Devlin opened the case. The radio fitted inside, head-phones, Morse tapper, aerials, everything. It looked brand new. He closed the lid again.

  'Satisfied?' Carver asked.

  'Oh, yes.'

  'Then cash on the table.'

  Devlin took the thousand pounds from his pocket and passed it over. 'The hard man, eh, Mr Carver?'

  'Hard enough.' Carver dropped the money back on the table. 'Of course, we now come to the other matter.'

  'And what matter would that be?'

  'Your insulting treatment of my brother and your threats to me. IRA and Special Branch. I can't have that, I've got a reputation to think of. You need chastising, my son.' He blew cigar smoke in Devlin's face. 'George.'

  George moved fast considering his damaged knee, had the Walther at the back of Devlin's neck in a second. Eric reached inside the Irishman's jacket and relieved him of the Luger. 'Look at that, Jack. Cunning bastard.'

  Devlin spread his arms. 'All right, Mr Carver, so you've got me. What happens now?'

  He walked across to a packing case, sat down and took out a cigarette. Carver said, 'You're a cool bastard, I'll give you that.'

  'I'll tell you what happens now,' Eric said, taking a cut-throat razor from his pocket and opening it. 'I'm going to slice your ears off, that's what I'm going to do.'

  'While George holds the gun on me?' Devlin asked.