The Eagle Has Flown

by Jack Higgins

  'Michael, you said you thought it would come away easy. Now wouldn't I look the original fool if I turned up to grab Steiner tomorrow night and found the damn grill wouldn't budge?'

  'All right, let's get on with it,' Ryan said.

  'And no banging. I don't want someone on their knees up there in the chapel wondering what's happening down here.'

  Which is what made the whole thing rather more difficult than it had first appeared. The slow, careful probing between the brickwork took time. On occasion, several bricks fell out of place at once, but others proved more difficult. It took half an hour to clear one side.

  Fifteen minutes into working on the other, Ryan said, 'You were right, dammit, the thing's a sod.'

  He pulled at the grill angrily and it fell forward. Devlin grabbed at his arm, pulling him out of the way and got a hand to the side of the grill at the same time, easing it down.

  He took the lamp and peered inside, then handed it to Ryan. 'You hold the light while I go and take a look.'

  'Watch your step, now.'

  Devlin went through the hole and waded inside. In there, the water was now up to his armpits, covering the tops of the tombs. He made it to the steps and started up. A rat scurried past him and dived into the water. He paused on the top step, then very gently tried the handle.

  There was the faintest of creaks and the door eased open. He could see the altar, the Virgin on the other side floating in candlelight. He peered round the door cautiously. The chapel was quite deserted and then the outer door opened and a nun came in. Very quietly, Devlin closed the door and retreated down the steps.

  'Perfect,' he said to Ryan as he clambered through the hole. 'Now let's get out of here.'

  At the Luftwaffe base, Schellenberg gave orders for the Stork to be refuelled, commandeered the station commander's Mercedes and driver and set out for Wewelsburg with Asa. It started to snow and as they approached, Wewelsburg was plain to see, light at the windows and over the main gate in total disregard of any blackout regulations.

  Asa looked up at the castle and its towers in the falling snow. 'My God!' he said in awe. 'It's incredible.'

  'I know.' Schellenberg reached forward and closed the glass partition so that the Luftwaffe driver couldn't hear what they were saying. 'Looks like a film set. Actually it's a personal retreat for the Reichsführer, a centre for racial research and a home-from-home to the elite of the SS.'

  'But what do they do there?'

  'The Reichsführer is obsessed with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. So, he has his twelve most trusted lieutenants sit at a round table. His knights, you see.'

  'And you're not one of them, I take it?'

  'Very definitely not. No, you have to be,a lunatic to indulge in those games. They have a memorial hall with a swastika in the ceiling, and a pit in which the remains of these special ones will be burnt on death. There are twelve pedestals and urns waiting for the ashes.'

  'You've got to be kidding!' Asa said.

  'No, quite true. I'll show you if we get a chance.' Schellenberg laughed and shook his head. 'And people like these are handling the destinies of millions.'

  They booked in at the entrance hall and left their greatcoats and caps with the sergeant of the guard who checked his register.

  'Yes, General Schellenberg, the Reichsführer is expecting you for seven o'clock in his private sitting room in the South Wing. I'll take you up, sir.'

  'No need. I know the way.'

  As Asa followed Schellenberg across the hall and they turned along a corridor he said, 'You're right. This place puts Louis B. Mayer to shame.'

  Schellenberg checked his watch. 'We've got fifteen minutes. Come on, I'll show you that memorial hall I told you about. It's just along here. There's a little gallery, as I remember. Yes, here we are.'

  There were perhaps a dozen steps up to an oak door. It opened easily and he could immediately hear voices. He paused, frowning, then turned to Asa and put a finger to his lips. Then he opened the door cautiously and they went in.

  The circular room was a place of shadows, only dimly lit. Asa was aware of the pedestals and urns Schellenberg had described, the pit beneath the ceiling swastika, but it was the people present who were most interesting. Rossman, Himmler's aide, stood to one side waiting. The Reichsführer stood in the pit itself, face to face with Sturmbannführer Horst Berger. They all wore black dress uniform.

  'I have brought you here, Berger, to this holy place before you depart on what I can only describe as your sacred mission.'

  'An honour, Reichsführer.'

  'Now let's go over the details. You will meet the Führer's plane which will land at the Luftwaffe base at Cherbourg at six tomorrow night. I shall be with him. You will escort us to this Chateau de Belle Ile where we will spend the night. At seven o'clock the following morning the Führer will have breakfast with Rommel and Admiral Canaris. They will arrive by road.'

  'And when do I take action, Reichsführer?'

  Himmler shrugged. 'It doesn't really matter. I suppose the end of the meal might be appropriate. How many men will you have in the guard?'

  'Thirty.'

  'Good. That should be enough.'

  'Hand-picked, Reichsführer.'

  'Good — the fewer the better. We are a special brotherhood, those of us involved in this, for there are some who would not agree with what we intend.'

  'As you say, Reichsführer.'

  'General Schellenberg, for instance, but he's cleverer than the proverbial fox. That's why I wanted him elsewhere these past three weeks. So, I gave him this ridiculous mission to occupy him. To bring Steiner out of England. An impossibility. I happen to know from our intelligence people that the agent working for us in London, Vargas, also works for the British. We didn't tell Schellenberg that, did we, Rossman?'

  'No, Reichsfuhrer.'

  'So we may deduce that the Irishman, Devlin, will not last too long over there.'

  'I couldn't be more pleased, Reichsführer,' Berger said.

  'We could have won this war at Dunkirk, Berger, if the Führer had allowed the panzers to roll on to the beaches. Instead, he ordered them to halt. Russia, one disaster after another. Stalingrad, the most catastrophic defeat the German Army has ever suffered.' Himmler shuffled away and turned, 'Blunder after blunder and he still won't listen.'

  'I see, Reichsführer,' Berger said. 'All men of sense would.'

  'And so inexorably, Germany, our beloved country, sinks deeper into the pit of defeat and that is why the Führer must die, Berger, and to accomplish that is your sacred task. Rommel, Canaris, the Führer. A dastardly attack on their part leading to the Führer's unfortunate death followed by their own deaths at the hands of loyal SS men.'

  'And afterwards?' Berger said.

  'We of the SS will naturally assume all governmental powers. The war may then be continued as it should be. No weakness, no shirking by anyone.' He put a hand on Berger's shoulder. 'We belong to the same sacred brotherhood, Major, I envy you this opportunity.'

  Schellenberg nodded to Asa, edged him out and closed the door.

  'My God!' Asa said. 'Now what happens?'

  'We keep the appointment. If he finds out we overheard that lot we'll never get out of here alive.' As they hurried along the corridor Schellenberg said, 'Whatever he wants, follow my lead and not a mention that Devlin's got things to the stage they are.'

  He led the way up a back stair, along a corridor and reached the door to Himmler's sitting room in the South Wing very quickly.

  Schellenberg sat in the chair behind Rossman's desk. 'Now we wait. They'll probably come up by the back entrance to his room.'

  A moment later, the door opened and Rossman looked out. 'Ah, there you are.'

  'Right on time.' Schellenberg led the way in.

  Himmler, behind his desk, looked up. 'So, General, and this is Hauptsturmführer Vaughan, the pilot you recruited for the Steiner affair?'

  'Yes, Reichsführer.'

  'Any new
s of your Mr Devlin?'

  Schellenberg said, 'I'm afraid not, Reichsführer.'

  'Ah, well, it was always a problematical mission to say the least. The Führer flies to Cherbourg, arrives at Belle Ile tomorrow night. Canaris and Rommel are to have breakfast the following morning at seven. I'll be there, of course. The idiots are junketing around Normandy at the moment. They have the crazy idea the invasion will come there and hope to persuade the Führer to agree with them.'

  'I see, Reichsführer.'

  'However, to the reason for your visit and why I asked you to bring the officer with you.' He turned. 'Rossman.'

  As he stood up, Rossman opened a medal case. Himmler took the Iron Cross it contained, came round the table and pinned it to Asa Vaughan's tunic.

  'To you, Hauptsturmführer Asa Vaughan of the George Washington Legion, in acknowledgement of supreme valour in aerial combat over Poland.'

  'Reichsführer,' said Asa, keeping his face straight with a supreme effort.

  'And now you may go. I have work to do.'

  Schellenberg and Asa hurried down the stairs, retrieved their greatcoats and caps and went out to the waiting Mercedes.

  'Back to the base,' Schellenberg said to the driver and he and Asa got in.

  As they drove away Asa closed the glass partition and said, 'What do you make of it?'

  'I know one thing,' Schellenberg said. 'Killing Hitler is the worst thing that could happen. At least with the Führer making one foul-up after another, there's a prospect of a reasonably early end to the war, but Himmler would be another story. Can you imagine that animal in total control, the SS in charge of government, the Army? The war could go on for years.'

  'So what are you going to do? Warn Rommel and Canaris?'

  'First of all I don't know exactly where they are and it's a question of belief, Asa. Why should anyone believe me? My word against that of the Reichsführer of the SS?'

  'Come off it, General. According to Liam Devlin, you're a very smart guy. Surely you can come up with something?'

  'I'll put my heart and soul into it,' Schellenberg promised him. 'But for the moment, let's concentrate on getting back to the airfield and the Stork. We fly out at once. The sooner we're at Chernay, the happier I'll be.'

  Chapter Twelve

  THE DUTY MP usually brought Steiner a cup of tea at eleven each morning. He was five minutes late and found the German by the window reading.

  'There you go, Colonel.'

  'Thank you, Corporal.'

  'I suppose you'd prefer coffee, sir?' the corporal said, lingering, for he rather liked Steiner.

  'But I was raised on tea, Corporal,' Steiner told him. 'I went to school right here in London. St Paul's.'

  'Is that a fact, sir?'

  He turned to the door and Steiner said, 'Is Lieutenant Benson back yet?'

  'His leave is up at midnight, sir, but if I know him he'll look in this evening. You know what these young officers are like. Dead keen. Looking for that second pip on his shoulders.'

  He left, the bolt rammed home and Steiner went back to his seat by the window, waiting for noon as he had on the previous day, drinking his tea and trying to compose himself to patience.

  It was raining again and there was fog in the city, so heavy already that he could barely see the other side of the river. A very large cargo boat eased down from London Docks followed by a line of barges. He watched for a while, wondering where it was going and then he saw the girl, just as Devlin had described: black beret and shabby raincoat.

  Mary limped along the pavement, collar up, hands thrust deep into her pockets. She stopped at the entrance leading down to the strand and leaned on the wall, watching the boats on the river. She didn't look up at the Priory at all. Devlin had been most explicit about that. She just stayed there, watching for ten minutes, then turned and walked away.

  Steiner was aware of intense excitement and gripped the bars at his window to steady himself. The door opened behind him and the corporal reappeared.

  'If you're finished, Colonel, I'll take your tray.'

  'Yes, I am, thank you.' The MP picked up the tray and turned to the door. 'Oh, I don't know who's on duty this evening, but I'll be going down to confession,' Steiner said.

  'Right, sir. I'll make a note of it. Eight o'clock as usual.'

  He went out and locked the door. Steiner listened to the sound of his boots receding along the corridor then turned, gripping the bars again.

  'Now we pray, Mr Devlin,' he said softly. 'Now we pray.'

  When Devlin went into St Patrick's he was in his military trenchcoat and uniform. He wasn't really sure why he had come. Conscience again, he supposed, or perhaps just tying up loose ends. He only knew he couldn't leave without a word with the old priest. He'd used him, he knew that, and it didn't sit well. What was worse was the fact that they would meet again and for the last time in the chapel at St Mary's that evening. No avoiding that or the distress it would cause.

  The church was quiet, only Frank Martin down at the altar arranging a few flowers. He turned at the sound of Devlin's approach and there was genuine pleasure on his face. 'Hello, Father.'

  Devlin managed a smile. 'I just dropped in to tell you I'm on my way. I got my orders this morning.'

  'That's unexpected, isn't it?'

  'Yes, well, they're easing me back in.' Devlin lied in his teeth. 'I'm to report to a military hospital in Portsmouth.'

  'Ah, well, as they say, there's a war on.'

  Devlin nodded. 'The war, the war, the bloody war, Father. It's gone on too long and we all of us have to do things we normally would never do. Every soldier, whichever side he's on. Things to shame us.'

  The old man said gently, 'You're troubled, my son. Can I help in any way?'

  'No, Father, not this time. Some things we have to live with ourselves.' Devlin put out his hand and the old priest took it. 'It's been a genuine pleasure, Father.'

  'And for me,' Frank Martin said.

  Devlin turned and walked away, the door banged. The old priest stood there for a moment, puzzlement on his face and then he turned and went back to his flowers.

  There was the merest hint of fog at Chernay, too, at four o'clock when Schellenberg went in search of Asa. He found him in the hangar with the Lysander and Flight Sergeant Leber.

  'How is it?' Schellenberg asked.

  'Perfection, General,' Leber told him. 'Couldn't be better.' He smiled. 'Naturally, the Hauptsturmführer has just been checking everything out for the fifth time, but that's understandable.'

  The Lysander had RAF roundels in place on canvas strips as Asa had requested and the swastika on the tailplane had been blocked out with black canvas.

  'Of course there's no absolute guarantee that they won't come off in flight,' Asa said. 'We'll just have to keep our fingers crossed.'

  'And the weather?' Schellenberg asked.

  Leber said, 'It's uncertain. Visibility could be restricted. There are a couple of conflicting fronts moving in. I've checked with our base at Cherbourg and the truth is it's one of those times when they don't really know.'

  'But the plane is ready?'

  'Oh, yes,' Asa told him. 'One good thing about this beauty is that she's fitted with an emergency fuel tank. I suppose the RAF had that done because of the kind of operation it was employed on. I'm allowing an hour and a half for the flight and thanks to Luftwaffe intelligence at Cherbourg, I can tune my radio to the RAF frequency as I approach the English coast.'

  'Good. Let's go for a walk. I feel like the air.'

  It was raining only slightly as they walked along the airfield and Schellenberg smoked a cigarette, not speaking for a while. They reached the end and leaned on a fence, looking out to sea.

  Schellenberg said, 'You feel all right about this?'

  'The trip?' Asa shrugged. 'The flight itself doesn't worry me. It's the situation at the other end that's problematical.'

  'Yes, we are all in Mr Devlin's hands there.'

  Asa said, 'Assuming ever
ything goes well and I put down here with our friends some time early tomorrow morning what happens then? What about the Belle Ile situation? Have you any ideas?'

  'Only one and it would be a desperate venture. On the other hand, simple, and I like simplicity. It pleases me.'

  'I'm all ears.'

  'Well, the Führer will be having breakfast with Rommel, the Admiral and the Reichsfuhrer. Berger will strike at the end of the meal.'

  'Yes, I know that, I was there, remember?'

  'What if you and I and Mr Devlin arrived to join them for breakfast and exposed the plot?'

  'But we'd go down the hole too, that's obvious,' Asa said. 'Even if you said your piece to the Führer, Berger and his chums would just get on with it.'

  'Oh, yes, and it would suit the Reichsführer to have me out of the war.' Schellenberg smiled. 'There is a wild card I haven't mentioned. Remember when we were driving to Belle Ile? The 12th Parachute Detachment outside St Aubin? Hauptmann Erich Kramer and thirty-five paratroopers?'

  'Sure I do.'

  'What do you think would happen if Colonel Kurt Steiner, the living legend of the Parachute Regiment, appeared and told them he needed their services because there was an SS plot to kill the Führer ten miles up the road?'

  'Jesus!' Asa said. 'Those guys would follow Steiner anywhere.'

  'Exactly. And the Fallschirmjager have always been notorious for their dislike of the SS.'

  'It could work,' Asa said.

  'If everything else did,'

  'Let me get this straight. We'd go in first? Steiner would follow on?'

  'Yes, let's say fifteen minutes later.'

  Asa said, 'That could be one hell of a breakfast.'

  'Yes, well, I prefer not to think of it right now,' Schellenberg said. 'I've got other things on my mind. Let's go and have a cup of coffee.'

  In Ryan's kitchen, Devlin had various items laid out on the table. 'Let's see what I've got here,' he said. 'Those MPs carry handcuffs, but I'll take a little extra twine for emergencies, just in case.'

  'I've made up three gags,' Ryan said. 'Bandages and sticking plaster. You've the priest too, remember.'