by Jack Higgins
'Not in this fog and there isn't another house for two miles. I'm going now. Good luck.' She put down her headphones and mike. 'You stay here, Max, I shan't be long.'
'All right, old girl.'
She ran all the way to the house, got the front door open, gasping for breath and started. She climbed the stairs first, going into every room, even the bathrooms, switched on the lights and yanked back the blackout curtains. Then she went down to the ground floor and did the same thing. She left quickly and when she stopped after some fifty yards to look back, the house was ablaze with lights.
Maxwell Shaw was drinking from a hip flask when she returned. 'Bloody place looks like a Christmas tree,' he told her.
She ignored him and reached for the mike. 'Right, I've done it. Is that any better?'
'We'll take a look,' Asa said.
He took the Lysander down to five hundred feet, suddenly filled with a strange fatalism. 'What the hell, Asa,' he said softly. 'If you survive this damn war they'll only give you fifty years in Leavenworth so what have you got to lose?'
He went in hard and now the fog was suffused with a kind of glow and a second later, Shaw Place
, every window alight, came into view. He had always been a fine pilot, but for a moment, greatness took over as he pulled back the column and lifted over the house with feet to spare. And there on the other side were the lights of the meadow, the open barn door.
The Lysander landed perfectly, turned and taxied towards the barn. Lavinia got the doors fully open, her brother watching, and gestured Asa inside. He switched off the engine, took off his flying helmet and got out.
'I say, that was a bit hairy,' she said and stuck out her hand. 'I'm Lavinia Shaw and this is my brother Maxwell.'
'Asa Vaughan. I really owe you one.'
'Not at all. I'm a pilot myself. Used to fly a Tiger Moth from here.'
'Good heavens, the fellow sounds like a damn Yank,' Maxwell Shaw said.
'Well, you could say I grew up there.' Asa turned to Lavinia. 'Where are the others?'
'No sign of Major Conlon, I'm afraid. Fog all the way from London to the coast. I expect they've got held up.'
Asa nodded. 'Okay, let's get a message out to Chernay right now telling them I'm down in one piece.'
At Chernay in the radio room Schellenberg was in despair for the RAF weather reports Cherbourg had been monitoring indicated just how impossible the situation was. And then Leber, sitting by the radio in headphones, was convulsed into action.
'It's Falcon, General.' He listened, writing furiously on his pad at the same time, tore off the sheet and passed it to Schellenberg. 'He's made it, General, he managed to set that lovely bitch down.'
'Yes,' Schellenberg said. 'He certainly did, but his passengers weren't waiting for him.'
'He said delayed by the fog, General.'
'Yes, well, let's hope so. Tell him we'll be standing by.'
Leber tapped out the message quickly and pulled the headphones down to his neck. 'Why don't you go and put your feet up for an hour, General? I'm all right here.'
'What I will do is go and have a shower and freshen myself up,' Schellenberg told him. 'Then we'll have some coffee together, Flight Sergeant.'
He walked to the door and Leber said, 'After all, there's no rush. He'd never be able to get the Lysander in here until this weather improves.'
'Yes, well, let's not think about that for now,' Schellenberg said and went out.
At Shaw Place Asa helped Lavinia put out all the lights, going from room to room. Shaw was slumped in his chair by the fire, eyes glazed, very far gone indeed.
'Is he often like that?' Asa asked.
She left the French windows open, but drew the curtains. 'My brother isn't a happy man. Sorry, I didn't ask you your rank.'
'Captain,' he said.
'Well, Captain, let's say the drink, helps. Come into the kitchen. I'll make some tea or coffee if you'd like it.'
'Coffee for preference.'
He sat on the edge of the table smoking a cigarette while she made the coffee, very handsome in the SS uniform and she was acutely aware of him. He took off his flying jacket and she saw the cuff-title on his sleeve.
'Good heavens, the George Washington Legion? I didn't know there was such a thing. My brother was right. You are an American.'
'I hope you won't hold it against me,' he said.
'We won't, you beautiful Yankee bastard.' As Asa turned, Liam Devlin came through the door and threw his arms about him. 'How in the hell did you manage to land in that stuff, son? It took us all our time to make it from London by road.'
'Genius, I suppose,' Asa said modestly.
Munro appeared behind Devlin, still with his wrists bound and the scarf around his eyes. Steiner was at his shoulder. 'Colonel Kurt Steiner, the object of the exercise, plus a little excess baggage we acquired along the way,' Devlin said.
'Colonel, a pleasure.' Asa shook Steiner's hand.
Lavinia said, 'Why don't we all go into the living room and have a cup of coffee? It's just made.'
'What a charming idea,' Munro said.
'What you like and what you get are two different things, Brigadier,' Devlin told him. 'Still, if it's made, there's no harm. Five minutes and we're away.'
'I wouldn't count on that. I'll have to check the situation at Chernay,' Asa said to him as they moved through. 'The weather was just as bad there when I left.'
Devlin said, 'That's all we need.' In the living room he pushed Munro down into the other chair by the fire and looked at Maxwell Shaw in disgust. 'Christ, if you struck a match he'd catch fire.'
'He's really hung one on,' Asa said.
Shaw woke up and opened his eyes. 'What's that, eh?' He focused on Devlin. 'Conlon, that you?'
'As ever was,' Devlin answered.
Shaw sat up and looked across at Munro. 'Who in the hell is that? What's he got that stupid thing round his eyes for?' He reached across and pulled off the scarf before anyone could stop him. Munro shook his head, blinking in the light. Shaw said, 'I know you, don't I?'
'You should, Sir Maxwell,' Dougal Monro told him. 'We've been fellow members of the Army and Navy Club for years.'
'Of course.' Shaw nodded foolishly. 'Thought I knew you.'
'That's torn it, Brigadier,' Devlin told him. 'I'd intended to dump you somewhere in the marsh before we left to find your own way home, but now you know whose these people are.'
'Which means you have two choices. Shoot me or take me with you.'
It was Steiner who said, 'Is there room, Captain?'
'Oh, sure, we could manage,' Asa said.
Steiner turned to the Irishman. 'It's up to you, Mr Devlin.'
Munro said, 'Never mind, my friend, I'm sure your Nazi masters will pay well for me.'
Asa said, 'I haven't had the chance to fill you in on what the score is over there yet. You'd better know now because you'll be up to your necks in it if we get back in one piece.'
'You'd better tell us then,' Steiner said.
So Asa did.
The fog was as bad as ever as they all stood around the radio in the barn, Lavinia scribbling on the pad in front of her. She handed the message to Asa who read it then passed it to Devlin. 'They suggest we delay take-off for another hour. There's a slight chance conditions at Chernay might have improved by then.'
Devlin glanced at Steiner. 'We don't seem to have much choice.'
'Well, I can't say I'm sorry for you.' Munro turned to Lavinia with a smile of devastating charm. 'I was wondering, my dear. Do you think when we get back to the house I might have tea this time?'
Shaw was sprawled in his chair by the fire fast asleep. Munro sat opposite, wrists still bound. Asa was in the kitchen helping Lavinia.
Devlin said to Steiner, 'I was thinking, Colonel, you might need a sidearm.' He picked up his holdall, put it on the table and opened it. The silenced Walther was lying inside on top of a couple of shirts.
'A thought,' Steiner said.
&nb
sp; There was a gust of wind, a creaking at the French windows and then the curtains were pulled back and Jack and Eric Carver stepped into the room, guns in their hands.
Chapter Fourteen
DEVLIN SAID, 'LOOK what the wind's blown in.'
Steiner said calmly, 'Who are these men?'
'Well, the big ugly one is Jack Carver. He runs most of London's East End. Makes an honest bob out of protection, gambling, prostitution.'
'Very funny,' Carver said.
'The other one, the one who looks as if he's just crawled out of his hole, is his brother, Eric.'
'I'll teach you.' Eric advanced on him, his face pinched and angry. 'We'll give you what we gave that pal of yours and his niece.'
Devlin went cold inside, his face on the instant turned deathly pale. 'What are you telling me?'
'No funny stuff this time,' Carver said. 'Check to see if he has that bleeding gun up his trouser leg.'
Eric dropped to one knee and relieved Devlin of the Smith and Wesson. 'It won't work twice, you cunning sod.'
'My friends?' Devlin said calmly. 'What happened?'
Carver was enjoying himself. He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and stuck it in his mouth. 'I put the word out on you, my son. Didn't get anywhere and then we had a stroke of luck. Eric saw the bird in Wapping High Street last evening. Followed her home.'
'And?'
'We paid them a visit not long after you left. A little persuasion was all it took and here we are.'
'And he talked, my friend, as easily as that?' Devlin said. 'I find that hard to believe.' He turned to Steiner. 'Don't you, Colonel?'
'I do indeed,' Steiner said.
'Oh, I wouldn't think too badly of him.' Carver flicked his lighter and put the flame to his cigar. 'I mean, it was his niece he was concerned about. He had to do the decent thing there.'
'Not that it did either of them much good.' Eric smiled sadistically. 'Want to know what happened to her? She made a run for it, went over the rail down to that jetty by the house. Broke her neck.'
'And Michael?' Devlin asked Carver, barely managing to keep from choking,
'I shot him, didn't I? Isn't that what you do with dogs?'
Devlin took a step towards him and the look on his face was terrible to see. 'You're dead, the both of you.'
Carver stopped smiling. 'Not us, you little sod — you. What's more, I'm going to give it you in the belly so it takes time.'
It was at that moment that Shaw came back to life. He opened his eyes, stretched and looked around him. 'Now then, what's all this?'
At the same moment, the double doors were flung open and Lavinia appeared, holding a tray, Asa beside her. 'Tea, everyone,' she said, then froze.
'Just hold it right there, the both of you,' Carver told them.
She looked absolutely terrified, but didn't say a word.
It was Dougal Munro who tried to help her. 'Steady, my dear. Just keep calm.'
Shaw, on his feet, swayed drunkenly, eyes bloodshot, speech slurred. 'You bloody swine. Who do you think you are, coming into my house waving guns about?'
'Another step, you old fool, and I'll blow you away,' Carver told him.
Lavinia shouted, 'Do as he says, Max.' She dropped the tray with a crash and took a step forward.
Carver turned and shot her, more as a reflex action than anything else. Maxwell Shaw, with a cry of rage, jumped at him and Carver fired again, shooting him twice at close quarters.
Asa was on his knees beside Lavinia. He looked up. 'She's dead.'
'I warned you, didn't I?' Carver said, his face contorted.
'You certainly did, Mr Carver,' Kurt Steiner told him.
His hand went into Devlin's open holdall on the table, found the butt of the silenced Walther, brought it out in one smooth motion and fired once. The bullet caught Carver in the centre of the forehead and he went back over the chair.
'Jack!' Eric screamed and as he took a step forward, Devlin grabbed for his wrist, twisting it until Eric dropped the revolver.
Eric backed away and Devlin said, 'You killed that girl, is that what you're telling me?'
He leaned down and picked up Maxwell Shaw's shotgun from the floor beside the chair.
Eric was terrified. 'It was an accident. She was running away. Went over the rail.' The curtains billowed in the wind from the open French windows and he backed out on to the terrace.
'But what made her run, that's the thing?' Devlin said, thumbing back the hammers.
'No!' Eric cried and Devlin gave him both barrels, lifting him over the balustrade.
At Chernay it was almost two o'clock, Schellenberg dozing in the chair in the corner of the radio room when Leber called to him.
'Falcon coming in, General…'
Schellenberg hurried to his side. 'What is it?'
'Another check on the weather. I've told him how bad things are here.'
'And?'
'Just a moment, General, he's coming in again.' He listened intently and looked up. 'He says he's not prepared to wait any longer. He's leaving now.'
Schellenberg nodded. 'Just say good luck.'
He went to the door, opened it and went out. The fog rolled in from the sea remorselessly and he turned up the collar of his greatcoat and started to walk aimlessly along the side of the airstrip.
At roughly the same time, Horst Berger was sitting by the window in the room they had allocated to him at Belle Ile. He had found himself incapable of sleep, the prospect of the morning was too momentous, so he sat there in the darkness, the window open, listening to the rain falling through the fog. There was a knock at the door, it opened, light falling into the room. One of the SS duty sentries stood there.
'Sturmbannführer?' he called softly.
'I'm here. What is it?'
'The Reichsführer wants you. He's waiting now at his apartment.'
'Five minutes,' Berger told him and the man went out.
In the sitting room of his apartment, Himmler was standing by the fire in full uniform when Berger knocked and entered. The Reichsführer turned. 'Ah, there you are.'
'Reichsführer?'
'The Führer obviously can't sleep. He's sent for me. Asked particularly that I bring you.'
'Does the Reichsführer think this is of any significance?'
'Not at all,' Himmler said. 'The Führer's health has been something of a problem for quite some time. His inability to sleep is only one of many symptoms. He has come to rely on the ministrations of his personal physician, Professor Morell, to an inordinate degree. Unfortunately from the Führer's point of view at the moment, Morell is in Berlin and the Führer is here.'
'Morell is of such vital importance then?' Berger asked.
'There are those who would consider him a quack,' Himmler said. 'On the other hand, the Führer can't be considered an easy patient.'
'I see, Reichsführer. But why am I commanded?'
'Who knows? Some whim or other.' Himmler consulted his watch. 'We are due at his suite in fifteen minutes. With the Führer, Berger, time is everything. Not one minute more, not one minute less. There's fresh coffee on the table there. Time for you to have a cup before we go.'
In the barn at Shaw Place
, everyone waited while Devlin tapped out his message on the radio. He put down the headphones, switched off and turned to Steiner and Asa who stood there, Dougal Munro, his hands still bound, between them.
That's it,' Devlin said. 'I've told Schellenberg we're leaving.'
'Then let's get the plane out,' Asa said.
Munro stood against the wall while the three of them manhandled the Lysander out into the fog. They rolled it some distance away from the barn. Asa got the cupola up and reached for his helmet.
'What about our friend in the barn?' Steiner asked.
'He stays,' Devlin said.
Steiner turned to him. 'You're sure?'
'Colonel,' Devlin said, 'you're a nice man and due to the vagaries of war, I happen to be on your side a
t the moment, but this is a personal thing. I haven't the slightest intention of handing over the head of Section D at SOE to German Intelligence. Now you two get in and start up. I'll be with you in a minute.'
When he went into the barn, Munro was half-sitting on the table by the radio, struggling with the twine around his wrists. He paused as Devlin entered. The Irishman took a small pocket-knife from his pocket and opened the blade.
'Here, let me, Brigadier.'
He sliced through the twine, freeing him and Munro rubbed at his wrists. 'What's this?'
'Sure and you didn't really think I was going to hand you over to those Nazi bastards, now did you? There was a small problem for a while, Shaw exposing you to things as it were, but there's no one left. My good friend Michael Ryan and Mary, his niece, at Cable Wharf, the Shaws here. All gone. No one you could hurt.'
'God help me, Devlin, I'll never understand you.'
'And why should you, Brigadier, when I don't understand myself most of the time?' The engine of the Lysander started up and Devlin stuck a cigarette in his mouth. 'We'll be going now. You could alert the RAF, but they'd need the luck of the Devil to find us in this fog.'
'True,' Munro agreed.
Devlin flicked his lighter. 'On the other hand, it's just possible you might think Walter Schellenberg has the right idea.'
'Strange,' Munro said. There have been moments in this war when I'd have jumped for joy at the idea of someone killing Hitler.'
'A great man once said that as the times change, sensible men change with them.' Devlin moved to the door. 'Goodbye, Brigadier, I don't expect we'll be seeing each other again.'
'I wish I could count on that,' Munro said.
The Irishman hurried across to the Lysander, where Steiner was stripping the canvas with the RAF roundels from the wings, revealing the Luftwaffe insignia. Devlin ran to the tailplane, did the same there, then scrambled inside after Steiner. The Lysander taxied to the end of the meadow and turned into the wind. A moment later, it roared down the runway and took off. Munro stood there listening to the sound of it disappear into the night. There was a sudden whimper and Nell slipped out of the darkness and sat there, looking up at him. When he turned and started back to the house she followed him.