“They'll kill you,” Leni said, her voice flat.
“Only if they catch me. And they're not going to do that, I promise you.”
“What about last time?”
“Last time I was stuck in a cow barn. This time I've got the whole mountain to hide on. I'll see you down there for lunch. I'm going to have an enormous Bratwurst and an orange soda.” His voice was calm. He looked at her patiently.
“I'll do it,” said Leni. “It's my turn.”
Otto shook his head vigorously. “It's not about turns, Leni, you know that. It's about her. Giving her the best chance. I thought you'd made that clear a while ago.” He could see that at last his words had hit home. “We're wasting time now. You know there's no other way.”
Finally Leni nodded and took Angelika's hand. “He's right.”
Angelika looked as if she might cry.
“Take this,” Leni said. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the remaining grenade.
“I was hoping it might be chocolate,” said Otto.
“No such luck,” she smiled tightly back at him. That moment when Otto had scolded her for a Fry's wrapper seemed such a long time ago.
“You keep the gun and grenade. Just in case.” He leant forward and gave Angelika a tight hug. “Angelika, there's something I have to tell Leni, in private.”
“You mean like a secret?”
“Yes, sort of.”
Angelika nodded and moved away.
Otto lowered his voice to a whisper. “Have you thought where you'll take her?” He didn't say the words “if I don't make it down”, but he could see Leni knew that was what he meant.
“Then we're agreed. We won't hand her over to MacPherson.” Leni searched Otto's face.
“Yes, we're agreed.” Otto said it firmly.
“I've been thinking, I've got some distant relations in Switzerland, in Berne. It's not too far from here. Cousins on my mother's side. I'm sure they would help us.”
Otto nodded. “That sounds a good idea. Yes, that really does.” He smiled at the idea of Angelika living with a Jewish family. No one would ever think of looking for her there. Perhaps he'd even live to visit. “Be careful,” he added quickly, and then he was on his feet and moving away.
“Wait!” said Leni, but he was already out of sight.
Angelika hurried back over. “He didn't say goodbye,” she said.
“That's because he's meeting us later for lunch, remember?”
Angelika nodded. Then she smiled. “I know what secret he told you.”
“Oh, really? And what's that?”
“He told you he's in love with you, didn't he?”
Leni looked at Angelika, so sure she knew the truth.
“Something like that.”
“Do you love him?”
Leni dropped the grenade back into her pocket.
“Now that's my secret, isn't it?” she said.
CHAPTER 48
WHITE KNUCKLES
MacPherson hurried as fast as he could down the main street of Davos without drawing attention to himself. In an ideal world he would have been sprinting, barging everyone out of the way, racing flat out for the waiting Rolls-Royce. But it had been worth the stop. He'd got more accurate information from his contact in Berne. The Germans had landed troops on the south side of Piz Buin, a well-known mountain peak right on the border, not far from the town. He wrenched the door to the rear of the limousine open and dived in.
“Piz Buin? How long?” he yelled. Durand had already started the engine.
“Leave it with me, sir,” she said simply, and the car rocketed forward, barrelling down the street. Less than thirty minutes later the car had climbed high up into the hills, MacPherson feeling more nauseous than he did on the roughest of seas.
They reached a fork in the road. The Rolls-Royce hit the humpback bridge just before it and flew majestically through the air for at least twenty metres. It smashed down on the rutted track, chrome hubcaps exploding off the wheels.
“Over there!” MacPherson barked, pointing at the Stork parked in the meadow about a kilometre away. He had recognised it immediately as a German plane.
Seconds later the car had demolished a five-bar gate and was careening across the meadow, slipping and sliding on the morning dew. MacPherson clung on to the straps stitched into the ceiling lining as the car bounced over the grass, the engine roaring.
Durand slammed on the brakes and the big car slewed to a halt, hurling MacPherson into the rosewood dashboard for the final time.
“Well done, Durand,” he managed to say, as a cloud of fine dust enveloped the Rolls. A thin trail of steam was hissing from the radiator. MacPherson threw open his door and staggered out, making for the car's boot.
He grabbed one of the Thompson machine guns before scooping up a couple of magazines. The dust around the car had started to settle.
“Looks like my source was correct.” MacPherson slapped a magazine into the gun and racked the slide. The plane itself was empty.
“So it would seem.” Durand had lit a cigarette and was smoking it fast. MacPherson handed her one of the Thompsons and she flicked the cigarette away, the dead weight of the machine gun requiring both hands.
“I've shot plenty of birds in my time, but I've never downed a Stork. Care to join me?” He glanced at the young woman. “Safety catch on the side there, flick it down to ‘A’.”
Durand raised her eyebrows. She had already done it.
MacPherson nodded ruefully. “Ladies first,” he said.
Durand pulled the trigger. A fifteen-centimetre tongue of fire spat from the end of the barrel, empty brass bullet casings fountaining out of the side of the gun. MacPherson opened up with his own gun, hitting the canopy, the engine covering and then – bingo! – the fuel tank. A satisfyingly large explosion enveloped the plane and it split in two, its wings folding up and inwards. Within a couple of minutes the whole thing had been consumed by flames. Only the crumpled steel tubing of the frame was left. A column of black oily smoke rose up in the morning air.
“Golly,” said Durand. “Looks like it's the long way home for someone.”
MacPherson glanced up at the mountain. It was time to get this girl.
CHAPTER 49
TRICKED
Heydrich stared down through his binoculars to the valley below. His plane was now a smouldering wreck and two armed people were making their way up the mountain. Clearly the children's welcome party had arrived. That could make things a little more difficult if he didn't find them soon.
“Who are they?” asked Straniak, anxiously.
“I would have thought, given your ability, Herr Straniak, that you would have told me that, not the other way round.”
Heydrich was tired of the man. Since his initial pinpointing of the children in that hamlet he had singly failed to find them again with his stupid pendulum. Straniak had protested that he could do nothing if they were buried under seven metres of snow but Heydrich was not convinced. The man was a fraud who had been lucky once, he thought. And yet, Heydrich had caught the man staring at him strangely when he thought Heydrich wasn't looking. Almost as though he knew something about him – about what the future might hold. Remembering Straniak's strange reaction when they had first shaken hands, a chill went through him, like a shadow over his grave.
A small rockfall showered down on them. Heydrich dodged the stones bouncing past his head and looked back up the mountain. For an instant he caught a flash of a Hitler-Jugend shirt. It had to be the boy. He, at least, was alive. It was incredible.
“Up there, to the right!” he shouted to Müller, who opened fire, bullets ricocheting off the rocks.
“Come on!” Heydrich was galvanised into action. “They can't outrun us . . .”
He flew up the track. Behind him, Straniak stopped. Heydrich continued to climb. He didn't need the mystic any more. But his wounded leg was aching badly now. Behind him Müller was huffing and puffing from the thinner air. He was m
ore used to the police and Gestapo offices of Berlin than the Alps. Rocks continued to bounce and fall towards them. The children were obviously hoping one might hit them. It was clearly the only weapon they had left, but they were right – a blow from even a small stone dropped from a height could be deadly.
He climbed for another five minutes, then noticed that the rocks had stopped falling towards them. He stopped and listened. He could hear nothing. Wait, there was something, very faint. A man's voice. Straniak's. He climbed on to a large boulder and looked down the mountain with his binoculars. Sure enough, there was Straniak frantically waving his spotted handkerchief and gesticulating wildly with his other arm. He was jabbing downwards.
Heydrich swore as he realised he'd been doublecrossed. Then he saw the boy's head below them, just for an instant.
“Down!” he yelled at Muller just as he reached him, panting. “We go down!”
“What?” said Muller.
Heydrich started scrambling over the loose rocks, anxious not to lose his balance and fall. A sprained ankle would finish the chase once and for all.
Within ten minutes he had got back down to Straniak, sweat pouring down his face, flecks of spit at the corners of his mouth.
“Are you certain?”
“The pendulum cannot lie,” Straniak said, pompously.
Heydrich shook his head, tired of this man's pseudomysticism. “Well, if it does, I shall leave you on this mountain.” He glanced up at Müller still stumbling over the rocks and boulders. “Keep up, Müller! We can still catch them.”
CHAPTER 50
ROPE BRIDGE
“Why are you stopping? Are you hurt?” Leni called back.
“Otto,” Angelika said. “What about Otto?”
Leni felt the question like a stab to her heart. They'd both heard the machine-gun fire up the mountain. They'd found the dead farmers on the track. Leni had even had the presence of mind to grab one of their rifles. And Leni knew if Heydrich caught them they would be dead, too.
“Angelika . . .”
“We have to wait for him.” Angelika insisted.
They had reached a rope bridge. It was a typical Alpine arrangement of four strong plaited ropes, two at the bottom supporting the wooden foot planks and two at the top as a hand rail. Vertical ropes were attached between top and bottom to act as spindles. It looked solid but didn't feel it, swaying and bouncing as they made their way across. Angelika stopped as they reached the other side.
“We can't, Angelika. Not this time. We have to get you to safety first. Then I'll go back, I promise.”
“It'll be too late by then.”
“I'm sorry, but it's what Otto would want us to do,” Leni said.
“You don't know that. You're just saying it to make yourself feel better.”
The longer we're together, the more that girl can read me like a book, Leni thought.
“All right,” she snapped.
“What do you suggest we do?” “What about that?” She pointed to the grenade clipped to Leni's belt. “We have to try, Leni. We have to.”
Leni knew, in her heart, that she couldn't leave the mountain without Otto. Not after all they had been through together in the last forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours. It felt like an eternity.
“All right. Quickly now.” She led Angelika off the track. Once out of sight, Leni dropped the farmer's rifle, then pulled off one of her shoes and removed her sock. It was made of thick wool and she bit the top of it, breaking the yarn. Carefully she started to unravel it. “Make a ball,” she said to Angelika, who picked up the end of the strand and started to wrap it around itself.
More shots rang out. They would have to hurry. Leni looked up the mountain and prayed that Otto was still alive.
CHAPTER 51
CLOSING IN
Higher up the track, Otto was trying to stay ahead of his pursuers. He'd fallen over three or four times, each tumble skinning a knee or elbow. The hand Heydrich had stabbed was on fire and swollen. His head hurt, his mouth was dust dry and he thought the little finger on his good hand might be broken. It was bent at a funny angle. Funny, too, because Otto couldn't for the life of him remember how he had done it. At least it wasn't his trigger finger.
Coming across the dead farmers had been a nasty shock but, like Leni, he'd scooped up the remaining hunting rifle. It was slung over his back now as he ran, and it thumped against his shoulder blades, adding another facet to the pain he was already suffering. As he rounded the last bend he saw the rope bridge ahead.
Otto willed himself forward, trying to put on an extra spurt of speed to make it across before Heydrich and the others caught him. Machine-gun fire rattled out behind him, bullets fizzing past his head. The next round would probably hit him. But he was determined to make it to the bridge.
A searing pain punched into his left calf, throwing him off his feet. He hit the ground with his shoulder and rolled. There was a fair-sized boulder to his left and he crawled behind it. He unslung the rifle, then hazarded a look down at the injury. A bullet had channelled through his calf muscle, and blood was pouring out. He ignored the wound for a moment, letting the blood run into his boot, and instead pressed the rifle's butt into his left shoulder and stared down the barrel. A flash of black uniform appeared, and he fired. Returning fire sent him ducking back down. His whole body was hurting.
He worked the bolt on the rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and feeding another into the breach. He'd have to abandon any hope of crossing the bridge now and try to hold them where he was for as long as he could. He wondered how many shots there were in the magazine. Not many, that was for sure. He popped up and fired again. A burst of machine-gun fire came back. He would be the first to run out of ammunition. He should probably save the last bullet for himself. He ejected the magazine to check. There was only one bullet. This was it. The blood was squelching in his boot, thick and viscous. If he tried to run with this leg he wouldn't get five metres before he was mown down.
“Put down your weapon!” Heydrich's voice cut through the mountain air.
Otto shook his head. Never. The only question was this: was it better to be shot in the back or to do the job himself? He turned the rifle round and looked at the dull black little hole. He could smell the cordite as he rested his forehead against the end of the barrel. He leant forward and put his left thumb on the trigger, his bandaged right hand holding the muzzle against his head. It was a bit of a stretch. About a kilo of pressure on the trigger and oblivion. He heard the crunch of boots on the path. They were close.
And then, before he realised what he was doing, he was on his feet, the rifle tossed aside, running and hopping down the path to the rope bridge. Behind came gunshots but no sledgehammer punch into his back, just the hornet's buzz of bullets as they passed his head. He pumped his arms as hard as he could. He was going to make it. Then he was shoved violently forward and he sprawled on to the hard ground, skinning his left eyebrow. A second later, a boot was on the nape of his neck, pinioning him down.
“You have gone as far as you will ever go, Munich boy,” said Heydrich.
Otto wiped at the blood running into his left eye and stared ahead. The rope bridge was only twenty metres away. He felt like crying. Then realised he was.
CHAPTER 52
ENDGAME
Leni and Angelika were well hidden but still had a clear view of what had happened. Leni had the hunting rifle against her shoulder, the foresight dancing over Heydrich's black uniform. He had leant down and dragged Otto up to his feet. By his hair. Leni wanted to scream out, even more so when she saw Otto's bloody face and leg.
“Shoot! Shoot!” Angelika urged Leni. “What are you waiting for?”
Leni took a breath, the way she'd been taught, to steady the heavy rifle. She tried to keep the sight fixed on Heydrich's torso but her vision was too blurry. It was impossible to get a clear shot. The range was well over two hundred metres and now Otto was stumbling along in front of Heydrich. She knew if she fired
she'd just as likely blow Otto's head off.
Heydrich was walking him slowly towards the bridge. What was he going to do?
“I can't shoot, Angelika, my eyes aren't good enough.” “Let me do it,” said Angelika.
Leni looked at her. “Do you know what you're saying?” The girl looked back gravely, then nodded.
“Angelika . . .”
“Let me do it. I can see clearly. He's going to kill Otto.” “Are you sure”? Leni was wavering still.
“I don't care if it's a bad thing. Saving Otto is all that matters to me.”
Leni nodded. Everything seemed unreal now. Only survival mattered. “All right, but I'll help you.”
She rose to her knees and lifted the rifle on to her right shoulder. Angelika got behind her and pressed the butt into her shoulder as hard as she could.
“Line up the sights, then wrap your finger round the trigger and squeeze.”
Angelika looked down the barrel. Leni could hear her suck in her breath. A moment passed, then the rifle jumped up from Leni's shoulder.
The bullet hit the silver Totenkopf badge on Heydrich's peaked cap and tore the hat clean off his head.
He pulled Otto into the side of the rock face, his arm around the boy's neck, the muzzle of his pistol jammed against his temple. “So you're still here!” he yelled. “Excellent.”
Leni pushed the rifle to one side. She looked at Angelika. “You nearly got him, well done,” she said, but she couldn't hide her disappointment. It had been their best chance of saving Otto. Angelika looked crestfallen.
“What are you doing here?” Otto called out, his voice cracking. Heydrich clipped his ear with the pistol barrel and he yelped.
“Your friend raises a good point. Why are you here? I hope it is not misplaced loyalty.”
Leni and Angelika didn't move a muscle as Heydrich, with Otto now pulled tight in front of him, stepped out from his cover and approached the bridge. He shoved Otto on to the first tread. The bridge swayed slightly.
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