by Jack Higgins
Hardt stopped the Volkswagen a few yards beyond the gate of the next house and switched off the engine. He turned to Anna. “I want you to wait for us here. With luck, we should be in and out within twenty minutes.”
She nodded calmly. “And if you are not?”
Chavasse, who was getting out of the car, said grimly, “If we aren’t back by ten o’clock, you get out of here—and fast.”
She seemed about to protest, but Hardt broke in and said gently, “He’s right, Anna. There’s no point in your being dragged down with us. If anything happens, return to the flat and get in touch with London. They’ll know what to do.”
Chavasse could feel her eyes imploring him to turn and look at her, but some stubborn impulse kept him walking steadily back along the pavement, and in through the gates of the empty house. There was no sound, only the slight rustle of the wind through half-bare trees, and Hardt pushed him forward.
There was a decaying summer house set against the dividing wall, and Chavasse hoisted himself up onto its roof and peered cautiously over into the grounds of the clinic.
The top of the wall was covered with concrete in which hundreds of pieces of broken glass had been set, and he tested them gingerly with his fingertips. Hardt moved up beside him and quickly draped several old sacks across a section of the wall. “I found these in the summer house when I was nosing around this afternoon,” he whispered.
They could see the windows of the lounge running toward the front to the house, and heard a sudden burst of laughter from the patients who were watching the film. “Sounds as if they’re enjoying it,” Chavasse said. “Are you ready?”
Hardt nodded, and Chavasse placed one hand lightly on the thick padding of the sacks and vaulted over the wall. He landed knee-deep in dead leaves, and a moment later Hardt was beside him.
They moved across the lawn, keeping under the trees, and approached the door to the boiler house. Chavasse listened intently at the door for a moment, and then opened it easily and quickly and moved inside, hands ready. There was no one there.
He moved on without speaking, through the opposite door and along a narrow stone passage. Facing him was another door. When he opened it, the room was in darkness. His groping hand found the switch and turned it on. The cellar was full of laundry baskets and facing him was the entrance to the service elevator.
Chavasse examined it quickly. It was simple enough to operate and he turned to Hardt, who had followed him in, and said, “I’ve been thinking. We’ll do better if we take one floor each. You take the first floor, I’ll take the second, if you like.”
Hardt nodded without saying anything. He took out the Beretta automatic and checked the action. Chavasse said, “Without a silencer, that thing’s worse than useless on a job like this. If you do meet anyone and use it, you’ll have the entire household breathing down our necks.”
Hardt said, “What do you suggest I do—raise my hands and go quietly?”
Chavasse grinned. “I could tell you, but we haven’t the time now.” He pushed Hardt into the elevator and followed him. A moment later, the doors closed silently and they were rising.
He pressed the button for the first floor and they came to a halt. He turned to Hardt and whispered, “Let’s hope there’s no one in the corridor.”
The doors slid open and he peered out. The corridor was deserted and he pushed Hardt forward without a word and quickly pressed the button for the second floor.
He was beginning to enjoy himself and the old, familiar elation lifted inside him. It was a feeling he could not analyze successfully. He only knew that it existed, that at the bottom of things it was what made him continue to lead the kind of life he did, and that it would be impossible to explain to anybody—even Anna.
The elevator came to a halt, the doors opened silently, and he stepped into the corridor. Everything was still and he hesitated, undecided on which way to go, and then he shrugged and turned to his left.
He checked two rooms cautiously, in each case listening outside the door before opening it. The occupants were obviously downstairs enjoying the film. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost a quarter to ten. There wasn’t much time left. At that moment, he heard someone singing as they came down the attic stairs at the far end of the corridor. He moved quickly to the next door, opened it, and went inside, closing it behind him.
The room was in darkness, and when he switched on the light he found that he was standing in a linen cupboard. He opened the door slightly and peered out.
The singer was a young girl in a starched apron and cap. She went into each bedroom in turn, reappearing again within a moment or two. He decided she must be a chambermaid and was probably turning down the beds.
She paused outside the door that was next to the linen cupboard and adjusted her blond hair. She was extremely pretty, with blue eyes, red pouting lips, and rounded cheeks. She went into the bedroom, and he closed the door of the linen cupboard and waited for her to pass.
CHAPTER 8
Remembering it afterward, he could not be sure who was the more surprised when she opened the door and found him.
She stood there, one hand raised to the bun at the nape of her neck, the other still on the handle of the door, and her eyes went round with astonishment.
As she opened her mouth to cry out, Chavasse did the only possible thing. He pulled her forward and kissed her, crushing his mouth fiercely against hers, at the same time closing the door with his free hand.
At first she struggled, and he held her fast in his arms and continued to kiss her. And then she relaxed quite suddenly and her softness seemed to melt into him as her hands came up and linked behind his neck.
After a while, he moved his head back a little and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be frightened, liebling. I won’t hurt you.”
“That seems obvious enough,” she said, and laughter seemed to bubble over in her voice. “Who are you, mein Herr, a burglar?”
He shook his head. “Nothing quite so romantic, I’m afraid.”
“I know,” she said. “You’ve secretly admired me for months and tonight you finally plucked up enough courage to declare yourself.”
Chavasse stifled an insane desire to laugh out loud. “What’s your name, liebling?”
“Gisela,” she said. “I’m one of the maids here.”
“Maybe you can help me,” he said. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was brought here early this morning in an ambulance from the Hauptbahnhof.”
“That’ll be the one in number twelve on the first floor,” she said. “They keep him locked in his room. Karl, the chief nurse, says he’s really mad, that one.”
“That’s the whole trouble,” Chavasse told her. “I don’t happen to think he is, but they won’t let me in to see him. That’s why I decided to try the more unconventional approach.”
She looked up at him critically. “You know, you’re rather handsome in your own particular way.”
“That’s what all the girls say,” he told her, and reached for the door handle.
She pulled him back, and sliding one arm up around his neck, kissed him full on the mouth. As he gently disengaged himself, she said hopefully, “I’ll be off duty at eleven-thirty. I’m on late shift this week.”
“Sorry, Gisela,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I’ve got to see my friend before the film ends. Number twelve, I think you said.”
As he moved out into the corridor, she whispered softly, “Whatever you do, watch out for Karl. He’s a terrible brute when he gets going.”
He walked quickly along the corridor and started to move downstairs to the first floor. There were only ten minutes left in which to finish this thing and as he turned the corner into the corridor, he wondered how Hardt was getting on. He soon found out.
The door to number twelve stood open, and from inside he heard Steiner’s voice and it was not pleasant.
“I am really quite disappointed,” he was saying. “I had hoped to see our mutual
friend, Herr Chavasse, but for the moment you will do. I am sorry Herr Muller isn’t here to greet you personally, but don’t let that worry you. I think I can safely say you’ll be seeing him before much longer. Now turn, hands high, and move out into the corridor.”
Chavasse moved three steps up the staircase and waited, his body flat against the wall. Hardt was the first to cross his line of vision, hands held above his head, and then Steiner moved into view. He was holding a Mauser with a bulbous barrel that acted as an effective silencer. It was a relic of the war years and much used by German counterintelligence.
Chavasse said, “Steiner!” As the big German swore and turned toward him, he kicked the Mauser from his hand. It hit the wall and fell onto the bottom step. As Steiner reached for it, Hardt chopped him across the back of the neck and he slumped forward on to his face.
Chavasse jumped down into the corridor, and Hardt gave him a warning cry as a man in a white jacket moved out of the open door of room number twelve and launched himself forward.
He must have been at least six and a half feet tall, with a scarred, hairless head and a face out of a nightmare. As Chavasse tried to duck, hands reached out and fastened around his throat.
Remembering Gisela’s warning, Chavasse decided this must be the terrible Karl. He allowed himself to go limp, and spit in the German’s face. Karl instinctively released his hold, and Chavasse lifted his knee into the man’s crotch.
Karl grunted with pain, but kept on his feet. His left arm lashed out, smashing Hardt against the wall, and with his right arm he reached for Chavasse. Chavasse twisted the arm around in a shoulder lock, exerting all his strength, and Karl screamed. Still keeping that terrible hold in position, Chavasse ran him forward along the corridor toward the head of the stairs. A few feet from the rail, he released the arm and kicked the German with all his force behind the left knee. Karl went headfirst over the wrought-iron rail of the landing.
As his body crunched against the marble floor of the hall, the doors of the lounge were thrown open and a woman screamed. Chavasse paused long enough to retrieve Steiner’s automatic from the floor. Hardt was already at the end of the corridor, pressing the button for the elevator.
As Chavasse arrived, the doors opened and they jumped inside. A moment later, they were running through the cellars to the boiler house. Faintly from the interior of the house came the sound of disorder, and they started across the lawn toward the wall.
Behind them, a door was flung open and there was a cry. As Chavasse entered the bushes, he heard the muted report of a silenced automatic. He slipped the Mauser into his pocket and ran on.
When they reached the wall, Hardt cupped his hands into a stirrup and braced himself. Chavasse didn’t argue. He took the offer and jumped for the top of the wall, Hardt pushing him upward.
His hands clawed across the sacking and as he pulled himself over, glass sliced its way through, pain knifing into him in a wave of agony.
He swung himself onto the roof of the summer house, and then turned quickly and leaned across the sack, reaching a hand down to Hardt. Hardt moved a little way back and then ran forward and jumped. Chavasse caught hold of his right wrist and held on.
As Hardt secured a grip on the edge of the wall, there was a crashing through the bushes below and then another muted cough, as the silenced automatic was fired again at point-blank range.
Hardt started to slip. “He’s got me in the shoulder,” he said. For a moment longer, he seemed to make an effort to hang on. Chavasse desperately tried to pull him up, but it was no use. “Get out of here, you fool,” Hardt grunted, and fell.
As he crashed into the bushes below, there was a cry of triumph from his pursuers. Chavasse didn’t wait to hear any more. He jumped down to the ground from the roof of the summer house and staggered through the bushes toward the path.
He turned out of the gates and ran along the pavement, and the pain in his arms was intense. He wrenched open the door of the Volkswagen and slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.
“Let’s get out of here!” he gasped.
Anna turned in alarm. “What about Mark?”
“Don’t argue—just get this thing moving.”
For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to protest, and then she thought better of it and switched on the engine. A few seconds later, they were turning into the main road and she moved into top gear and drove very fast toward the center of Hamburg.
After a while, she said, “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’ve cut my arms getting across the blasted glass-topped wall, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“And Mark?”
He told her what had happened. When he had finished, she said with surprising calm, “How badly do you think he was wounded?”
“He said it was in the shoulder,” Chavasse said. “I don’t think it could have been very serious.”
“And what happens now?” she said.
“I want some first aid for these arms, for one thing.”
“I can manage that all right,” she told him. “I’ve got a first-aid box back at the apartment.”
She drove the rest of the way in silence, and Chavasse lay back against the seat and closed his eyes. What a complete and utter mess the whole thing had been. Since Steiner knew they had talked to Schmidt, it must have been obvious to him that, sooner or later, they would be paying the clinic a visit. And yet what other move could they possibly have made?
He was still thinking about it when the Volkswagen came to a halt and he followed Anna upstairs to her apartment. She switched on the light, and turning to examine him, she gave a gasp of horror.
The sleeves of his jacket were torn in several places and stained with blood. She pulled off her coat and led the way into the bathroom. She took down a first-aid box and made everything ready before she gently eased him out of his jacket and dropped it into the corner.
There were three deep cuts in one arm, four in the other, and he laughed shakily as she bathed them with an antiseptic solution. “You know, it got pretty hot back there. For a while, I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”
She glanced up at him, a strange expression in her eyes. As she cut strips of surgical tape from a large roll, she said quietly, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Paul?”
For a moment, he was going to say no, but the moment passed and he nodded. “I don’t know what it is, but something gets into me. The excitement, I suppose, and the uncertainty of the whole business.”
She sighed heavily and finished taping his arms. “And that’s why you’ll never change.”
He had no time for arguments. He took the surgical scissors from her hand and quickly cut away the bloodstained section of each sleeve of his shirt. “Is there by any chance a spare jacket of Mark’s here?”
She nodded. “Yes, I think so. Shall I get it for you?” He followed her back into the living room. She went into the bedroom and came back with a grey tweed jacket. He pulled it on and buttoned it up. “Rather small, but it will have to do for the moment.”
He went into the bathroom and retrieved the Mauser from the pocket of his bloodstained jacket. Then he returned to the living room and took down, from a peg behind the door, the raincoat and green hat Hardt had originally given him.
As he buttoned the raincoat, Anna said, “Where are you going?”
“To find out what’s happening to Hardt,” he told her. “I’ve got a hunch they’ll be moving him tonight and I’d like to know where.”
She reached for her coat. “I’m coming with you.”
He gently took the coat from her and hung it behind the door. “No, you’re not. It only needs one of us to do a job like this.”
She shrugged. “All right, what do you want me to do?”
He smiled. “Cook me something nice for supper, if you like. I’ll only be an hour or so if I’m lucky.”
She turned away without speaking, and he went out quickly and down to the car. He drove stra
ight back to Blankenese and, parking the Volkswagen around the corner from the clinic, went into the little bar opposite the main gates and ordered a beer.
The place was empty and the proprietor leaned on the zinc-topped bar reading a newspaper. Chavasse moved to the curtained window and stared across at the gates.
As he watched, they were opened wide by a man in uniform and peaked cap. When he had finished his task, he came across the road and entered the bar.
The proprietor smiled and laid down his paper. “Don’t tell me they’re sending you out at this time of night?”
The man in uniform nodded. “Just the sort of thing these bastards are always doing,” he said bitterly. “Give me a packet of cigarettes, will you?”
“Where to this time?” the proprietor of the bar said as he pushed the cigarettes across.
“Berndorf again.” The man snorted. “It’s bad enough on some of those country roads during the day, but at night it’s just impossible.” The door closed behind him with a crash and he moved back across the road and entered the gates.
A few moments later, a heavy ambulance came down the drive and turned into the road. A large, dark car followed close behind. They were obviously taking every precaution against being followed.
Chavasse moved out onto the pavement, considering his next move, and at that moment, Gisela came out of the main gates and crossed the street. She turned the corner into the main road and Chavasse hurried after her. He caught up with her as she drew abreast of the Volkswagen. “Can I offer you a lift?” he said.
She turned in surprise, and then recognition came to her face. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” She moved closer and there was respect in her voice. “What on earth did you do to Karl? They say he’s broken both his legs.”
He smiled and opened the door of the car. “Do you have far to go?”
She shook her head. “Not really—only to Flottbek.”