by Jack Higgins
He pulled her into his arms, holding her against him, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of a car slowing down in the road.
She tried to pull away from him and said gently, “I think we’d better go now, Paul. That sounds like Sir George.”
He tried to bring her back into his arms, but she braced herself to resist him, hard and unyielding. After a moment, he shrugged and released her. She turned without a word, and he followed her out of the hunting lodge and through the trees toward the road.
CHAPTER 12
They drove very fast on the way back to Hamburg. Anna huddled in a corner of the rear seat, eyes closed, while Chavasse and Sir George talked.
“You’ll never know how much I appreciate this,” Chavasse said.
Sir George snorted. “Rubbish, my dear fellow. As I told you before, I’m glad to help. I must say you look rather the worse for wear.”
Chavasse grinned. “I’m afraid I haven’t been mixing in very friendly company.”
“Any new developments in the Bormann affair?”
Chavasse nodded. “I’ve managed to find out that Bormann himself died several months ago. As for the manuscript, apparently Muller’s sister has it.”
“Have you got a line on her?” Sir George said.
“I’m afraid not,” Chavasse told him. “In any case, there are more important things to worry about at the moment. I’d like you to drop Miss Hartmann at her apartment first, then we’ll carry on to the Atlantic. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging to meet a German intelligence man in your suite. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not in the least,” Sir George said. “Things must be getting warm if you’ve decided to call in the Germans.”
Chavasse nodded. “This is something else I’ve uncovered and some extremely big people are involved. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I can’t discuss it with you until I’ve seen this man from German intelligence. It’s really something which directly concerns them.”
“I quite understand,” Sir George said cheerfully. “After all, the formalities must be observed and Continentals are always so damned touchy. Just remember, I’m always willing to do everything I can.” He sighed. “I shall be sorry when it’s time to go home, Chavasse. I’ve rather enjoyed this little trip.”
Chavasse eased his aching body into a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes and thought about Anna and what she had said. Was it really true? Was he in fact a sort of twentieth-century mercenary who enjoyed the game for its own sake? There was no answer. He wasn’t even sure that to be that kind of man was such a bad thing.
He was still thinking about it when they entered the outskirts of Hamburg. Sir George drove straight into the center, crossed the Alster by the Lombardsbrucke, and Chavasse directed him from there. It was almost a quarter to six when they turned into the quiet side street and halted outside Anna’s apartment.
She was still dozing when Chavasse got out of the car and opened the rear door. When he touched her arm, she opened her eyes at once and gazed blankly at him, and then she smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.”
She turned to Sir George. “May I add my thanks to Paul’s? I don’t know what we’d have done without your help.”
He held her hand for a moment, admiration on his face. “You’re an extremely courageous young woman. It’s been a pleasure and a privilege to serve you.”
She colored deeply and got out of the car without saying anything, and Chavasse walked to the door with her. “I want you to sit tight until I come back,” he said. “It might be late, because I’ve got to get this Hauptmann business sorted out.”
She suddenly looked very tired. “I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to.”
He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “That’s just something on account. Once all this is settled, we’re going to have a serious talk about the future—understand?”
She was too tired to argue. “If you like, Paul.”
She went up the steps to the front door. As she opened it, she turned and smiled and the smile seemed to get right inside him, filling him with an aching longing to hold her in his arms. For a moment or two, he stayed there staring up at the door after she had closed it, and then he went back to the car.
“A very remarkable young woman,” Sir George said as they drove away. “Pretty into the bargain.”
“She’s all that and more,” Chavasse told him.
Sir George smiled. “Do I detect a hint of romance in the air?”
Chavasse nodded. “I certainly hope so. I intend to get out of this game altogether when this Bormann affair is satisfactorily concluded.”
“Very sensible,” Sir George said approvingly. “You can’t last forever.”
It was a sobering thought. Chavasse considered some of the people he had known during his five years with the Bureau. It was a universal human failing to think that you were cleverer than the next man or that it couldn’t happen to you.
But how many intelligent, resourceful people had he known who had failed to return from one assignment or another? One of these days it would be his turn, because sooner or later, everybody made a mistake. It was sound logic to get out while he was still ahead of the game. He was still thinking about it when they reached the Atlantic.
Sir George had a suite on the second floor of the hotel. As they went up in the elevator, he glanced at his watch anxiously. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you on your own to meet this German intelligence chap. I’ve got an appointment for seven. I’ve hardly got time to change into evening clothes.”
A thought suddenly occurred to Chavasse and he said, “Are you going to this reception that Kurt Nagel is giving for the delegates?”
Sir George raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s right. How did you know?”
“I read about it,” Chavasse told him.
“I think the conference as a whole owes its success to Nagel more than to any other man,” Sir George said as he unlocked the door of his suite. “Do you know anything about him?”
Chavasse shook his head. “I can’t say I do, but then I’ve been rather out of touch with the German scene until these last few days.”
Sir George told him to help himself to a drink, and disappeared into the bedroom. Chavasse examined the bottles on the side of the table, poured a brandy, took a cigarette from a silver box, and settled into a comfortable chair. He was about to pick up a newspaper when the telephone rang.
When he lifted the receiver, he recognized Anna’s voice at once. She sounded excited. “Paul, is that you?”
“What is it?” he demanded. “Has something happened?”
“About ten minutes ago, the porter brought a package up to my apartment,” she said. “It was delivered by mail this morning. When I removed the outer wrapper, I found it contained a letter and another sealed package.”
With a sudden elation, he knew what the answer to his next question would be before he put it to her. “Let me guess—the letter was from Katie Holdt.”
“Right first time,” Anna told him. “She says that she’s had to go away for a while and asks me to look after the package for her. Obviously, my time at the Taj Mahal wasn’t wasted after all. If I read or hear of anything happening to her, I’m to post the package to the authorities at Bonn.”
“Needless to say, you’ve already opened it,” Chavasse said.
She laughed. “Of course I have. Bormann’s handwriting covers more than four hundred closely packed pages. It should make very interesting reading. Shall I bring it over?”
“No, sit tight where you are,” he said. “I’ve still got this Hauptmann business to handle. Von Kraul hasn’t arrived yet. I’ll be with you as soon as I can possibly make it. In the meantime, you have that sleep you were talking about.”
She chuckled. “Nothing doing. I’ve never felt so wide awake in my life. I intend to curl up on the sofa with a good book until you get back.”
He replaced the receiver
and turned to find Sir George standing just inside the room, adjusting his bow tie. “Presumably, that wasn’t for me?” he said.
Chavasse shook his head. “It was Anna. Believe it or not, the manuscript has turned up.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Sir George said. “How did that happen?”
Chavasse explained about Katie Holdt. “I suppose she got into a panic and decided to clear out for a while. Leaving the manuscript with Anna would seem like good insurance against being killed by the opposition if they caught up with her. She could always pull the old bluff about the authorities getting the manuscript automatically if anything happened to her.”
“Yes, I suppose that explains it.” Sir George pulled on his overcoat and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to go to this damned affair just when things are getting exciting. I hope you’ll let me have a peep at the manuscript before it goes to the authorities.”
“I think we can manage that all right,” Chavasse told him.
“Well, I really must rush,” Sir George said. “Don’t be afraid to ring room service for anything you need.”
When he had gone, Chavasse poured himself another drink. He was filled with a feeling of tremendous exhilaration. The job was as good as finished. Getting the manuscript back to London was simply a matter of routine. There only remained the Hauptmann affair. Admittedly, it would have to be handled by German intelligence, but he still had a deep personal interest in seeing that Steiner and Nagel got what was coming to them. At that moment, a buzzer sounded sharply and he crossed to the door and opened it.
The man who faced him looked to be in his early fifties. He carried a walking stick in one hand and was wearing a dark blue overcoat with a fur collar. His face was round and benign, the flesh pouching a little beneath the eyes and chin as if from overeating. The rimless spectacles completed the picture of a reasonably average-looking German businessman. Only the eyes, shrewd and calculating and never still, gave him away to the trained observer.
“Herr Chavasse, I believe?” he said in German. “I am Colonel von Kraul.”
“How did you recognize me?” Chavasse said as he closed the door after the German had entered.
Von Kraul sat down in one of the easy chairs. “We have a dossier on you in our files. I’ve heard a lot about you. That’s why I came at once after our mutual friend spoke to me from London on the telephone. I trust I haven’t wasted my time.”
“You can judge for yourself,” Chavasse said grimly. “How important would you say Heinrich Hauptmann is to the future of Germany?”
Von Kraul was lighting a long, black cheroot. He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then continued with what he was doing. When the cheroot was burning to his liking, he said, “Hauptmann? No man is indispensable. But in German politics at the present time, Hauptmann comes closer to it than anyone else I know.”
“He’s going to be assassinated at nine-fifteen tonight,” Chavasse said.
For a long moment, von Kraul gazed steadily at him, and then he sighed and looked at his watch. “It is precisely seven o’clock. That gives us two and a quarter hours, Herr Chavasse. I suggest you tell me all you know as quickly as possible.”
Chavasse got to his feet. “Do you know a man called Kurt Nagel?”
“The steel magnate?” Von Kraul nodded. “A very well-known figure in Hamburg life. He’s extremely wealthy and a great philanthropist. As a matter of fact, he’s giving a reception tonight for the peace conference delegates.”
“To which Hauptmann has also been invited to make a speech,” Chavasse said.
For the first time, von Kraul’s calm deserted him. “Are you trying to tell me that Nagel has something to do with this business?”
Chavasse nodded. “He’s a key man in the Nazi underground. I don’t know how large his organization is, but I can tell you who his two right-hand men are. A physician named Kruger, who runs a clinic in Blankenese, and a Hamburg police inspector named Steiner.”
Von Kraul got to his feet and walked across to the table on which the bottles were standing, and poured himself a large brandy with a steady hand. He drank it down in one easy swallow and then stared reflectively into the empty glass. “From anyone else, I would have regarded such a story with incredulity. It is lucky for you, mein Herr, that your name is Paul Chavasse.”
“Lucky for Hauptmann, you mean,” Chavasse said.
Von Kraul went back to his chair. “How exactly does the killing take place?”
Chavasse closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the room in the castle at Berndorf in which Muller had died. It was an old trick and one that had served him well in the past. “I’ll try to remember Nagel’s exact instructions,” he said, and after a moment, started to speak.
When he had finished, von Kraul sat in the chair, hands folded across the handle of his walking stick, and gazed at the opposite wall. After a while, he said, “Steiner will be there on his own. You are sure of that?”
Chavasse nodded. “That’s the essence of the whole plan—simplicity.”
“And a simple plan may be thwarted just as simply,” von Kraul said. “Is that not logic, Herr Chavasse?”
“What do you have in mind?”
Von Kraul shrugged. “I was thinking that we do not want an unsavory scandal, particularly one which suggested that the Nazis were still active and powerful. Such things are meat and drink to our Communist friends.”
“I’ll go that far with you,” Chavasse said, “but where does it get us?”
“To the grounds of Herr Nagel’s house at Blankenese,” von Kraul said. “It seems to me that two determined men could handle this affair. Are you interested?”
Chavasse got to his feet, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re too damned right I’m interested.”
“Then I suggest we be on our way.”
As he stood, Von Kraul said, “You know, there are considerable gaps in your story, and I am a man with a naturally tidy mind. I would be very interested in knowing how you first became involved with Nagel and his friends.”
Chavasse was in the act of pulling on the hunting jacket he had taken from the inn at Berndorf, and he smiled. “Now, surely you know better than to ask me a thing like that, Colonel?”
Von Kraul sighed. “After all, we are supposed to be allies. How much simpler it would be if we were completely frank with each other.” He held open the door. “Shall we go?”
His car was a black Porsche, and he handled it more than competently as they moved through the heavy traffic in the center of the city and crossed the Alster by the Lombardsbrucke.
Chavasse glanced at his watch. It was just after seven-thirty, and he turned to his companion and said, “How long will it take us to reach Nagel’s place?”
Von Kraul said, “Twenty minutes, perhaps even thirty. Certainly not longer.”
Chavasse made a quick decision. “I’d like to call in on a friend, if you don’t mind. Just to let her know I’ll be a little later than I said.”
Von Kraul chuckled. “A woman, eh? Will it take long?”
Chavasse shook his head. “Only a couple of minutes, I promise you, and it’s on our way.”
Von Kraul made no further comment after Chavasse gave him the address, and they continued in silence through the busy streets.
It was a fine autumn evening and the rain had stopped. Chavasse lowered the window and lit a cigarette, feeling suddenly content. Every so often he had a feeling that things were running his way, that the job was going to get finished in exactly the way he wanted.
When the Porsche braked to a halt in front of the apartment house where Anna lived, he got out feeling absurdly happy and grinned through the side window at von Kraul. “I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
Von Kraul smiled, the cheroot still between his teeth. “Take your time, my friend. Within reason, of course.”
He went up the stairs two at a time and rang Anna’s bell and waited, humming to himself. There was no immediate reply, and
after a moment or two he rang the bell again. Still there was no reply. He tried to open the door, but it was locked and he frowned and pressed the bell-push again, holding his thumb in place for several seconds this time, thinking that perhaps she might be in the bath.
It was only then that he felt afraid. He hammered several times on the door and called her name, but there was no reply and he became aware of the peculiar silence that reigned throughout the entire house.
He went downstairs quickly and knocked on the door of the caretaker’s apartment in the hall. At first nothing happened, and he kicked the bottom of the door savagely, and then he heard slow reluctant footsteps approaching.
The door opened a little and the caretaker peered out. “Yes, mein Herr, what is it?”
“Miss Hartmann,” Chavasse said. “The young woman upstairs. I can’t get any reply.”
The caretaker was a middle-aged man with watery blue eyes and a pouched and wrinkled face. He shrugged. “That is not surprising, mein Herr. Fraulein Hartmann went out nearly an hour ago.”
Chavasse rammed his shoulder against the door with such force that the caretaker was sent staggering across the room to crash into the opposite wall. There was a cry of alarm as Chavasse followed him in, and a gray-haired woman shrank back in her chair, a hand covering her mouth.
Chavasse grabbed the terrified caretaker by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. “You’re lying!” he said. “I happen to know that nothing on earth would make her leave her apartment at this particular moment.” He slapped the man backhanded across the face. “Where is she?”
The man’s head rolled from side to side helplessly. “I can’t tell you, mein Herr. It’s as much as my life’s worth.”
Chavasse slapped him again, viciously and with all his strength. The woman flung herself across the room and tugged at his arm. “Leave him alone. I’ll tell you what you want to know, only don’t hit him any more. He’s a sick man. He was wounded at Stalingrad.”