Faked Passports

by Dennis Wheatley

  “That was a grand thought. Did you manage to secure a plan of the house?”

  “Yes.” Wuolijoki drew a paper from his pocket and spread it out. “The house, as you will see, stands in its own grounds with a drive up to its front but with one of its sides abutting on a lane. The whole garden is surrounded by a wall but, fortunately, out there in the suburbs there will be few people about at this hour of night, so you should have no difficulty in getting in, unseen, over it. The front room on the lane side of the house is used as a dining-room. Behind it are the kitchens. The front room on the garden side of the house is used as an office. The room behind it is a private office also used for conferences, and it is there that you will find the safe.”

  “All right,” said Gregory, taking charge. “Then I shall place the bombs in the lane so that their explosion, which should blow a hole in the wall and set fire to it, will bring everybody running to that side of the house. If they can’t get in unseen at the gate, the rest of the party will come in over the front wall the moment the first bomb goes off and break open a window of the back room on the garden side. I shall rejoin them directly I have placed the bombs. Mr. Suki and I will then enter the house and while he works on the safe I will hold the door with one of the sub-machine-guns. In the meantime the other two will remain in the garden to deal with anybody who comes round the house and protect our retreat. Is that all clear?”

  “It will not do,” Wuolijoki shook his head. “If you place the bombs in the lane they may injure or kill some innocent person who is passing at the time.”

  “They must be on that side of the house,” Gregory insisted, “in order to draw its occupants in that direction and give us a free field on entering the back room; otherwise we should be compelled to start a shooting match at once.”

  “I think Fredeline and I could help you there,” Erika said, glancing at her cousin.

  “No, no,” von Kobenthal protested. “Neither of you must be mixed up in this.”

  “Oh, I’m not suggesting that we should play any part in the burglary or run any risk,” Erika smiled, “but we could stand in the lane about a hundred yards on either side of the bomb, or far enough away to be out of danger; then if either of us saw anyone coming along at the critical moment we could engage them in conversation and keep them with us until the bomb had gone off. We could pretend that we had lost our way—or anything.”

  “Excellent, Frau Gräfin, excellent!” Wuolijoki cried. “In that case the plan is good. Let us set off. I have my car outside so I can drop some of you there and I will wait near-by so that there will be no delay in the Colonel-Baron’s handing the packet to me if he can manage to get it.”

  “We shall want a second car in any case,” von Kobenthal said, “as we ought to have at least one in which we can make a quick get-away.” He glanced at his wife. “We’ll take ours, dearest, and you had better drive. You can park it at the entrance to the lane, stand a few yards from it in case you have to delay a pedestrian for a few moments, then get back into the driver’s seat immediately the bomb has exploded.”

  “Oh, Oscar,” she laughed, “how thrilling! It’s almost like a gangster film, isn’t it?”

  “I wish we were only making a film,” said Erika soberly as she looked across at Gregory.

  They filed out, put on their furs, distributed the weapons and bombs and entered the two cars. Twenty-five minutes later the cars entered a long, lonely road right on the outskirts of the city and drew up a hundred yards short of the house. It was pitch-dark, as a black-out rehearsal was in progress—a piece of unexpected luck which cheered Gregory enormously, since he knew that it would make it much easier for them to get in and out over the garden-wall without being spotted by a patrolling policeman or some civic-minded citizen; which was a part of the operation that had been worrying him considerably.

  Gregory, Charlton, von Kobenthal and Suki got out, and Wuolijoki turned his car round; while Fredeline von Kobenthal drove hers on, with Erika in it, to the corner of the lane. The raiding-party then made an inspection of the front wall, with the aid of a small torch which Suki carried hung round his neck so that when it was on he could work by its light with both hands free.

  The wall was broken only by a single gateway, and this was of solid wood. They tried it, but it was locked, and a long bell-pull that hung beside it indicated that anyone who wanted to get in had to ring for the porter. Gregory directed the other three to climb in over the wall at its furthest point from the lane, where it adjoined another property, and leaving them with a whispered “Good luck”, went along to the corner, where he found Erika waiting for him near Fredeline’s parked car.

  With Erika beside him he proceeded along the lane until they reached the side of the house, which was blank except for its kitchen-entrance. He set down the two bombs and the rifle that he was carrying and took her in his arms. They clung together for a moment, then she drew herself from his embrace and disappeared down the lane in the darkness.

  There was a drift of snow against the wall. Gregory dug down into it for a couple of feet, put the bombs up against the brickwork in the bottom of the hole he had made and released the springs which Wuolijoki had told him would cause them to detonate in sixty seconds. He then began rapidly to tread the snow back on top of them with his foot, knowing that the firmer he could embed them the more shattering the explosion would be. For forty seconds he worked like a maniac, piling up the snow and stamping it down; then, snatching up his automatic rifle, he ran for his life.

  Chapter XV

  Herr Gruppenführer Grauber Wins a Trick

  Stumbling, with every ounce of speed he could muster, through the darkness and the heavy snow that clogged his steps, Gregory had barely covered fifty yards when there was a crash like a six-inch gun behind him, a reverberating roar and the sound of tumbling bricks and mortar. Turning his head he was just in time to glimpse a lurid sheet of flame that seemed to leap right up the wall of the house and, in its glare, he saw a score of brickbats hurtling towards him.

  Next second he had flung himself flat in the drift of snow under the wall of the lane, escaping the pieces of flying brick except for one that caught him on his right foot, which was still outside the shelter angle. Jumping up again, he ran on past Fredeline von Kobenthal, who was standing on the corner, and round it, down the main street, to the extremity of the front garden. The garden wall was not a high one. Slipping one arm through the sling of his automatic rifle he ran up the slope of snow at the foot of the wall, jumped, grabbed at its top, hauled himself up and wriggled over.

  On the far side he landed among some snow-covered bushes. Forcing his way through them he found a path and ran along it down the side of the house. As he ran he heard the shouts of its inmates which told him that, as he had planned, the explosion had thrown them all into confusion. Next moment he was brought up sharp by a swift challenge; but it came from von Kobenthal, who had the other automatic rifle. He was covering his two companions further along as they worked on the window.

  “Good man. Stay where you are,” panted Gregory. “Don’t expose yourself more than necessary—get behind a tree or something—and if anyone else comes from this direction don’t challenge but fire right away. Put a couple of rounds over their heads to check them.”

  Leaving von Kobenthal groping through the darkness in search of suitable cover, Gregory hurried on. Just as he reached the other two Suki got the window open. At the same instant an electric burglar-alarm began to ring with a deafening clatter.

  “Find some cover if you can, Freddie,” Gregory shouted, “and fire at anyone who comes round from the back of the house. Two rounds over their heads and the next at the flash of their pistols if they attack you.”

  As Charlton moved off, drawing his revolver and a pistol that von Kobenthal had lent him, Suki got the inner window open and Gregory thrust in his hand, pulling the black-out curtains aside. The room was brightly lit but empty. He could hear the shouting in the house plainly now; a first-
class rumpus was in progress. Grabbing the window-sill he hoisted himself up and over it.

  There were two doors to the room. One led on to the passage, and somebody had left it half-open after dashing out, as was evident from a freshly-lit cigarette, the smoke of which was curling up from an ash-tray on a table-desk near the window. The other led to the room at the front of the house. Gregory saw that the key was in its lock, and tiptoeing over, turned it.

  As Suki came in through the window Gregory reached the passage door. This also had a key in it, but on its outer side. Swiftly transfering it to the inner side of the door Gregory locked that too.

  “Quick!” he whispered to Suki in German. “We must barricade ourselves in”; and between them they dragged the heavy desk up against the passage door. It was the only large piece of furniture that the room contained, so Gregory muttered: “Get busy on the safe; I’ll see to the other door”; then, exerting all his strength he carried three tall, thin steel filing-cabinets across and set them against it.

  The safe was a large affair which stood in a corner of the room, between its two windows, one of which looked out on to the back garden and the other—through which Gregory and Suki had come—on to the side-garden. As was to be expected in any Gestapo office, the safe had a combination lock, but it was not of the most modern type and after a swift preliminary examination Suki declared that he thought he could deal with it. While Gregory piled up all the chairs and other odd pieces of furniture that he could find in jumbled barricades against the two doors Suki began to operate with swift, deft fingers on the combination lock, listening to the fall of the tumblers with each turn that he gave it.

  Having completed the barricades Gregory switched out the lights so that if the Germans came round to the back of the house, broke open the window there and pulled aside the curtains he should not present an immediate target. The room was now in darkness except for the thin pencil of light shining from the torch hung round Suki’s neck on to the lock; where, his small wisened face set and concentrated, he worked with frantic speed.

  There was no more that Gregory could do and he crouched near the safe-breaker with his rifle at the ready, listening to the noises that percolated from the other part of the house. The shouting had now subsided and he could catch only the sound of loud, guttural voices which came to him muffled by the distance. The burglar-alarm had ceased to ring, petering out in a spasmodic jingle soon after he had fixed the barricades. Since nobody had tried to get into the room as a result of the clamour he decided that all the windows on the ground-floor, and the doors, were probably wired by the same system, and that the Nazis believed that the alarm had been set ringing by the explosion on the far side of the house. But another noise had now taken the place of the shrill ringing; it was a low, angry roar, and Gregory knew that his incendiary-bomb was doing its work in the breach that the explosive-bomb had made. The house was on fire.

  He wondered anxiously if Wuolijoki had judged the size of the bomb correctly. Their objective had been to start a fire which would keep the Gestapo men occupied for a quarter of an hour or so but which, with the help of a fire-engine, could be put out. But if the bomb was too big the fire would get too great a hold to be dealt with, in which case the Nazis would abandon the fight and come running to the other rooms to save their papers and belongings before the flames spread to the rest of the house.

  Suddenly the handle of the door to the passage rattled. There was a pause. It rattled again. Someone outside was shaking the door impatiently. Gregory remained as still as a mouse. Suki’s fingers continued to flicker over the combination-lock; his head was bent down towards it as he listened to the clicking which was almost inaudible except to anyone with his supernormal hearing. There was a sharp knock on the door and a voice said: “Hier ist Schumacher. Lassen Sie mich hinein Kommen.”

  On receiving no reply the man moved away. Gregory could hear his heavy footsteps as he marched down the hall. A moment later the knob of the other door rattled. On finding that also locked the man called out in a surprised voice:

  “Grauber, sind Sie dort?” And once more getting no response, he moved away from that door too.

  Gregory crouched there, with his automatic rifle at the ready, praying for time. Once they started to batter in the doors the noise might be too great for Suki to catch the sound of the falling tumblers any more and all chance of getting the safe opened would be lost. Turning to the little man he whispered urgently: “How are you going?”

  “Fine,” Suki nodded. “I’m nearly through; another few moments.”

  As he spoke feet sounded in the passage again. There was a murmur of quick, angry voices; then a heavy rapping on the door.

  “Wer ist da?” cried an impatient voice, which Gregory recognised as that of Grauber. “Offen Sie sofort!”

  There was another brief pause, the mutter of voices again, then a heavy body crashed against the door in an endeavour to burst it open. The woodwork strained but did not give, as the lock was a stout one and still held. Ten seconds’ silence followed, then a series of deafening reports. Someone outside was blowing the lock off with an automatic.

  Gregory’s lips tightened. He had hoped to get through with the business and away before the arrival of the fire-brigade or police so as to avoid any risk of running up against the Finnish authorities. The fire-engine had not yet arrived or he would have heard the clanging of its bells. Wuolijoki had assured him that it would take the best part of a quarter of an hour to get out to this remote district so he reckoned that there were still some minutes to go before it could come on the scene. But one or two patrolling policemen must have heard the bomb go off, and if they had already reached the house the sound of the shots was certain to arouse their unwelcome curiosity.

  The roar of the explosions had hardly subsided when heavy bodies came crashing at the door once more. The lock was shattered but the big desk still held the door in position. After a few moments of frantic banging, as the men outside tried to force it, they gave up and there was another muttered consultation.

  Thump! Bang! Crash! A sudden assault had been launched without warning against the door leading to the front office. It strained and groaned but the weighty filing-cases prevented its being forced open. The din was still going on when there came the sound of splintering glass on Gregory’s right. A second party had gone out of the house with the intention of coming in through the window that overlooked the back garden.

  Poor Suki now stood with a look of despair on his face and his hands dangling by his sides. It was impossible for him to continue his operations in such a hellish clatter. Gregory knew that the doors were safe for the moment but he watched the window like a lynx. A second later the inner panes were shattered and came tinkling to the floor. In the faint glow from Suki’s torch Gregory saw the black-out curtain suddenly twitch, as a hand grasped it from outside, and knew that he must wait no longer. He was within a couple of feet of the window; aiming a few inches below the place where the curtain was caught up, he fired.

  There was an agonising scream and the curtain went quite smooth again, with nothing to show what had happened except for a little round hole in it about six inches above the window-sill. At the sound of the shot the banging on the office door ceased abruptly; Suki instantly got busy again in a silence broken only by the distant roaring of the fire yet pregnant with alarming possibilities.

  Gregory crouched low beneath the level of the window-sill, expecting a volley of shots to crash through the black-out curtain at any second. Suki in his corner was safe from any blind volley directed at the window and could not be hit through it, unless somebody outside got right up against the house and fired in at a sharp angle.

  Suddenly two shots in quick succession sounded outside. Gregory could not tell if it was von Kobenthal or Charlton, but evidently the Nazis were now attempting to get round to the side-window of the room and had come up against one of his two friends.

  There was another silence of perhaps a minute. He lo
oked anxiously at Suki. At that very second the little man gave a chuckle of delight and swung the safe-door open. Shuffling swiftly towards him on his knees Gregory followed with acute anxiety the safe-breaker’s little torch as it flickered over the safe’s contents. Was his packet there, or had they risked their lives for nothing?

  With frantic speed he began to tumble out bundles of documents, letters, cash-box, scattering them all over the floor; then he tried the drawers below the main compartment. His packet was lying in the second. Grabbing it up with a sudden surge of elation he thrust it under his furs and wedged it so that it could not slip down, above the belt that held his fur-coat tightly in to his body.

  He had hardly done so when pandemonium broke loose. A volley of shots thudded through the black-out curtain; the sound of more shots came from outside in the garden; and at the same moment, as though they had been waiting for a signal, a third party of Nazis launched themselves in a fresh attack on the passage door.

  Gregory let fly at the black-out curtain which was now riddled with small holes. As he emptied the contents of his automatic rifle into it another cry rang out, showing that his blind fire had accounted for at least one more victim.

  Ramming home another clip of cartridges he swivelled round to the door that was creaking and groaning under the weight of the bodies that were being hurled against it. Suki had switched out his torch, so the corner in which they crouched was now in thick shadow. It was that which had saved Gregory from a bullet in the back; for the body of the room was still faintly lit, and the light, now Suki’s torch was out, came from the passage door, showing that it had at last been forced. It was open about three inches, and the black splodge that broke the line of light about half-way up was a hand which had been thrust through the opening, gripping an automatic.