by Jack Higgins
Necker and a party of officers, Muller among them, were waiting on the apron outside, a Luftwaffe guard drawn up. The major came across, a slightly nervous smile on his face, followed by Muller. "They'll be here in a few minutes." He offered a cigarette from a silver case. "A tremendous shock for us all, the field marshal coming in out of the blue like this, but not to you, I think."
Martineau saw it all then. They thought there was some connection between his own unexplained presence in the island and Rommel's unexpected visit. "Really? I can't imagine what you mean, my dear Necker."
Necker glanced at Muller in exasperation. It was obvious that neither of them believed him, which was fine and suited his situation perfectly. He walked a few yards away and stood, hands behind his back, examining the airport. There were seven blister hangars, obviously constructed by the Luftwaffe. The doors to one of them stood open revealing the three engines and distinctive corrugated metal fuselage of a JU52, the Junkers transport plane that was the workhorse of the German Army. There was no sign of any other aircraft.
"He still persists in playing the man of mystery," Necker said to Muller out of the side of his mouth.
Martineau rejoined them. "The Luftwaffe doesn't seem to have much to offer."
"Unfortunately not. The enemy has an overwhelming superiority in the air in this region."
Martineau nodded toward the far blister hangar. "What's the JU52 doing there?"
"That's the mail plane. He makes the run once a week, just the pilot and a crewman. Always under cover of darkness. They came in last night."
"And fly out again?"
"Tomorrow night."
There was the sound of an airplane engine in the distance. As they turned, the Storch came in across St. Ouen's Bay and made a perfect landing. Konrad Hofer put a hand on Baum's for a moment in reassurance as the pilot, Oberleutnant Sorsa, taxied toward the waiting officers. Baum turned to nod briefly at Hofer, then adjusted the brim of his cap and tightened his gloves. Showtime, Heini, he told himself, so let's give a performance.
Sorsa lifted the door and Hofer got out, then turned to help Baum, who unbuttoned his old leather coat revealing the Blue Max and the Knight's Cross at his throat. Felix Necker advanced to meet him and gave him a punctilious military salute, one soldier to another. "Field Marshal. A great honor."
Baum negligently touched the peak of his cap with his field marshal's baton. "You are?"
"Felix Necker, sir. I'm temporarily in command. Colonel Heine has gone to Guernsey for the weekend. A conference with General von Schmettow."
"Yes, I know about that."
"If only we'd been aware that you were coming," Necker went on.
"Well, you weren't. Konrad Hofer, my aide. Now then, who have we here?"
Necker introduced the officers, starting with Martineau. "Standartenführer Vogel, who I think you may know."
"No," Martineau said. "I have never had the pleasure of meeting the field marshal before."
Rommel's dislike was plain for everyone to see. He passed on, greeting Muller and the other officers and then inspecting the guard of honor. Afterward, he simply took off, walking toward the nearest flak gun, everyone trailing after him. He spoke to the gun crew, then cut across the grass to a hangar where Luftwaffe ground crew waited rigidly at attention.
Finally he turned and walked back toward the airport buildings, looking up at the sky. "Fine weather. Will it stay like this?"
"The forecast is good, Herr Field Marshal," Necker told him.
"Excellent. I want to see everything. You understand? I'll be returning tomorrow, probably in the evening, so we'll need a suitable billet for tonight. However, that can wait until later."
"The officers of the Luftwaffe mess have had a light luncheon prepared, Herr Field Marshal. It would be a great honor if you would consent to join them."
"Certainly, Major, but afterward, work. I've a lot to see. So, where do we go?"
The officers' mess was upstairs in what had been the restaurant before the war. There was a buffet of salad, roast chicken and tinned ham, served rather self-consciously by young Luftwaffe boys in white coats acting as waiters. The officers hung eagerly on the field marshal's every word, conscious of their proximity to greatness. Baum, a glass of champagne in his hand, was more than enjoying himself. It was as if he were somewhere else looking in, observing. One thing was certain. He was good.
"We were surprised that you chose to fly in during daylight hours, Herr Field Marshal," Necker said.
"And with no fighter escort," Muller added.
"I've always believed in doing the unexpected thing."
Baum told them. "And you must remember we had Oberleutnant Sorsa as pilot, one of our gallant Finnish comrades. He normally flies a JU88S night fighter and has thirty-eight Lancasters to his credit, which explains his Knight's Cross." Sorsa, a small, vital man of twenty-five with very fair hair, looked suitably modest, and Baum carried on, "I must also tell you that we flew across the sea so low that we were in more danger from the waves than anything the RAF might have come up with."
There was a general laugh and he excused himself and went off to the toilet followed by Hofer.
Martineau had been standing against the wall, observing everything and drinking very little. Muller approached. "A remarkable man."
"Oh, yes." Martineau nodded. "One of the few real heroes of the war. And how is your Inspector Kleist?"
"A stupid man," Martineau observed. "But then, I think you know that. More champagne?"
In the toilet, Baum checked himself in the mirror and said to Hofer, "How am I doing?"
"Superbly." Hofer was exhilarated. "There are times when I really think it's the old man himself talking."
"Good." Baum combed his hair and adjusted the cheek pads. "What about the SS colonel. I didn't expect that."
"Vogel?" Hofer was serious for a moment. "I was talking to Necker about him. He just turned up in the island yesterday, backed by a special pass signed by Himmler and the Führer himself. So far he's given no information as to why he's here."
"I don't know," Baum said. "Those bastards always make me feel funny. You're certain his presence here has nothing to do with us?"
"How could it be? Army Group B Headquarters only released the news that you were in Jersey an hour ago. So, no need to panic, and back to the fray."
Necker said, "If you wouldn't mind coming into the CO's office, Field Marshal. General von Schmettow is on the line from Guernsey." Baum sat carelessly on the edge of the desk and took the receiver offered to him. "My dear von Schmettow, it's been a long time." General von Schmettow said, "An unexpected honor for my entire command. Heine is quite shocked and wishes to return at once."
"Tell him if he does, it's the firing squad for him," Baum said good-humoredly. "Young Necker can show me around just as well. A fine officer. No, this suits me perfectly."
"Do you intend to visit Guernsey?"
"Not this time. I return to France tomorrow."
"May we expect you at some future date?" The line was crackling now.
"Of course, and before long, I promise you. Best wishes." Baum put down the receiver and turned to Necker. "To work. Coastal defenses, that's what I wish to see, so let's get started."
In the garden at de Ville Place
Sarah sat on the wall looking out over the bay and Guido leaned beside her, smoking a cigarette. "Sarah," he said in English. "It's as if I have to get to know you all over again." He shook his head. "Whoever told you that you could pass yourself off as a French tart was gravely mistaken. I knew there was something wrong with you from the start."
"And Harry? Did you think there was something wrong about him?"
"No. He worries me, that one. He plays Vogel too well."
"I know." She shivered. "I wonder how he's getting on?"
"He'll be fine. The last person I'd ever worry about. You like him, don't you?"
"Yes," she said. "You could put it that way." Before they could take the conve
rsation am further, Helen and Gallagher crossed the grass to join them.
"What are you two up to?" Helen demanded.
"Nothing much." Sarah told her. "We were wondering how Harry was getting on."
"The devil looks after his own," Gallagher said. "He can take care of himself, that one. More important at the moment is a decision on what to do with Kelso. I think we should move him from the chamber to my cottage."
Guido nodded. "That makes sense. Much easier to take him from there down to the harbor once I get Savary sorted out."
"Do you really think it has a chance of working?" Sarah demanded.
"Fake papers as a French seaman. The General and I can fix that up between us," Guido told her.
"We'll bandage his face. Say he was in the water after the attack on the convoy and sustained burns," Gallagher said. "We'll move Kelso late tonight." He smiled reassuringly and put an arm around Sarah. "It's going to work. Believe me."
Martineau joined on the end of the cavalcade of cars as it left the airport and took the road through St. Peter's. Rommel fascinated him, so did the idea of being so close to one of the greatest soldiers the war had produced, the commander of the Westwall himself. The man dedicated to smashing the Allies on the beaches where they landed.
He was certainly energetic. They visited Meadowbank in the Parish of St. Lawrence where for two years military engineers and slave workers had labored on tunnels designed to be an artillery depot. Now it was in process of being converted into a military hospital.
Afterward they saw the Russians in Defense Sector North and the strongpoints at Greve de Lecq, Plemont and Les Landes. It all took time. The field marshal seemed to want to look in every foxhole personally, visit every gun post.
He asked to see the war cemetery at St. Brelade and inspected the church while he was there. The Soldatenheim, the Soldiers' Home, was just along the road in a requisitioned hotel overlooking the bay. He insisted on calling in there, much to the delight of the matron in charge, and discovered a proxy wedding taking place. It was a system devised by the Nazi government to take care of the fact that it was increasingly difficult for soldiers on active duty to get married in the normal way any longer, as they seldom got furloughs back home in Germany. The groom was a burly sergeant and a Red Cross nursing sister stood in for his bride, who was in Berlin.
It was very much a Nazi marriage, totally without any religious significance at all. The insistence on the lack of Jewish blood in either the bride or bridegroom was something Baum found especially ironic, but he toasted the sergeant's good health with a glass of schnapps and moved on.
By the time they reached St. Aubin it was evening, and most of the party were beginning to flag. Baum, examining the map Necker had provided, noticed the artillery positions on Mont de la Rocque and asked to be taken up there.
Martineau followed, still on the tail of the line of cars climbing the steep hill of the Mont until they came to a narrow turning that led out on top where there were a number of flat-roofed houses.
"A gun platoon only now, Field Marshal," Necker assured Baum as he got out.
The house at the very end with a courtyard behind a wall was called Septembertide. The one next to it had a French name, Hinguette. In its garden, a narrow entrance gave access to a series of underground bunkers and machine-gun posts which ran along the crest of the hill under the gardens. There were no civilians living in any of the houses, only troops, who were overwhelmed to have the Desert Fox in proximity to them, none more so than the commanding officer, a Captain Heider.
It transpired that his personal billet was Septembertide. When the field marshal expressed an interest in it, he eagerly led the way. They all trooped down into the garden. The views across the bay, St. Aubin on the right and St. Helier on the left, were breathtaking. The garden was edged with a low concrete wall, and the ground fell almost vertically down through trees and heavy undergrowth to the road far below.
Baum said, "You'd need the Alpine Corps to get up here, gentlemen." He looked up at the house. There was a large terrace in front of the sitting room and another above running the full length at bedroom level. "Nice." He turned to Heider. "I need somewhere to lay my head tonight. Will you lend it to me?"
Heider was beside himself with joy. "An honor, Herr Field Marshal. I can move into Hinguette for the night with my second in command."
"I'm sure you can find us a decent cook among your men."
"No problem, Field Marshal."
Baum turned to Necker. "You see, my dear Necker, all taken care of. This will suit me very well indeed. Impregnable on this side and Captain Heider and his boys guarding the front. What more could one ask for?"
"It was hoped you might join us for dinner at the officers' club at Bagatelle," Necker said diffidently.
"Another time. It's been a long day and frankly, I'd welcome an early night. Call for me in the morning. Not too early. Let's say at ten, and we can do the other side of the island."
"At your orders, Herr Field Marshal."
They all went around to the front of the house where there was a general leave taking. Heider took Baum and Hofer inside and showed them around. The living room was large and reasonably well furnished.
"It was like this when we moved in," Heider said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get my things out of the bedroom, Field Marshal, then I'll arrange a cook."
He went upstairs. Baum turned to Hofer. "Did I do well?"
"Superb," Hofer said, "And this place is perfect. Just the right amount of isolation. You're a genius, Berger."
The evening meal had already started at de Ville Place
when Martineau got back. He peered in at the window and saw Sarah sitting with Guido and half-a-dozen other naval officers at the table. He decided not to go in and, instead, went round to the back door and let himself into the kitchen. Helen was washing dishes at the sink and Gallagher was drying for her.
"How did things go?" the Irishman demanded.
"Well enough. Absolutely no problems, if that's what you mean."
"Did you see the great man?"
"As close as I am to you, but he made it clear the SS is not exactly his favorite organization."
Helen poured him a cup of tea, and Gallagher said, "We've been making decisions while you've been away."
He told him how they'd decided to move Kelso. When he was finished, Martineau nodded. "That makes sense to me. We'll make it later though. Say around eleven."
"Should be safe enough then," Gallagher said.
Martineau went upstairs and lay on the bed of the room he shared with Sarah. Although they slept in the same bed he had not made love to her again since that first night. There was no particular reason. There just didn't seem to be the need. But no. He wasn't being honest. It wasn't Sarah, it was him, something inside, some old wound of the spirit that made him afraid to give himself fully. A morose fear that it would all prove to be just another disappointment or perhaps simply the fear that this strange, enchanting, tough young woman was forcing him back into the real world again. Bringing him back to life.
He lay on the bed smoking a cigarette, staring at the ceiling, strangely restless, thinking of Rommel and the energy of the man—and what a target he was. He got up and put on his belt with the holstered PPK, then he opened his suitcase, found the Carswell silencer and put it in his pocket.
When he went downstairs, they were still eating in the great hall. He went back to the kitchen. Helen looked up in surprise. "You're going out again?"
"Things to do." He turned to Gallagher. "Tell Sarah I'll be back soon."
The Irishman frowned. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"
"Not in the whole wide world," Martineau assured him. "I'll see you later," and he went out.
There was a half moon again and in its light, he saw the line of white houses high overhead on the ridge above the trees. He turned the Kubelwagen into La Haule Hill and parked in a track where it joined with Mont de la Eocque. For a while, he sat the
re thinking about it, and then he got out and started up through the trees.
It was nonsense, of course. Shoot Rommel and they'd have the island sewn up tight within an hour. Nowhere to go. On top of that they'd probably take hostages until the assassin gave himself up. They'd done that in other countries. No reason to think Jersey would be any different. But in spite of all reason and logic, the thought titillated, would not go away. He kept on climbing.
THIRTEEN
MULLER WAS WORKING in his office at the Silvertide, trying to catch up on his paperwork when there was a knock on the door and Greiser looked in. "Working late tonight, Herr Captain."
"The field marshal accounted for most of my time today, and he's likely to take up more tomorrow," Muller said. "I've at least twelve case reports to work through for court appearances next week. I thought I'd try to get rid of them tonight." He stretched and yawned. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"
"The phone call I booked to my brother in Stuttgart. I've just been talking to him."
Muller was immediately interested. "What did he have to say about Vogel?"
"Well, he certainly never came across him at Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin. But he does point out that the SD are housed in a building at the other end of Prince Albrechtstrasse. He simply wasn't familiar with who was who, except for the big noises like Heydrich before they murdered him and Walter Schellenberg. However, it was an open secret during his time in Berlin, that the Reichsführer uses mystery men like Vogel with special powers and so on. He says nobody was all that sure who they were."
"Which is exactly the point of the whole exercise," Muller observed.
"Anyway, he says people like that operate out of the SD unit attached to the Reichsführer's office at the Reich Chancellery. As it happens, he knows someone on the staff there rather well."