Night Of The Fox

by Jack Higgins

  Baum sighed, took the cigarette Martineau offered and fitted it into the holder. "I'll never get a role as good as this again. Never."

  FIFTEEN

  ON THE SLAB in the postmortem room at the general hospital, Willi Kleist's corpse looked even more appalling. Major Speer stood waiting while the two medical corporals who were assisting him carefully cut away the burned clothing. Greiser, standing by the door, watched in fascinated horror.

  Speer turned to look at him. "If you feel like being sick, the bucket is over there. Nothing to be ashamed of."

  "Thank you, Herr Major. Captain Muller asked me to tell you how much he appreciates your attending to him personally."

  "I understand, Sergeant. Discretion, in a case like this, is of the utmost importance. So, we are ready?"

  The last vestiges of clothing were stripped away, and one of the corporals washed the body down with a fine spray, while the other wheeled across a trolley on which a selection of surgical instruments had been laid out.

  "I'd normally start with taking out the brain," Speer said cheerfully. "But in this case, speed being of the essence, or so you inform me, we'll have the organs out first so the lab technicians can get on with their side of things."

  The scalpel in his right hand didn't seem particularly large, but when he ran it down from just below the throat to the belly, the flesh parted instantly. The smell was terrible, but Greiser hung on, a handkerchief to his mouth. Speer worked at speed, removing the heart, the liver, the kidneys, all being taken away in enamel basins to the laboratory next door.

  Speer seemed to have forgotten about Greiser. One of the corporals passed him a small electric saw which plugged into a floor socket. When he started on the skull, Greiser could take no more and removed himself hurriedly to the lavatory where he was violently sick.

  Afterward, he sat outside in the corridor and smoked. A young nurse with an Irish accent came up and put a hand on his shoulder. "You look awful."

  "I've just been watching them do a postmortem," Greiser told her.

  "Yes, well it gets you like that the first time. I'll bring you a coffee."

  She meant well, but it was not the real thing: acorn coffee, a taste Greiser found particularly loathsome. He lit another cigarette and walked down to the main entrance and phoned through to Muller at the Silvertide from the porter's desk.

  "It's Greiser, Herr Captain."

  "How are things going?" Muller asked.

  "Well, it's hardly one of life's great experiences, but Major Speer obviously knows his stuff. I'm waiting for his conclusions now. They're doing lab tests."

  "You might as well hang on until they're ready. An interesting development. I've had your brother on the phone from Stuttgart. He's heard from this Neumann woman in Berlin. The one who works in the Reichsführer's office at the Chancellery."

  "And?"

  "She's never heard of Vogel. She's kept her inquiries discreet for the moment. Of course, as your brother points out, these special envoys of Himmler are mystery men to everyone else."

  "Yes, but you'd think someone like Lotte Neumann would have at least heard of him," Greiser said. "What are you going to do?"

  "Think about it. As soon as Speer's ready with those results, give me a ring and I'll come around myself to see what he has to say."

  It was just before five when the cavalcade of cars returned to Septembertide. Baum and Hofer got out and Necker joined them with one or two officers. Martineau stood at the back of the group and waited. "A memorable day, Major," Baum said. "I'm truly grateful."

  "I'm pleased everything has gone so well, Herr Field Marshal."

  "How long does it take to the airport from here?"

  "No more than ten minutes."

  "Good. Well see you up there sometime between seven-thirty and eight."

  Necker saluted, turned and got back into his car. As the officers dispersed, Baum and Hofer turned to the front door and Martineau stepped forward. "Might I have a word. Herr Field Marshal?"

  Hofer was immediately wary, but Baum said cheerfully, "Of course, Standartenführer. Come in."

  At that moment Heider, the platoon commander, appeared in the gateway and saluted. "Is there anything I can do for you, Herr Field Marshal?"

  "What about the cook we had last night?"

  "I'll send him over."

  "Not for half an hour, Heider."

  He went inside followed by Hofer and Martineau. They went into the living room. Baum took off his leather coat and his cap and opened the glass door to the terrace. "A drink, Standartenführer?"

  "That would be very acceptable."

  "Konrad." Baum nodded to Hofer. "Cognac, I think. You'll join us?"

  He fitted a cigarette to his holder, and Martineau gave him a light as Hofer poured the drinks. "What an extraordinary view," Baum said, looking down at St. Aubin's Bay. "In peacetime, with the lights on at night down there, it must resemble Monte Carlo. Wouldn't you think so, Konrad?"

  "Perhaps, Herr Field Marshal." Hofer was nervous and trying not to show it, wondering what Vogel wanted.

  "To us, gentlemen." Baum raised his glass. "To soldiers everywhere who always bear the burden of man's stupidity." He emptied his glass, smiled and said in English, "All right, Harry, let's get on with it."

  Hofer looked totally bewildered and Martineau produced the Walther with the Carswell silencer from his trenchcoat pocket. "It would be stupid to make me shoot you. Nobody would hear a thing." He removed the Mauser from Hofer's holster. "Sit down."

  "Who are you?" Hofer demanded.

  "Well I'm certainly not Standartenführer Max Vogel any more than Heini here is the Desert Fox."

  "Heini?" Hofer looked even more bewildered.

  "That's me," Baum said. "Heimi Baum. Erich Berger was killed in an air raid on Kiel. I took his papers and joined the paratroops."

  "But why?"

  "Well, you see, Herr Captain, I happen to be Jewish, and what better place for a Jew to hide?"

  "My God!" Hofer said hoarsely.

  "Yes, I thought you'd like that. A Jew impersonating Germany's greatest war hero. A nice touch of irony there."

  Hofer turned to Martineau. "And you?"

  "My name is Martineau Lieutenant Colonel Harry Martineau. I work for SOE I'm sure you've heard of us."

  "Yes." Hofer reached for his glass and finished the rest of his brandy. "I think you can say that."

  "Your boss is a lucky man. I was close to putting a bullet in him last night after you'd gone to bed. Happily for our friend here, he likes to talk to himself and I discovered all was not as it seemed."

  "So what do you intend to do?" Hofer asked.

  "Simple. Field Marshal Rommel flies out in the mail plane tonight, not the Storch, which means I can leave with him, along with a couple of friends. Destination England."

  "The young lady?" Hofer managed a smile. "I liked her. I presume she also is not what she seems."

  "One more thing," Martineau said, "but it's important. You might wonder why I don't shoot you. Well, Heimi having a bad habit of listening at doors, I know where Rommel has been this weekend and what he's been up to. The assassination of Hitler at this stage of the war would suit the Allied cause very well In the circumstances, when we get back to England and I tell my people about this business, I think you'll find they keep very quiet. We wouldn't want to make things too difficult for Field Marshal Rommel, if you follow me. More power to his arm. I want you to live so you can tell him that."

  "And how does he explain to the Führer what happened here?"

  "I should have thought that rather simple. There's been more than one plot against Rommel's life already by French Resistance and Allied agents. The British nearly got him in North Africa, remember. To use Berger to impersonate him on occasion made good sense, and what happened here in Jersey proved it. If he'd come himself, he'd have died here. The fact that Berger has decided to change sides is regrettable, but hardly your fault."

  "Now you say Berger again."
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  "I think he means you might over complicate things if you introduce the Jewish bit," Heimi told him.

  "Something like that." Martineau stood up. "All right, let's have you upstairs."

  Hofer did as he was told, because he didn't have any choice in the matter, and they followed him up and along the corridor to the small bedroom he had been using.

  Through the half-drawn curtains he could see into the courtyard and over the wall to where Heider stood beside one of the armored personnel carriers. "Obviously you don't intend to kill me," he said.

  "Of course not I need you to tell all to Rommel, don't I?" Martineau replied. "Just keep still and don't make a fuss and you'll be fine."

  There was a burning pain in Hofer's right arm and almost instantaneous darkness. Baum emptied the contents of the syringe before pulling it out, and Martineau eased the major down onto the bed, arranged his limbs in a comfortable position and covered him with a blanket. They went down to the hall. Martineau said, "Seven o'clock."

  As he opened the front door, the cook corporal from the night before walked across the courtyard. Baum said, "I'll see you later then, Standartenführer."

  He turned and walked back inside to the living room and the corporal followed. "At your orders, Herr Field Marshal."

  "Something simple," Baum said. "Scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, I think. Just for me. Major Hofer isn't feeling too well. He's having a rest before we leave."

  He grinned amiably. "Jesus, girl, I bet you look great in that nurse's uniform."

  Martineau glanced at his watch. It was almost six o'clock. "We'll go up to the house now, General. You keep an eye on him. I'll be back with the Kubelwagen in an hour."

  He and Sarah left, and Gallagher went into the hall and came back with a pair of crutches. "Present for you." He propped them against the table. "See how you get on."

  Kelso pushed himself up on one leg, got first one crutch under an arm and then the other. He took one hesitant step forward, paused, then moved on with increasing confidence, until he reached the other side of the room.

  "Brilliant!" Gallagher told him. "Long John Silver to the life. Now try again."

  In Gallagher's cottage, he and Martineau eased Kelso into the Kriegsmarine uniform while Sarah stayed discreetly out of the way in the kitchen. Gallagher cut the right trouser leg so that it would fit over the cast.

  "How's that?" he asked.

  "Not bad." Kelso hesitated then said awkwardly, "There's a lot of people putting themselves on the line because of me."

  "Oh, I see," Martineau said. "You mean you deliberately got yourself blown over the rail of that IST in Lyme Bay?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then stop agonizing," Martineau told him and called to Sarah: "You can come in now."

  She entered from the kitchen with two large bandage rolls and surgical tape. She went to work on Kelso's face and head, leaving only one eye and the mouth visible.

  "That's really very professional," Gallagher said.

  "I am a professional, you fool," she told him.

  "Are you certain?" Muller asked.

  "Oh, it's quite definite," Speer said. "I'll show you." The brain slopped about in the enamel basin and he turned it over in gloved hands. "See the pink discoloration at the base? That's blood, and that's what gave me the clue. Something sharp sheared right up through the roof of the mouth into the brain."

  "Is it likely such an injury would be explained by the kind of accident he was in?"

  "Oh, no," Speer said. "Whatever did this was as razor sharp as a scalpel. The external flesh of the face and neck is badly burned and I can't be certain, but if you want my opinion, he was stabbed under the chin. Does that make any kind of sense?"

  "Yes," Muller said. "I think it does. Thanks very much." He nodded to Greiser. "Let's go."

  As he reached the door and opened it, Speer said, "Oh, one more thing."

  "What's that?"

  "You were quite right. He had been drinking heavily. I'd say, from the tests, about a bottle and a half of spirits."

  On the steps outside the main entrance of the hospital, Muller paused to light a cigarette. "What do you think, Herr Captain?" Greiser asked.

  "That another word with Standartenführer Vogel is indicated, Ernst, so let's get moving."

  He got into the passenger seat of the Citroen. Greiser slid behind the wheel and drove away.

  In the kitchen at de Ville Place

  , Sarah, Helen and Martineau sat round the table. The door opened and Guido came in with a bottle. "Warm champagne," he said. "The best I can do."

  "Are you certain the place is empty?" Sarah asked. "Oh, yes. Bruno was the last to leave. They're all on tonight's convoy to Granville. Kriegsmarine Headquarters haven't come up with a new assignment for me yet."

  He pulled the cork and poured champagne into the four kitchen glasses Helen provided. She raised hers. "What shall we drink to?"

  "Better days," Sarah said.

  "And life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," Guido added, "not forgetting love."

  "You wouldn't." Sarah kissed his cheek and turned to Martineau. "And you, Harry, what do you wish?"

  "One day at a time is all I can manage." He finished the champagne. "My God, that tastes awful." He put down the glass. "I'll go and get Kelso now. Be ready to leave when I get back, Sarah."

  He went out, got into the Kubelwagen and drove away, taking the track down through the wood. At the same time, two hundred yards to the right, the Citroen carrying Muller and Greiser moved along the road to de Ville Place

  and turned into the courtyard.

  In the bedroom, Sarah put on her hat and coat, turning to check in the mirror that her stocking seams were straight. She freshened her mouth with lipstick and made a face at herself in the mirror. "Goodbye, little French tart, it's been nice knowing you."

  At that moment she heard a car outside and glanced out of the window and saw Muller get out of the Citroen. It was trouble, she knew that instantly. She opened her handbag. The PPK was in there but also the little Belgian automatic Kelly had given her. She lifted her skirt and slipped the smaller gun into the top of her right stocking. It fit surprisingly snugly. She smoothed down her coat and left the room.

  Muller was in the hall talking to Helen, Greiser over by the entrance. Guido was standing by the green baize door leading to the kitchen. As Sarah came down the stairs, Muller looked up and saw her.

  "Ah, there you are, mademoiselle," Helen said in French. "Captain Muller was looking for the Standartenführer. Do you know where he is?"

  "I've no idea," Sarah said continuing on down. "Is there a problem?"

  "Perhaps." Muller took her handbag from her quite gently, opened it and removed the PPK which he put in his pocket. He handed the bag back to her. "You've no idea when he'll be back?"

  "None at all," Sarah said.

  "But you are dressed to go out?"

  "Mademoiselle Latour was going to take a walk in the grounds with me," Guido put in.

  Muller nodded. "Very well, if the Standartenführer isn't available, I'll have to make do with you." He said to Greiser. "Take her out to the car."

  "But I protest," Sarah started to say.

  Greiser smiled, his fingers hooking painfully into her arm. "You protest all you like, sweetheart. I like it," and he hustled her through the door.

  Muller turned to Helen who managed to stay calm with difficulty. "Perhaps you would be good enough to tell Standartenführer Vogel on his return that if he wishes to see Mademoiselle Latour, he must come to the Silvertide," and he turned and walked out.

  Kelso was doing quite well with the crutches. He made it to the Kubelwagen under his own steam, and Gallagher helped him into the rear seat. "Nice going, me old son."

  Martineau got behind the wheel and Guido emerged from the trees on the run. He leaned against the car, gasping.

  "What is it, man?" Gallagher demanded.

  "Muller and Greiser turned up. They were looking for
you, Harry."

  "And?" Martineau's face was very pale.

  "They've taken Sarah. Muller says if you want to see her, you'll have to go to the Silvertide. What are we going to do?"

  "Get in!" Martineau said and drove away as the Italian and Gallagher scrambled aboard.

  He braked to a halt in the courtyard where Helen waited anxiously on the steps. She hurried down and leaned in the Kubelwagen. "What are we going to do, Harry?"

  "I'll take Kelso up to Septembertide to connect with Baum. If worse comes to worst, they can fly off into the blue together. Baum knows what to do."

  "But we can't leave Sarah," Kelso protested.

  "I can't," Martineau said, "but you can, so don't give me a lot of false sentimentality. You're what brought us here in the first place. The reason for everything."

  Helen clutched his arm. "Harry!"

  "Don't worry. I'll think of something."

  "Such as?" Gallagher demanded.

  "I don't know," Martineau said. "But you keep out of it, that's essential. We'll have to go."

  The Kubelwagen moved away across the yard, and the noise of the engine faded. Gallagher turned to Guido. "Get the Morris out and you and I'll take a run down to the Silvertide."

  "What do you have in mind?" Guido asked.

  "God knows. I never could stand just sitting around and waiting, that's all."

  Martineau drove into the courtyard at Septembertide and braked to a halt. He helped Kelso out and the American followed him, swinging between his crutches. The door was opened by the corporal. As they went in, Baum appeared from the sitting room.

  "Ah, there you are, Vogel! And this is the young man you told me about?" He turned to the corporal. "Dismissed. I'll call you when I want you."

  Baum stood back and Kelso moved past him into the sitting room. Martineau said, "There's been a change of plan. Muller came looking for me at de Ville Place

  . As it happens, I wasn't around at the right moment, but Sarah was. They've taken her to the Silvertide."

  "Don't tell me, let me guess," Baum said. "You're going to go to the rescue."