The Leader And The Damned

by Colin Forbes

  'Harrington...'

  'This is Linda Climber. That is the American Embassy? Embassy is what I said. You want it a third time?'

  'Harrington at your service, as always. A package has arrived for you from New Jersey.'

  They had established positive identities. Sliding into his seat, Harrington gestured towards the extension phone with his other hand. Carson, who had closed the door, picked up the instrument.

  'I can't be sure one way or the other - about our friend..' She sounded unhappy as she went on. 'He seems OK. Got a pencil and pad? Good. We're staying at the Hotel Sharon. Yes, together, so to speak. Phone number and extension...'

  Harrington scribbled in the excruciating scrawl only he could decipher. 'Anything more about our friend?'

  'He goes off on trips on his own. There could be someone else inside this hotel. He stumbled once. Said he was going out and I watched from an upper floor window overlooking the exit. He never appeared. After ten minutes he came back, said he'd left his wallet in another suit and maybe I would like to come with him for a morning stroll...'

  'What time was that - the missing ten minutes?' 'Precisely ten o'clock to ten after ten...'

  'His manner when he came back?' Harrington pressed.

  'Normal.' A pause. 'Maybe a little more relaxed, a shade of relief. That's all. I'm phoning. from Mulligan's place. He's out at the moment.'

  'Take care. Keep trying.'

  'I intend to.'

  They replaced the receivers at the same moment. Carson picked up an officer's stick and began walking round the room, tapping his teeth lightly with the end of the stick. He paused by the open window. Not even a shiver from the curtain this morning. An airless humidity like a smothering blanket had closed over the Grey Pillars complex.

  'Warn the pilot at Benina to be ready for immediate take-off,' Carson said. 'Don't supply a map reference

  yet. It may be changed at the last minute. Talking about minutes - that missing ten minutes out of Standish's life keeps niggling at me …'

  'What can you do in ten minutes?'

  'Men have changed history in that time. I don't like any of this, you know.'

  'Check urgently with London? Express your doubts.'

  'And what will London reply?' Carson demanded savagely. 'Not urgently, for a start. Maybe in a fortnight - when they've cranked up their brain-boxes - a dismissive answer. Our courier has our full confidence. Wholly reliable...' He spoke the few words in a plummy voice. 'They like "wholly" - probably because it sounds like "holy"...'

  'So, no signal to London?'

  'We have to do it ourselves - as always.' Carson's pace became brisker. 'I'm leaving you in sole charge. Anything crops up, you decide. Right?'

  'Of course. You're going somewhere?'

  'First available plane to Lydda. Have transport standing by to rush me to Jerusalem. Pray God I spot the niggle which is driving me mad …'

  With Stalin now placing full confidence in the information from Woodpecker and Lucy, by early winter '43 the Red Army had retaken Kiev. All along the front, at the price of enormous blood-letting, the Russians were advancing.

  Snow had fallen on the forests smothering the Wolf's Lair. The branches of the trees were sagging, encased in ice. Frequently inside the dense forest a rifle shot would ring out. Crack! But it was not a rifle shot - it was the sound of a branch snapping off.

  A lowering sky like a grey sea, heavy with snow, pressed down on the encampment. The atmosphere - as much as the news from the front - was affecting the occupants. Only the Fuhrer maintained an air of optimism.

  In his Spartan quarters inside a wooden building - he disliked the bunker built for use in an air raid - he was striding back and forth as he lectured Bormann. He wore his usual dark trousers, his tunic with wide lapels, the three buttons fastened down the front, his sole decoration the Iron Cross attached to his breast.

  'I need Wing Commander Lindsay brought back here urgently. We must negotiate an arrangement with England. I will guarantee the existence of the British Empire, an important - unique - stabilizing force in the world. If that is ever destroyed there will be chaos. Then we can devote our whole strength to eliminating the Soviets, as much England's enemy as ours. Where is Lindsay now? My lunch is getting cold...'

  On the table, with a cover to keep it warm, was a bowl of vegetable gruel. Hitler ate sparingly, took little interest in his food. His sole weakness was apple cake which he indulged in at the Berghof.

  'I'm worried that Lindsay may have detected your impersonation,' Bormann began tentatively. 'I have read his file. He was once a professional actor. Some of the visitors here look at you with puzzled

  expressions - Ribbentrop...'

  'And who has said a word?' Hitler challenged him.'Even if they suspect anything how dare they voice

  their doubts? I am the keystone of the arch holding up the Third Reich. Without me they are nothing.

  They know that...'

  'Then there is Eva...`

  'Eva!' The Fuhrer was amused but he spoke with mock ferocity. 'Eva and I get on fine! You keep your lecherous eyes off her or you'll hang from your ankles!'

  'My Fuhrer! I did not mean...'

  'I ask you again. Where is Lindsay?'

  It was a typical tactic of the Fuhrer's - to divert someone from an awkward topic they had raised by introducing another subject which threw them off balance. Eva Braun had told him about this ploy.

  'I am expecting a signal at any time from Colonel Jaeger who has made his headquarters in Zagreb. He is still hunting Lindsay in Yugoslavia. Jaeger has so far successfully kept the Partisan group hiding Lindsay on the move - to stop the English air-lifting him out of the Balkans...'

  'He is an excellent fellow, this Jaeger. I chose him for the task myself. Remember? But he must move quickly. Alexander now controls southern Italy. Allied Military Missions are in close touch with the Partisans. Bormann …. Hitler's mood changed suddenly. He hammered the table with his fist. Gruel from the covered bowl slopped over the edge. 'See, you have ruined my lunch. I want results! I want Lindsay!'

  'I will go to the signals office and get in touch with Colonel Jaeger at once...'

  'I'll expect you back by the time I have finished what remains of my gruel.'

  'A fresh bowl...'

  `Go! Bormann, go!'

  On his way to the signals office Bormann met Jodl who had just entered Security Ring A after showing the special.pass issued by Himmler. Jodl, his face looking drawn, waved with his gloved hand round the compound.

  'This claustrophobic place is getting us all down... 'Where have you been, my dear chap?' Bormann asked casually.

  'For a walk in the forest - and a think...'

  `So, apparently, has someone else...'

  Keitel, his boots clogged with snow, muffled in greatcoat and scarf like Jodl, had also just come in through the checkpoint. His manner distant, as always, Keitel raised his baton to them and changed direction to avoid them, stalking at his slow, measured tread towards his quarters.

  'Keitel also is going round the bend,' Jodl observed.

  'He must have gone a long way into the forest. Did you see his boots?'

  'So, he too likes to get away from it all. You seem to be on edge, Bormann,' Jodl teased, 'Trouble with the Fuhrer?' The tall Chief of Staff folded his arms. 'You should take some exercise yourself, he remarked and smiled cynically. 'The hours you keep, it's all going to get on top of you one of these days.'

  'Trouble with the Fuhrer? Of course not! And I took a walk early this morning.'

  'I know. I saw you from my window...

  He watched Bormann hurrying away, a small, stumpy figure scurrying through the snow. Jodl shrugged, clapped his gloves together to warm his frozen hands.

  'Servile little creep.'

  In the depths of the forest the transceiver operated by Woodpecker still rested in its log hide. Thick snow was packed hard where gloved hands had that morning concealed it after usage.

  'Colonel
Jaeger has just come through on the phone direct from Zagreb...'

  In the signals office Bormann, short of breath, settled his ample buttocks in a chair. Without a word of thanks he took the instrument from the duty officer and jerked his head. Get out and leave me alone...

  Bormann here... I was just going to call you... The Fuhrer...'

  'Kindly listen to me. I am short of time...'

  Jaeger's deep, booming voice cut off the Reichsleiter in mid-sentence. The Colonel was speaking in his barrack-room voice. He had finally run out of patience with the whole gang at headquarters. What the hell did they know about what was going on in the outside world?

  'I am phoning so you can tell the Fuhrer we have the Partisan group holding Lindsay cornered. Time and again they have slipped away from us after a battle involving appalling casualties. I am launching an airborne attack - using paratroopers. This should give us the element of surprise which has hitherto been lacking.. Put the Fuhrer on the line and I'll tell him myself.'

  'I have understood you so far...'

  'So far! Good God, man, I've just given you the most precise military appreciation of the situation possible. That's all.'

  'But the timing of the operation...'

  'Not settled. Depends on weather conditions.' 'And Lindsay is definitely with this group?'

  'Are you listening to me? Has your memory gone?

  I've just used the phrase "the Partisan group holding Lindsay".'

  All traces of patience had vanished from Jaeger's voice. By his side Schmidt looked anxious, wagged a warning finger. The Colonel lifted a threatening hand, holding the earpiece like a club, then smiled and winked.

  'What was that?' he snapped into the 'phone. 'When may I expect news of developments?' Bormann repeated.

  'When they develop.'

  He slammed the earpiece back onto the cradle and walked to the first-floor window of the ancient stone villa on the outskirts of Zagreb. It was snowing, but only lightly, the flakes drifting in the windless air.

  'What do the Met geniuses predict this time?'

  'A complete clearing of the weather in twenty-four hours from now. A cloudless day tomorrow. Positively no snow. No "ifs" or "buts" and their report is in writing,' Schmidt replied.

  'You twisted their arms, you must have done! Are. Stoerner's paratroopers standing by?'

  'Men and machines are ready for the air-drop when you give the word...'

  'What would I do without you, my dear Schmidt?' 'Have a nervous breakdown...'

  Jaeger threw back his head and roared with laughter. This rapport between senior officer and subordinate had been built up slowly, in the great campaign of '40 in France; during the terrible ordeals on the Eastern front. The Colonel's expression became grave again...'

  'It's going to be a race against time, you realize that?'

  'I don't quite follow you, sir...'

  'That fine weather, if it materializes. Perfect for our parachute drop, but-perfect also for the British to land a plane on that plateau to take out Lindsay. And God knows we have had enough rumours of an imminent airlift. From inside Fitzroy Maclean's headquarters, from other sources. Oh, I've decided to go in with the paratroopers myself. Long time ago since I dangled from a 'chute...'

  'For God's sake, sir. After Kursk you were going to be invalided out of the Army. You remember what that doctor told you in Munich.'

  'That I should only do what I felt like doing. I feel like dropping in on Wing Commander Lindsay. Inform Stoerner one more parachute will be required.'

  `Two more. I took the same course with you at Langheim.'

  'Now listen to me, Schmidt.' Jaeger's tone was grave. 'I've a premonition about this operation. You have a wife and two children...'

  'Like yourself. I've carried out every order you've ever given me. Don't make me guilty of insubordination now...'

  'Oh, hell - have it your own way,' Jaeger growled.

  As Schmidt left the room to 'phone Stoerner, he sat down at a desk and took a sheet of notepaper from a drawer. It took him some time to compose the letter to his wife. He had always hated correspondence.

  Dear Magda, We've had a marvellous life together. And all thanks to you, for your infinite kindness and consideration. I am writing on the eve of a somewhat difficult business we have to undertake. I wouldn't like you to suffer a shock if they send one of those bald official communications...

  'Signal just came in,' Reader told Lindsay. 'It's the green light. Plane lands tomorrow at 1100 hours, subject always to the ruddy weather changing...'

  'Christ, it's snowing. Are they mad?'

  'Clear day forecast for tomorrow. And our weather's coming in from the west - over the Adriatic from Italy, so they should know.' Reader sounded buoyant. 'My God, inside twenty-four hours we could be out of the bloody Balkans forever. Promise myself one thing. I'm never coming back to this hell-hole.'

  He looked up as Paco strolled over to join them. She wore a camouflage jacket, a heavy woollen skirt and knee-length boots. Her blonde hair was neatly brushed and she carried Reader's sten gun in her right hand. He had shown her how to use it.

  'Care to come for a walk, lady?' Reader suggested chirpily. 'Get the old circulation moving.'

  'All right. How are you feeling this morning, Lindsay?'

  'I'm OK.'

  He watched her walk away across the plateau with Reader, so close together they were almost touching. His expression was bleak, bitter. He had been standing, holding his stick. He was mobile now, his temperature was back to normal. Under the ministrations of Dr Macek the glandular fever had been brought under control.

  Their relationship with the Partisans had radically altered over the months they had fought with the group, constantly fleeing from the Germans, evading Jaeger's attempts to trap them. Often by the skin of their teeth.

  Reader, still playing the role of Cockney sergeant, still wisely concealing his real rank and Intelligence background, was largely responsible for the change. He no longer hid his transmitter, which he lugged from place to place. He had engaged the aggressive Heljec in a number of verbal battles and had won.

  'If you want the guns and the ammo,' he had persisted time and again, 'you must co-operate with my people. Lindsay, myself, Paco - if she wants to leave - have to be flown out. Hartmann, too. The plane that takes us out brings in the guns.'

  Reader had lost track of the weeks, months, the argument had raged in the quiet times. Haggle, haggle. It was the way of life in the Balkans. He had thrown in Hartmann as a bargaining counter, intending to sacrifice the German at the right moment. That had precipitated a violent struggle with both Lindsay and Paco.

  'Hartmann has been very kind to me,' Paco told Reader. 'He must have a place on the plane.'

  'He's a Jerry,' Reader told her. 'Heljec won't wear it — and what's all the fuss about, anyway...'

  'Gustav Hartmann is coming with us,' Lindsay intervened. 'And that's an order. Don't forget I outrank you, Major...'

  'And who's organizing this how's-your-father?' Reader had exploded. 'Spendin' 'arf me bloody life arguing the toss with this bandit. You know what his latest demand is? Mortars and bombs, for Christ's sake. He'll be lucky...'

  'Hartmann is Abwehr,' Lindsay said quietly. 'Your people are going to be very interested in grilling him...'

  'It's not on! It's not part of my instructions...'

  'It's part of mine.' Lindsay's tone was clipped. 'I don't have to give you a reason. It just so happens that he's anti-Nazi. I've been talking to him...'

  'Anti-Nazi!' Reader snorted. 'All the bleeders will be when the chips are down.'

  'That's enough. I'm giving you a direct order. Hai !Alarm is part of the deal. It's up to you to fix it. That's why you were sent here. Make Heljec give way or I'll take over the negotiations myself.'

  'If you say so. Wing Commander!'

  Lindsay had deliberately concealed the fact that Hartmann also was an invaluable witness to the extraordinary conditions prevailing at the Wolf's Lair
. On the morning before the plane was expected, as Paco wandered off with Reader, Hartmann appeared and joined Lindsay.

  'Those two seem to be developing a relationship,' Hartmann observed as he perched on a rock next to Lindsay.

  'I'm not blind...'

  'Get her out of your system,' the German advised. 'A woman is an unpredictable creature. Falling in love with someone who will never love you is worse than Gestapo torture. It lasts longer..'

  'She's got into my bloodstream...'

  `Then I'm very sorry for you.'

  Hartmann tamped tobacco from his pouch into his pipe and lit it with enormous satisfaction. He rationed himself to one pipe a day now. Paco had brought him a fresh supply taken by a Partisan off a dead German. At the time Hartmann had thought, what things we'll do to satisfy our cravings!

  'The plane is due tomorrow,' Lindsay said suddenly.

  'I rather thought so. I saw them clearing rocks from the airstrip over there. It doesn't seem possible. In this weather.'

  He brushed flakes from the shoulder of his jacket. Snow fell gently, flecking the ground cleared for the airstrip. It was cold - but the raw, biting wind of recent days had dropped.

  'A clear, sunny day is forecast for tomorrow,' Lindsay said.

  'Which might coincide with a fresh attack by Jaeger. Our persistent Colonel has been too quiet recently.'

  'Heljec has made all his dispositions. All approaches to the plateau up the ravines are guarded. Heljec may not be worried about us but he does want those sten guns.'

  'I saw you writing again in your diary, huddled under a rock before Reader spoilt your day.'

  Lindsay produced his black, leather-bound book from inside his jacket, keeping it closed to protect it from the drifting flakes. He balanced it in his hand and looked at Hartmann with a grim expression.

  'I've been scribbling away for weeks, as you know. Everything's there. Our suspicions about the second Hitler at the Wolf's Lair. Your conclusions as to the identity of the Soviet spy. Then if anything happens to me this simply has to get to London and they will know...'

  'Don't sound so doomed...'