The fat engineer quickly walked away, leaving Scanlon to wonder what Rudy did know. It was already 4:00 p.m. The second truck would be loaded in another hour, and they would be ready to roll by 6:00. He could hardly wait. A piece of cake. This trip was going to be such a lovely piece of cake.
Hanni Steiner hid in the trees on the edge of the meadow and watched them through of a pair of powerful Zeiss binoculars. The Luftwaffe uniform Edward wore did not fool her for a second. Even at this distance, she instantly recognized him. It was the subtle things: the way he moved, the way he walked, and the way he leaned against the truck. She would recognize him at the bottom of a mineshaft with the lights off, even without using her hands. One look and a blue-white spark jumped all the way across the clearing, leaving her tingling all over. Yes, she thought hopelessly, she still had it. She had it in spades.
It was one thing to sit in a cold, gray cell on the top floor of Gestapo headquarters and tell Otto Dietrich where he could find Edward, sight unseen. It was another to see him here in living color, and have those vivid memories cascade down on her like an avalanche. How could she forget the steamy nights in the hayloft, where nothing was off-limits, nothing unsaid, nothing undone. She savored every moment she had spent alone with that supple body of his. She could feel his hands, his mouth, his fingers, and his body on her and in her as if he were lying here with her. She burned all over. She knew the feel of his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing in her ear, the taste of his sweat, and the way he responded to her every move. Of course, she recognized him. Those memories had a life of their own, like his child growing inside her.
“Well?” Dietrich demanded, louder and more insistently this time. “Is it him? Tell me. Yes or no?”
“They are too far away. I see a blue uniform, but it could be anyone.”
“Anyone? You are sweating like a bitch in heat!”
She had slept with her share of men, but her first mistake with Edward was enjoying it far too much. Her second mistake was being stupid enough to fall in love with him. And third, allowing herself get pregnant. “You were supposed to be using him, you little fool,” she told herself. “It was all a big game, until you let him get to you. Now, you will pay for it and pay dearly.”
Dietrich grabbed the binoculars from her hands and turned them on the clearing. “You are lying through your pretty little teeth. I know it is him.”
“You have spent so many years questioning people,” she answered, “you would not know the truth if it bit you on the ass — too many old movies, too many old songs, too many old lies.”
“And too many liars,” he shot back. Like it or not, it would be a standoff until they reached Red Army lines. Then, one of them would likely die; and they both knew it. He turned the binoculars back on the men standing around the trucks, trying unsuccessfully to bring the figures into clear focus once again. “Scheisse!” he cursed as he finally put them down. “I know it is Scanlon. I can smell him from up here.”
“Then go down and see for yourself,” she said. “He killed three of your men last night. I am certain he would love to see you, too.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you;” he said humorlessly, “but there are at least a dozen other men down there, counting the guards, and I prefer better odds.”
“It is your overactive imagination, Otto. You told Raeder to have everything packed and ready to leave tomorrow. I would say that is exactly what he is doing.”
His expression turned cold and humorless. “It hurts to watch a skilled professional like you degenerate into just another… woman. You are getting all wet just thinking about him, are you not, my dear? Well, you need to find a cure for that before Moscow does.”
Her bright, blue eyes flashed; but she said nothing. Once again, he was right, she thought. Damn him anyway. She was letting her emotions get the best of her.
“You are right, my dear. They have loaded two trucks as I told him, but I think Raeder has no intentions of waiting for us. If you had been watching them, instead of Scanlon, you would have noticed that Raeder is nowhere to be seen down there. All the others are, but not him. How interesting. I suspect the good Doktor is in his office or the laboratory, so I suggest we work around to the rear gate and let ourselves in. Perhaps we should grab him now — a bird in the hand, eh? We can come back for the others later, when we have more men.”
“What if they leave before we get back?”
“As long as we have Raeder, do we really care?” he asked with a cold, cunning smile. “Besides, how far can they get?”
She turned her eyes and stared down into the compound again. Liebchen, you really did trick me, didn’t you, she thought. Horstmann convinced me that you came back for me and nothing else, and I fell for it. What a romantic fool I was, when the cold truth is standing down there in that compound. Silly girl! He came back for Raeder and the engineers, and he has been playing you like a violin ever since.
“You are right,” she finally agreed. “We should grab Raeder while we can.”
“And I am right about something else, too. You are all mine now, Hanni, dearest; and I do not share well. If your young Captain gets in my way again, I will cut his balls off and have them bronzed for you. It will be something you can remember him by.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, squeezing and hurting her. “I intend to outlive this war, and I intend to prosper, with you or without you. Do not forget that. Now, you and I shall make a house call on the Doktor, eh?”
Later that afternoon as the evening shadows lengthened, Paul Von Lindemann and Ed Scanlon sat together in the camp office studying the maps and aerial photographs the Luftwaffe had provided, making their final plans. It was almost 6:00 p.m. and the time had come to leave. The trucks were loaded with the documents, blueprints, cartons of food, cans of water, emergency supplies, and a few suitcases. Everyone was there, Scanlon thought as he looked around the room, everyone except Raeder and his daughter, Christina.
“Has anyone seen them?” he asked, as he looked around.
“Emil,” Scanlon said as he turned to Nossing. “Check the Doktor’s office. Rudy, please see if they are in their cottage.”
Both men came back confused and empty-handed. That was when one of the guards commented that he had seen a large black car on the entry road earlier.
“Verdamten!” Von Lindemann cursed. “How could we be this stupid? They went out the back, while the rest of us were busy packing. They just walked away.”
“That black car — it must have been Dietrich’s.”
“He will be taking them back to Leipzig.”
“This is terrible, Captain,” Rudy Mannfried said as he rushed back from the cottage, sweating and breathing heavily. “Christina’s wooden case is missing, the one with her phonograph records. If she took those with her, she will not be coming back.”
Ed Scanlon and Paul Von Lindemann looked at each other in helpless frustration. “What does Raeder think he can get from the Gestapo that he cannot get from us?” the Major asked. “I do not understand.”
“That is because you do not know him, Major,” Rudy Mannfried replied, sounding concerned. “He is utterly self-centered and ruthless. I do not know what they offered him, either; but you must go after them and bring them back, for Christina’s sake if nothing else. You cannot let them have her.”
“We can’t let them have Raeder either,” Scanlon said as he unfolded his map on the desk. “It is all or nothing, remember?”
Paul Von Lindemann nodded reluctantly.
“Dietrich is heading back to Leipzig. Like a rat running back to its nest; it’s the only place he’ll feel safe,” Scanlon said, glancing at his watch. “When he gets there, he’ll have a hundred men on our tail by morning; so, I’ll take your car and try to catch them, Paul. You take the trucks and head south. With luck, I’ll meet you in Bayreuth tomorrow morning. If I’m not there by noon, go on without me; because I doubt I’ll be coming.”
“No, you cannot go there alone. That would be s
uicide.”
“Paul, I know the city and I’ll be fine. Besides, taking care of the strays is my job. That’s why they sent me here, remember?”
“No, my friend, if we do not stop Dietrich tonight, he will surely stop me and the trucks tomorrow anyway; and I do not relish staring down the barrels of a Gestapo firing squad. The others can take the trucks south to Bayreuth,” Von Lindemann said. “They can wait for us there. It is our only choice.”
Scanlon nodded, realizing Von Lindemann was right, getting angrier and angrier as he realized how intricate the spider web was into which Bromley dropped him. That bastard! “Little Bo-Peep” rounding up a few strays? Well, it no longer mattered. Dietrich’s trail was leading Scanlon back to Leipzig and back to Hanni Steiner, and this could be the last chance he would have to find her and get her back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was 10:00 p.m. and well after dark before they arrived in Leipzig. The streets were deserted. The wind had picked up and turned to the north, bringing with it a steady, cold rain. Perfect weather for killing, Scanlon thought. They parked the staff car two streets over and he and Von Lindemann approached the rear of Gestapo headquarters on foot, working their way slowly and carefully through a rubble-strewn alley and a vacant lot. As they got closer, they saw Dietrich’s Maybach parked near the police station’s rear door. Looking at the building’s rear facade for the first time in two months, Scanlon broke out in a cold sweat. For two days now, he had tried to rebuild a confident, outer shell, only to feel it shatter. His memories of those days he spent in Otto Dietrich’s basement were too strong. They hit him like a hammer on a plate glass window. He could not even breathe until a gentle hand closed over his shoulder.
“Easy, my friend, easy,” Paul’s voice counseled. “I felt precisely the same paralyzing fear in my gut after my crash. The thought of flying again made my hands shake so bad, I thought I was losing my mind. I went through it all: the cold sweats, the pain, and the agony, like yours. Do you know what I finally did to conquer it? I forced myself back into a cockpit and just sat, that was all. That was how I conquered them, both the fears and the memories.”
Scanlon swallowed hard. He saw the German leaning on that hideous cane, still smiling, and felt his own fears begin to ebb. He took one deep breath, then another until he was able to turn and face the building again.
“I learned it was not necessary for me to actually fly again,” Von Lindemann added, “but I refused to let that damned cockpit beat me.”
“Thanks, Paul,” he heard himself say, realizing the man’s words helped.
On his last trip inside, Dietrich’s goons had dragged him up the stairs and down the hall a sufficient number of times for him to know that the Chief Inspector’s office was on this rear façade at the end of the second floor. Sure enough, as his anxious eyes searched the building, window by window, looking for signs of activity, he saw thin slivers of light coming around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains where Dietrich’s office should be. Like a rat scurrying to its nest, the Chief Inspector would have run back to where he would feel safest. Scanlon knew that Dietrich would be in there right now with his back to the wall, teeth bared, and his sharp claws at the ready. And Hanni would not be far away.
Looking up at the rear of the badly battered police station, Scanlon realized it was not the building he feared, only the sadistic bastard inside. If he ever hoped to be whole again, he must cut the chief bastard down to size, crush him, and inevitably kill him. What were the odds of that? Two cripples forcing their way in and grabbing Otto Dietrich inside his own den? Perhaps it was not that preposterous after all, he realized. Dietrich had no idea that Scanlon was within fifty miles of his office back window. They had surprise on their side, and this time, Scanlon had a gun, too. Perhaps the odds were not that long after all.
“There is a sentry standing by the rear door, back in the shadows,” Von Lindemann pointed out. “I assume he would post another one to walk the perimeter, perhaps two, and have more inside.”
“Yeah, Otto would never trust just one guard on the door, not now,” Scanlon added as he took another deep breath and tried to relax. As the German turned and began to walk away, Scanlon touched his arm. “Wait, Paul. If we become separated in there, you grab Raeder and his daughter and get the hell out. Don’t wait for me. Understand?”
“Perhaps you are planning on staying, mein Herr?”
“No, no, I was just saying…”
“Captain, if we go in together, we come out together. I will not hear of doing it any other way. Is that perfectly clear?”
Scanlon looked up at him and shrugged. “Okay, I guess we’re both nuts.”
They retraced their steps to the car, and then drove back around to the rear door of the police station as if they had business there. Von Lindemann parked his car behind the Maybach, not five feet from the young sentry. Surprised to have still more visitors at this time of night, the boy held his rifle at the ready as he stepped forward and peered inside the car. When he saw the Luftwaffe uniforms, he relaxed a bit. Why shouldn’t he? The only enemies he had seen lately were the ones inside the B-17s flying high overhead.
Von Lindemann jumped out of the car and strode around to the passenger side. “Get out, you swine!” he shouted as he yanked the passenger door open and pointed his Luger at Scanlon. “You, with the rifle,” he snapped at the guard. “Don’t just stand there, you idiot. Keep this fellow covered.” The Major sounded as rude and obnoxious as the other Nazi officers the sentry saw each day, so he did what he was told.
“What did he do?” the guard asked as he strained to recognize their faces in the darkness.
“Do? Why he is a British spy, of course,” Von Lindemann said as he pushed Scanlon toward the guard. “Now, open the door, you fool. The Chief Inspector is waiting to question this one personally.”
The guard turned and banged his fist on the door. “Klaus… Klaus! Prisoner coming in. Open the…” He would have finished the sentence if Scanlon had not snatched the rifle from his hands and shoved him against the wall, while Von Lindemann pressed his Luger against the boy’s forehead.
“Don’t be a hero," Scanlon warned him. “You are too young to die like this, aren’t you?" The sentry’s round eyes swung back and forth between the two men and he quickly shook his head. “Good. Now tell your pal Klaus to open the door.”
The sentry banged on the door, louder and more insistently this time. “Klaus!" he said as his voice cracked.
“Ja, Ja, moment, Franz, moment, bitte,” came Klaus’s bored reply.
The lock rattled and the bolt slid back. As the door opened, Scanlon shoved the young sentry through the gap and into the other guard, driving them both into the opposite wall. Klaus was big, but slow. Before he regained his balance, Scanlon cracked him in the forehead with the butt of the rifle and the big German dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Drag him around the corner,” Scanlon told the younger sentry as Von Lindemann closed the door behind them and threw the bolt. Scanlon helped the sentry shove Klaus under the stairs and laid his rifle next to him as if he had fallen asleep. Scanlon drew his own Luger from inside his coat and jammed it in the younger guard’s back. “Now, let’s move,” he told him, pushing him ahead of them like a shield as they ran up the steep flight of stairs to the second floor. It was immediately obvious to Scanlon that very little inside the building was as he remembered it. The carpets were stained and torn, the walls were scuffed and marred, and the immaculate staircase and hallway were littered with trash and cigarette butts. It has gone to hell like everything else in this godforsaken country, he thought.
Von Lindemann struggled gamely to keep up the pace. He limped badly, his face lined with pain. When they reached the second floor landing, Scanlon stopped. “Paul, check the hallway,” he whispered.
“We are in luck,” he answered. “It is empty, no guards.”
“Then follow me,” Scanlon said as he shoved the sentry down the hallw
ay toward Otto Dietrich’s corner office. He counted on the young man to be too scared to think about resisting. Faster and faster, Scanlon drove him down the hall, not bothering with the doorknob or a knock. The other office doors had wooden panels, top and bottom; but the top panel in the Chief Inspector’s door was frosted glass, no doubt copied after Sam Spade’s in “The Maltese Falcon,” Scanlon realized. Instead of “Spade and Archer” painted in the lower right corner, his said “O. Dietrich, Chief Inspector” in the same font used in the movie. This time, Dietrich’s Hollywood affectation would cost him dearly. Running full out now, Scanlon waited for the precise moment to shove the young sentry hard in the back and launch him into the frosted glass panel. The poor kid screamed as he crashed through it like a V-2 rocket and fell in a heap of wood and shattered glass in the middle of the Chief Inspector’s carpet.
Heart pounding, Scanlon reached through the opening and swung the Luger back and forth across the room as he opened the door. He was reacting on pure adrenaline now, ready to put a bullet in anything that even hinted of a threat. However, as he took in the scene, his former feelings of fear, suffocation, and paralysis were quickly replaced by anger and an overpowering urge to kill. Across the room stood Wolfe Raeder, eyes wide open, mouth gaping, with his ever-compliant daughter Christina cowering at his side. The sentry lay sprawled on the floor in front of Otto Dietrich’s desk, and the chief bastard himself sat behind it in all his splendor. He wore one of his impeccably tailored Italian suits with blue pinstripes, a blood-red silk tie, and a matching handkerchief puffed out in his breast pocket. He sat tipped back in his rickety desk chair, feet propped on his desk, and mouth ajar as if frozen in mid-sentence. His expression of complete surprise turned to fear as he realized he was staring down the barrel of someone else’s gun for a change. It was an expression Scanlon had dreamed of painting on Otto Dietrich’s face for months.
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