The Leader And The Damned (26 page)

'Later..'

He was determined not to reveal their destination until the last minute. 'That laundry truck could be our transport to freedom,' he continued. 'When the door is up I can see inside from that window. There's a whole load of stuff that isn't unloaded here we could hide under. And my guess is the checkpoints are so used to the truck by now they won't search it, just so long as the alarm hasn't been raised here. Where are you supposed to be at eleven this morning? And while I remember it, have you any idea how long the truck should take to get back to Salzburg, assuming it has no more calls?'

`I have seen the truck leaving? Christa said thoughtfully. 'He drives like a maniac - in a hurry to get off duty, I suppose. My guess is he has to be in Salzburg one hour after leaving here. As to my whereabouts, I'm off duty today. Traudl is taking down the minutes at the midday conference..'

'So where would you normally be?'

'Reading, resting, doing washing and ironing in my room. No one comes near me.' She looked up, her expression more relaxed. 'You could be missed quickly.'

'It's the luck of the draw. Gruber grilled me yesterday - and went away disgusted. I could be left alone today. Sunday. They bring me breakfast at eight, collect the tray half an hour later - and lunch isn't until one-thirty..'

'So.. Christa was becoming absorbed in the details. 'The truck takes one hour, which means we reach Salzburg at midday. I looked up trains to both Vienna and Munich - since you're so cagey about our destination. I suppose you'll trust me one day...' A wistful - not resentful - note crept into her voice. Again Lindsay began to worry about her feelings towards him.

'I have people to protect,' he said shortly.

'I do understand. We reach Salzburg about midday. It's going to be a tight schedule, whichever way we go. There's an express to Vienna at 12.15, one to Munich at 12.30. If it is Munich we might just make it before they realize you are gone. The express arrives at 1.30 pm, the very moment they bring your lunch. Vienna is well over three hours..'

'We'll have to take our chances,' he said quietly. 'There are a lot of imponderables. Whether the truck goes anywhere near the station is just one of them..'

'And whether the laundry truck calls Sunday is another,' she reminded him. 'We meet here later?' 'Yes, as near to 10.45 as we can make it.'

'I still think we ought to grab that car.' She stood up and went to the window. 'We know that is available.'

He came up behind her and squeezed her arms reassuringly. 'The laundry truck it is. I've made up my mind.'

'All right.' She turned, looked up at him and produced a Luger 9-mm. pistol from her jacket pocket. 'I took this from a place where it won't be missed for days. I have a spare magazine. I'll give them to you just before we leave...' She hesitated.

'Christa, what is it?'

'Ian, I want you to promise me something. If we're on the verge of being captured, shoot me, please. Then maybe you'd better use the next bullet on yourself..' She turned away, her voice trembling. 'If we have to go... I'd like us to go together..'

He felt like hell. He couldn't think what to do, what to say. Just helpless. He reached out to.touch her as she remained with her back to him and then dropped his hands to his sides. Her feeling for him was worse than he'd thought. And he couldn't reciprocate the emotion.

'Let's see first whether that truck does call Sundays,' he said roughly and left the room.

'Move the bloody car back into the garage,' Colonel Jaeger rasped.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, heavy snow was falling and the far side of the valley and the mountains beyond were blotted out by the white pall. Jaeger, stiff with standing in one position for so long, so fixed had been his concentration watching the hairpin bend, was frustrated and in a rage.

'We could wait a little longer...' Schmidt began.

It was the wrong remark. Jaeger turned on his subordinate and exploded. 'Are you mentally unstable? A few hours ago you were criticizing me for not parking the bloody Mercedes on the front doorstep! Now you propose we hang about here for ever! The men outside from the motor battalion are freezing to death. Do as I damned well tell you..'

Schmidt hurried outside the barracks to issue orders to the troops who sat with their legs astride the motorcycles, banging their gloves together to bring the circulation back into frozen hands. When he had despatched a team he returned nervously to where the SS colonel was striding up and down, pausing to warm his hands at an old-fashioned log- stove.

'They are collecting the car,' he said breathlessly.

'Bormann will be delighted with the great success of the whole idea,' Jaeger commented savagely.

'It was
his
idea?' Schmidt queried as he used a silk handkerchief to clean his glasses. The lenses had steamed up with condensation during his brief excursion outside. The temperature was dropping rapidly.

'Now it hasn't worked, it will become
my
idea - I know Bormann. He always phrases his orders obliquely. And this one was not by order of the Fuhrer'

He broke off as he heard the sound of the Mercedes being driven back towards the garage. It was a tribute to the car that the bloody motor had started up after standing outside for hours in these conditions.

'Those men were supposed to
push
the machine back,' he blazed.

'I'll reprimand the sergeant...'

'Oh, don't bother! What does it matter. The whole operation is a farce. I'm going to get something to eat.'

'Colonel,' Schmidt began tactfully, 'the three checkpoints are still on full alert. Shall I phone them orders to stand down?'

At the doorway to the barracks canteen Jaeger paused while he considered the suggestion. Snow flakes were beginning to adhere to the outside of the windows, masking the view. It was going to be a raw outlook.

'Good idea,' he said. 'Men kept on alert pointlessly lose their edge. Tell them to relax. And then come and join me for breakfast. I need someone to talk to - so I can contradict them!' He sighed. 'Sunday! I always hated Sunday - ever since I was a little boy …'

Lindsay heard the faint sound of a car engine being started up. He heard the sound because he had left the door of his room slightly ajar after the orderly collected his breakfast tray.

By leaving the door open he would be warned if a guard was posted outside. So far none had appeared. He had no way of knowing that, apart from withdrawing the normal guards to entice him into the trap, Jaeger had sent a large contingent away from the Berghof to reinforce the checkpoints and provide a reserve group of shock troops at a camp close to Salzburg.

Lindsay checked his watch yet again. Exactly 10 am. Another three-quarters of an hour before he joined Christa in the anteroom. He opened the door wider and peered out into a deserted corridor. Walking swiftly and silently he reached the window and looked down. The Mercedes had driven forward into view.

The vehicle was now halted with the engine warming up. Two SS men were scraping ice from the windscreen, pausing to melt a fresh area by pressing their gloves over the glass. The unseen driver turned on the wipers which operated jerkily and then settled down into a regular rhythm.

Lindsay stayed well back behind a curtain as he watched the two SS soldiers climb into the back. The car was driven in a sweeping semi-circle and headed out of sight in the direction -of the barracks. Lindsay continued to wait but there was no sign of further activity.

At 10.30 he checked the corridor, staircase and entrance hall. When he found they were deserted he slipped down with his case and went inside' the anteroom. Christa was pacing restlessly, trying to stifle a sensation of growing panic.

Lindsay watched her while he hid his case behind a huge chest of drawers standing clear of the wall. He would have been much better on his own he thought - but he couldn't leave her now. Advice he had been given by Colonel Browne in Ryder Street kept coming back.

'If you're on the run don't be tempted to link up with anyone - it multiplies the risk of, capture tenfold. Statistics show..'

Bugger statistics. He had to get Christa across the border into Switzerland. There he could leave her with a clear conscience - to sit out the rest of the war. She was German-speaking, so she could merge
 
with the population.

'The car is gone. They've taken it away,' Christa remarked and her tone was edgy. 'I suppose you'll say that proves it was a trap they set for us..'

'I really don't know. Maybe someone was going to use it and the weather changed their mind..' 'You're just saying that to pander to me..'

He took three long strides across the room and grasped her with both hands. His voice was low and brutal, his eyes hard.

'Now listen! In less than thirty minutes we're walking out of that door - if the laundry truck ever turns up. We have to dodge the driver, hide ourselves in the back of the truck and from that moment there's no turning back..'

He let go with his right hand, reached down and pulled up the leg of his trouser, exposing the knife he had stolen from the galley on board the Fuhrer train.

'I may have to kill the driver,' he went on. 'At some stage the killing will start. So, my girl, unless you get a grip on yourself damned quick you'll be a liability.'

'I was all right at Salzburg when we got off the train,' she said quietly. 'It was just bad luck that Hartmann intervened and stopped us. I'll be all right again - once we're on the move. Ian, I won't let you down. It's the waiting which twists me into knots..'

'Join the club.'

He released her and regretted his outburst. She was, of course, right. On previous form she could be relied on. You should always go on previous form, not what people say.

'Are you staying here with me?' she asked. 'Yes.'

'You don't have to. I can wait it out on my own. If someone checks your room it would be safer for you if you were up there - if they search me I'm carrying

the Luger...'

'Either way it's a risk,' he told her in a businesslike tone as though she were the last consideration. 'I've managed to get down here unseen. My door is closed. If they post a guard they'll just assume I'm inside. They always have done. But if I'm inside, then I have to get past him to get down here again. There's no ideal formula for this kind of situation.' He smiled. 'So just keep on pacing...'

At 10.45 he asked her to give him the Luger and spare magazine. He shoved the pistol under his jacket and inside his belt. They went on waiting and neither of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say.

It was debatable which of them checked their watches more regularly. The minutes crawled.
10.50
. Outside it was still snowing but less heavily. Lindsay prayed it would keep on falling. Bad weather - plus the fact it was Sunday - were the two factors which might keep everyone indoors long enough. They both checked their watches at the same moment. Their eyes met.
10.59
.

Time is relative the man said, whatever that might mean - whoever the man was - but one thing is

certain. Sixty seconds never took longer to tick past.

Neither moved. Both stood well clear of the window overlooking the entrance.
11.00 am
....

Lindsay had his head cocked to one side, listening for the first sound of the laundry truck's motor. A leaden silence. Outside the snow was falling more thickly, heavy flakes drifting down, spinning slowly in tiny somersaults.
11.01.

'It isn't coming.. Christa began.

Lindsay shushed her with a shake of his head, listening intently. Christa couldn't keep still. She clenched and unclenched her small hands. The Englishman remained quite motionless, his mouth tight as he concentrated. Waiting it out. Pure hell. A nerve-drainer.

He raised one hand to keep her quiet, held it in mid-air. The distant sound of an engine approaching fast. 'He drives like a maniac,' Christa had said. Something like that. He motioned her to keep still and moved to the window, sidling close to a curtain edge.

A shape loomed through the snow, burst through the pallid veil, swung in a wild skid through a hundred and eighty degrees so the bonnet faced the way back to Salzburg. He was staring straight at the back of the closed vehicle with a roll-top shutter door. The laundry did call Sundays.

Through an inch-gap in the slightly-opened anteroom door Lindsay looked into the entrance hall. The driver wore a white coat and trousers - overalls - and a peaked cap. He had opened one of the double doors and staggered inside carrying a huge white sack over his shoulder. He disappeared through a doorway on the far side of the hall.