The 34th Degree

36

T he blast of the slipstream sent him somersaulting through the night skies, gasping for breath. He pulled for his parachute to unfold and felt the welcome tug of the black canopy snapping open. He swung like a pendulum toward the earth.

Looking down, he could see only the dim plains, no lights from the blacked-out Bern-and no lights from the signal fire.

There still seemed to be a long way to go when he hit the ground and had the wind knocked out of him as the canopy collapsed over him. When he pulled it from over his head, the Pegasus was gone. There was no sign of any signal fire or reception committee.

After making sure he was free of injury, Andros gathered up the parachute and searched for the trunk. He found it about fifty yards away.

Andros had shed his flight suit and jump boots and was tying the laces of his wing-tip dress shoes when he heard what sounded like the heel of a heavy jackboot on rock. He instinctively reached for his Colt. 45 automatic, which he did not have, only to discover that he was surrounded by several goats wearing wooden bells.

Apparently, he had jumped onto a large farm outside Bern; now he could make out the dim outline of a farmhouse cut against the distant horizon. He could also smell something foul in the air and looked down to find his wing tips ankle-deep in goat dung. He groaned.

His ears picked up the faint hum of an engine. He turned to see the shadow of a vehicle coming quickly up the road, which, along with the fence that ran beside it, became visible when the car flashed its two blue running lights as it rolled to a stop.

Andros left the trunk, hopped the fence, and ran over to what turned out to be a British Triumph.

“You made it after all, Sinon,” said the surprised driver, a compact, middle-aged man sporting a neat leather driver’s cap, jacket, and gloves. He then apparently remembered his signal. “I’m the Watchmaker.”

Andros leaned into the open window. “My trunk.”

The Watchmaker eyed the trunk by the side of the road and grimaced. “Too big for my Triumph, I’m afraid. Hide it in the bushes. I’ll come back for it later.”

A dog barked in the distance, and a light went on in the farmhouse.

“Hurry, let’s go,” said the Watchmaker. “The clock’s ticking.”

Andros did as he was told, climbed in, and they were off.

A half hour later, they entered the medieval city of Bern, passing through darkened arcades and streets invisible in the blackout. After crossing what the Watchmaker told Andros was the Kirchenfeld Bridge, they rolled to a stop along the bank of the river Aare.

“You’re going to 23 Herrengasse,” the Watchmaker said, handing Andros a map. “Just follow the directions and enter through the garden.”

Andros found himself in a picturesque part of town, knocking on a door with a sign outside that read: ALLEN W. DULLES, SPECIAL ASSISTANT