The Valhalla Exchange

12

Ritter sat at the desk in Meyer's office, going over the print of the ground plan of Schloss Arlberg yet again. Hoffer stood by the door, waiting quietly. Ritter put down his pencil and sat back.

Hoffer said, 'Can it be done?'

'I don't see why not,' Ritter said. 'All it requires is good discipline and a little nerve and I think our Finns aren't noticeably lacking in either.'

The door opened and Strasser entered. 'Jackson is back.'

'Ah, yes,' Ritter said. 'You sent him to Arnheim. May one ask why?'

'First tell me of your plan of attack.'

'Very well.' Ritter looked down at the print of the castle again. 'I will wait until dark. In fact, well after. Say midnight when the defenders will already have been on the alert for a considerable period of time, which means they will be tired. No use moving in with the half-tracks because we alert them the instant we start the engines.'

'So?'

'A force of say twenty men will approach the edge of the moat under cover of darkness. Two of them will cross the moat, climb the drawbridge and set a couple of demolition charges. Very easy to make up from what we've got and it won't need a particularly powerful charge to blow those chains. Another charge against the gate timed to explode in the same instant.'

'I see,' Strasser said. 'The drawbridge falls, the gates open and your shock-troops rush across to take possession?'

'Backed up by the half-tracks, which start moving the instant they hear the explosion. What do you think?'

'Very good,' Strasser said.

'Any weak points?'

'Only one. As it happens there's an outside floodlight at the entrance. They turned it on about fifteen minutes ago. I'm sure Sorsa will confirm that if you raise him on the field telephone.'

Ritter leaned back. 'You have an excellent and very immediate source of information.'

'So it would appear,' Strasser said, but made no effort to enlighten him. 'Of course, you could have a sniper shoot out this flood-light.'

'And immediately alert them to the fact that we were up to something.'

'An excellent plan, however, and it could still work.'

'How?'

'If we had someone able to do exactly the same thing from the inside.' Strasser walked to the door and opened it. 'All right?' he said.

Earl Jackson entered the room wearing a flying jacket with a sheepskin collar over the uniform of a captain in the United States Army Air Corps.

As Colonel Hesser and Schneider mounted the steps to the east wall, the wind dashed frozen sleet into their faces. It was bitterly cold and the sergeant-major adjusted his grip on Magda's lead.

'A bitch of a night,' Hesser said. 'Takes me back to forty-two and the Winter War. The kind of cold that eats into the brain.'

He shuddered, remembering, and Schneider said, 'I wouldn't think they'd bother us on a night like this.'

'Isn't that what we used to say about the Russians?' Hesser said. 'Until we learned better? And so, I presume, did Ritter. He's spent enough time on the Eastern Front, God knows.'

The sentries were spread woefully thin, not that he could do much about that. There was one at the east watchtower. Hesser had a word with him, then leaned out of an embrasure in the wall and looked back towards the pool of light at the gate.

'I wonder how long it will be before one of them can't resist shooting that out? I almost wish they would. An end to this damned uncertainty.'

'You think they'll come then, Herr Oberst?' Schneider asked.

'You saw Ritter for yourself, didn't you? Did he look like the kind of man to just run away? And what about those ski patrols, circling endlessly through the forest right up until dark. No, he's there all right. And when he's ready, you'll know about it. Anyway, let's check the water gate.'

They went down the watchtower steps. There was a small damp tunnel blocked by a heavy iron grille. A corporal called Wagner stood guard there, a veteran of the Eastern Front, his left arm partially wasted away from bad shrapnel wounds. He was leaning against the gate looking out, his Schmeisser ready in his right hand.

'Everything is in order here?' Hesser demanded.

'I'm not sure, Herr Oberst. I thought I heard something.'

They stood listening. Snow drifted through the grille and Hesser said, 'Only the wind.'

And then Magda whined, straining forward on the leash. 'No, Herr Oberst,' Schneider said. 'He's right. Something moves.'

He and Hesser drew their pistols. There was a distinct slithering sound on the other side of the moat, snow falling into the water, and then a hoarse whisper in English. 'Is there anyone there? Don't shoot. I'm an American officer.'

Someone entered the water. Hesser said to Schneider, 'Switch on your torch, a second only, then down on the ground.'

There was a pause, then Schneider's torch flashed, the beam picking Earl Jackson out of the darkness instantly. He was in the middle of the moat, swimming strongly, only his head and the sheepskin collar of his flying jacket showing above the water.

'Kamerad!' he called, gasping for breath. 'American officer. I'm looking for General Hamilton Canning.'

It was Finebaum, crouched in the shadow of the wall above the main gate, who spotted the momentary spot of light on his left. Below him, Howard and Hoover crouched against the wall, smoking cigarettes.

'Hey, Captain, there was a light down there below the east watchtower in the moat.'

They were on their feet instantly. 'You certain?' Howard leaned out of the embrasure. 'I can't see a thing.'

'There was a light. Just for a minute.'

'Okay, let's move it,' Howard said and started along the wall.

When they entered the water-gate tunnel, Jackson was on the other side from Hesser and his men, clutching the grille, knee-deep in water. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake. I've got to see General Canning.'

'What is it?' Howard demanded. 'What's going?'

Hesser switched on the torch without a word. Jackson blinked in the sudden light. He was soaked to the skin, water dripping from his uniform, teeth chattering. He tried to peer into the darkness at Howard.

'You American, buddy? For Christ's sakes, make these crazy bastards let me in. Another five minutes of this and I'll die of exposure.'

'Hey, he's right, Captain,' Finebaum said. 'He don't look too good.'

'Who are you?' Howard demanded.

'Harry Bannerman's the name. Crash-landed this morning about ten miles from here in a P47. Got picked up by an SS unit. They had me down in the village here until an hour ago. In an inn called the Golden Eagle.'

'How did you get away?'

'The landlord helped me — a guy called Meyer. There was another prisoner there. He put him up to it. A Frenchman named Gaillard. He told me to get up here fast and see General Canning. I've got information about when the krauts intend to hit this place.' He rattled the grille ineffectively, his voice breaking. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake — if you don't want to die, that is.'

'Okay,' Howard said to Hesser. 'Open the gate and drag him in — but fast. And you, Finebaum, I make personally responsible for blowing his backbone in half if he makes a wrong move.'

In the darkness among the trees on the far side of the moat, Strasser, Ritter and Hoffer listened to the clang of the grille shutting.

'So, he's in,' Ritter said. 'Let's hope they buy his story.'

'I don't see why not,' Strasser said. 'Jackson's strength, as I said before, lies in the fact that he's a genuine American, not the ersatz variety that let Skorzeny down so badly in the Ardennes.'

'So now we wait,' Ritter said.

'Until it's time for my part in this rather interesting drama.' Strasser smiled through the darkness. 'You know, I'm really rather looking forward to it.'

General Canning, Birr, Madame Chevalier and Claire were having a late supper of sandwiches and coffee when Hesser and Howard entered, followed by Jackson, an army blanket draped around his shoulders. Finebaum was right behind him, the muzzle of his M1 no more than an inch away from Jackson's backbone.

'What have we here?' Canning demanded, rising to his feet.

'Swam across the moat to the water gate, General,' Howard said. 'Claims to be an Army Air Corps officer. No papers — no identification on him whatsoever. Not even his dog tags.'

'They took them off me,' Jackson said. 'Those damned SS stripped me of everything. I mean, how many times do I have to tell you?'

'What outfit?' Canning demanded.

'Five hundred and tenth squadron, 405th group, sir. Operating out of what was a Luftwaffe base at Hellenbach until we took it four days ago.'

'What's your story?'

'My squadron was ordered to hit a Panzer column on the other side of Salzburg from here. This morning it was, General. We dropped our bombs dead on target, no problem, there being no Luftwaffe to speak of in this area any more. Then on the way back my battery went dead and I had to crash-land.'

'What was your aircraft?'

'P47 Thunderbolt, sir. I made it down in one piece in a clearing in the forest, then struck out for the main road. It's a pretty fluid situation in this area, General. There are plenty of our people around. It's just a question of knowing where.'

'And you say you were picked up by an SS unit?'

'That's right, sir. Mostly Finns, but there was a German officer in charge. A man called Ritter.'

'And they've been holding you all day?'

'That's right, sir, at an inn called the Golden Eagle in Arlberg.' There was a slight pause. He gazed around him wildly. 'Say, what goes on here? What do you people think I am — a kraut or something?'

'Well, I'll tell you, Captain,' Finebaum put in. 'Because it's really funny you should say that. When we were in the Ardennes in forty-four — and it was snowing then too, I might add — there was guys popping up all over the place, just like you, GI uniform — everything. Saying they'd lost their units, asking the way to Malmedy. Stuff like that. An interesting thing. They was all krautheads.'

'Any chance of you shutting this man up?' Canning inquired coldly.

Howard said, 'Button it, Finebaum.'

Canning said to Jackson, 'We're in a hell of a position in here, Bannerman. We can't afford to take anything on trust, you understand?'

'He says he's met Dr Gaillard, sir,' Howard put in.

Claire said excitedly, 'You've seen Paul?'

'Sure I've seen him.'

'How is he?'

'He's looking after a sick kid down there at the inn. Son of the landlord, a guy named Meyer.'

'And the SS have him?' Canning asked.

'Oh, yes. Major Ritter, the officer in command, lets him see to the kid regularly, but they had us locked up together for quite a while. Meyer brought our food and Gaillard saw him quite a lot each time he went to see to the kid. He's in a pretty bad way.'

'All right, how did you escape?'

'Well, it was mostly Meyer who made that possible. He overheard Ritter and some guy called Strasser — a civilian he has with him — discussing their plans for an attack just before dawn. They're going to put some guys across the moat with explosives to blow down your drawbridge. When Gaillard heard that, he told me I'd have to get away somehow and come and warn you people.'

'Which you seem to have managed without too much trouble,' Birr said.

'That was Meyer again. He tipped me off he'd leave the back door near the kitchen unlocked. I asked to go to the lavatory, gave the Finn who was escorting me a shove at the right moment, got the door open and ran like hell.'

There was a long and heavy silence now in which everyone seemed to be looking at him. Jackson said, 'General, I'm Captain Harry Bannerman of the United States Army Air Corps and when that drawbridge of yours is blown to hell and gone just before dawn tomorrow, you'll know I was telling the truth. Just now, I'd settle for a cup of coffee, dry clothes and somewhere to lay my head.'

Canning smiled suddenly and held out his hand. 'I'll tell you something, son. All of a sudden I've decided to believe you.' He turned to Hesser. 'Can you find him some dry clothes?'

'Certainly,' Hesser said. 'If the Herr Captain doesn't mind German uniform. This way, if you please.'

Jackson started to follow him, paused and turned. 'Heh, there's just one thing, General. Something kind of funny. It doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Maybe it does to you.'

'What's that?' Canning asked him.

'This guy Strasser — the civilian I told you about?'

'Well?'

'It's just that he seems to swing a lot of weight. I mean a couple of times there he acted as if he was in charge and I heard Ritter call him Reichsleiter. That ring any bells with you?'

Hesser turned pale. 'Bormann?' he whispered.

'That's it,' Canning said excitedly. 'I knew I'd seen that ugly face somewhere before. Martin Bormann, Secretary to Hitler himself. I saw him just once on the stand at the Berlin Olympic Games in thirty-six.' He turned on Hesser. 'You didn't recognize him?'

'I've never laid eyes on Bormann in my life,' Hesser said. 'He's a man of the shadows, always has been.'

'Now we know why they wanted us so urgently,' Canning said. 'Hostages to bargain with in the hope he might save his rotten neck.' He rubbed his hands together excitedly. 'Good work, Bannerman. You've really earned your keep with that one. Take him away now, Max, and get some dry clothes on him.'

Hesser and Jackson went out. Madame Chevalier said, 'What does this mean, General? I've heard of this man, Bormann. A member of the inner circle, isn't that so?'

'Not a thing to worry about, I assure you,' Canning said. 'Now have some more coffee, sit down and take it easy and I'll be back in a moment.'

He went out with Howard and Finebaum, closed the door behind him and paused in the shadows at the head of the stairs.

'What do you think, sir?' Howard asked.

Canning looked down at Finebaum. 'Is he any good?'

'A sackful of medals. He seems to have a talent for killing people, General.'

'Okay, soldier,' Canning said. 'You watch Bannerman like a hawk. Not too close, but be around just in case.'

'I'm your man, General.' Finebaum went down the stairs into the shadows.

'You don't believe Bannerman, sir?' Howard asked.

'I had a Scottish grandmother, Captain, from the Isle of Skye, who used to say she had an instinct for things. No proof, because there was no need. She just knew. I sometimes think some of it rubbed off on me. Now get back to that gate. I'll join you there as soon as I can.'

He opened the door and went back into the dining hall.

When Howard climbed up to the ramparts above the gate it was snowing hard, large flakes drifting down through the yellow glare of the spotlight, spiralling in the slight wind. Hoover was up there with three Germans. Like them, the American was wearing a Wehrmacht winter-issue parka.

'Decided to change sides, I see,' Howard said. 'Kind of late in the war, isn't it?'

'The romantic in me,' Hoover said. 'My great-grandfather was in the Army of the Confederacy. We Hoovers just take to losing naturally, I guess. What about Bannerman?'

'He tells a convincing story. Says the opposition are going to hit us just before dawn. Slip a couple of guys across the moat with explosives and come running.'

He carried on to explain the rest of it, and when he was finished Hoover said, 'That last part doesn't make too much sense to me. I never even heard of this guy Bormann. Did you?'

'Somewhere or other,' Howard said. 'But I never thought he was particularly important. I mean, not like Ribbentropp or Goebbels or one of those guys. Sending someone like him sure lays it on the line how much they want to get their hands on these people as hostages.'

'Where's Finebaum?'

'Somewhere back there in the north tower, keeping an eye out for Bannerman on General Canning's orders.'

One of the sentries said quickly in German, 'Something moves — out there.'

He grabbed Howard's arm and pointed. A moment later, Karl Ritter, Hoffer and Strasser moved out of the darkness into the circle of light.

'Hello, the wall,' Ritter called. 'Is General Canning there?'

Howard stayed back in the shadows. 'What do you want?'

'Herr Strasser would like a word with General Canning. He has a proposition to put to him.'

'Tell me,' Howard called.

Ritter shrugged. 'If that is your attitude, then I can see we are wasting your time. Thank you and good night.'

They turned to go and Hoover whispered, 'Sir, this could be important.'

'Okay, Harry, okay.' Howard leaned forward into the light. 'Hold it. I'll see what he says.'

A moment later he was speaking to Canning on the field telephone. 'It could be a trap, sir.'

'I don't think so,' Canning said. 'They must know they'd be cut down in half a second, those two, at the first sign of trouble, and I don't think they'd make that kind of sacrifice, not if Strasser is who Jackson says he is. No, drop the drawbridge and have them in. Send Strasser up here to me. Keep Ritter with you.'

A few moments later, the drawbridge started to descend with a rattle of chains. Ritter said softly, 'So, the fish bite. Are you always so correct in your prophecies?'

'Only where matters of importance are concerned,' Strasser said, and as the drawbridge thudded down into place, they walked across together, Hoffer following.

The judas opened and Howard peered through briefly. He stepped back and they moved inside. As he closed the gate and barred it, Howard said to Hoover, 'Take Herr Strasser up to the north tower. General Canning is waiting. You, Major,' he continued to Ritter, 'will have to put up with my company until he gets back, I'm afraid.'

Strasser moved off, without a word, following Hoover. Hoffer stood, back to the gate, stony-faced. Ritter took out his case, selected a cigarette, then offered one to Howard.

'I must warn you. They're Russian, an acquired taste.'

Howard took one and leaned back against the wall, the butt of his Thompson braced against his hip. 'So, here we are again,' he said.

When Hoover knocked on the door and led the way into the upper dining hall, only Canning and Justin Birr stood by the fire. Strasser paused nonchalantly in the centre of the room, hands in the pockets of his leather coat, slouch hat slanted over one ear.

'Good evening, gentlemen.'

Canning nodded to Hoover. 'You can wait outside, Sergeant. I'll call you if I need you.'

The door closed. Strasser crossed to the fireplace and spread his hands to the blaze. 'Nothing like a log fire to take the chill off. It's cold out there tonight. The kind that eats into your bones like acid.'

Canning glanced at Birr and nodded. Birr crossed to the sideboard, poured a generous measure of brandy into a glass and returned.

'Just to show how humanitarian we are. Now what in the hell do you want, Bormann?'

Strasser paused in the act of drinking some of the brandy. 'Strasser, Herr General. The name is Strasser.'

'Strange,' Canning said. 'You look exactly like the man I saw in Berlin in 1936 standing on the rostrum behind Adolf Hitler at the Olympic Games. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann.'

'You flatter me, General. I am, I assure you, a relatively unimportant official of the Department of Prisoner of War Administration.'

'I have difficulty in imagining you as a relatively unimportant being. But go on.'

'Let us consider your situation here. There are twenty-four of you in this garrison, twenty-six if we count the ladies. Most of your men are reservists who have never fought or cripples who can barely lift a rifle.'

'So?'

'We, on the other hand, have almost forty battle-hardened shock-troops to call upon. Men of the Waffen-SS, and whatever you may think, General, however much you disapprove, that means the best in the world.'

'Get on with it,' Justin Birr said. 'Just what are you trying to prove?'

'That if we decide to move against you, the consequences will be disastrous — for you.'

'A matter of opinion,' Canning said. 'But accepting that what you say is true, what do you suggest we do about it? I mean, that is why you're here, isn't it? To offer us some kind of alternative solution. I mean before you try slipping a couple of men across the moat just before dawn to blow the drawbridge chains.'

'My goodness, somebody has been busy,' Strasser said. 'All right, General, it's simple. We have Dr Gaillard, whom we found at the Golden Eagle in Arlberg attending to the landlord's sick son. Sad, how good deeds can so often prove our undoing. However, if you and Colonel Birr will hand yourselves over, we'll be content with that and let the ladies go free.'

'Not a chance,' Canning said.

Strasser turned to Birr. 'You agree?'

'I'm afraid so, old stick. You see, we don't really trust you, that's the truth of it. Terribly sorry, but there it is.'

'And the ladies?' Strasser said. 'They have no say in this?'

Canning hesitated, then went and opened the door. He spoke briefly to Hoover, then returned. 'They'll be here directly.'

He and Birr lit cigarettes. Strasser turned to survey the room and immediately saw the great silver bowl of scarlet winter roses on the piano.

'Ah, my favourite flowers.' He was genuinely delighted and crossed the room to admire them. 'Winter roses. Like life in the midst of death — they fill the heart with gladness.'

The door opened and, as he turned, Claire de Beauville, Madame Chevalier and Earl Jackson entered the room. Strasser smiled at the American. 'We missed you for supper.'

'Sorry I couldn't stay.'

Strasser turned to Canning. 'An explanation of one or two things which were puzzling me. I was beginning to think you were a wonder-worker. It's nice to know you're just a man, like the rest of us.'

'Okay,' Canning said. 'I've had just about enough for one night. You wanted a word with the ladies — well, they're here, so make the most of it.'

'I can't imagine what you could possibly have to say to me that I would be interested in hearing, Monsieur,' Madame Chevalier said. 'Thankfully, I can use the time to some advantage.'

She sat down at the piano and started to play a Debussy nocturne. Strasser, not in the least put out, said, 'I have offered you ladies your freedom, guaranteed it, on condition that the General and Colonel Birr come quietly and with no fuss.'

Madame Chevalier ignored him and Claire simply walked across to the bowl of roses and buried her face in them.

Strasser said, 'I should have known. Above all flowers, they need delicate hands and infinite patience in their rearing. Your work, Madame?'

'Yes,' she said. 'So, as you can see, I am fully occupied and cannot leave at the present time.'

Canning moved in. 'You heard the lady.'

Strasser selected one of the blooms, snapped the stem and placed it in his buttonhole. 'Ah, well, it was worth the trip. You like winter roses, General?'

'Whatever it is, if Madame de Beauville cultivated it, I like.'

'Good,' Strasser said. 'I'll remember that at your funeral. One gets so bored with lilies. A single scarlet winter rose should look very well. And now, I think, I will bid you goodnight. There is obviously nothing more for me here.'

He walked to the door. Hoover glanced at Canning, who nodded. The sergeant led the way out.

There was a heavy silence and Madame Chevalier stopped playing. 'I must be getting old. Suddenly I feel cold — very, very cold.'

Strasser stepped through the judas, followed by Hoffer. As Ritter moved out Howard said softly, 'I'll be seeing you.'

'When?' Ritter said. 'Under the elms at dawn? Six paces each way, turn and fire? You take it all too seriously, Captain.'

He followed the others across. As they stepped on to the bank, the drawbridge lifted behind them.

'Are you satisfied?' Ritter asked Strasser softly.

'Oh, yes, I think so. Jackson should be well enough entrenched now. The rest is up to him.'

He started to whistle cheerfully.

It was just after midnight, and in Berlin at his office in the bunker Bormann worked steadily, the scratching of his pen the only sound, the noise of the Russian shelling muted far away. There was a light tap on the door. It opened and Goebbels entered. He looked pale and haggard, the skin drawn tightly over his face. A dead man walking.

Bormann put down his pen. 'How goes it?'

'Goebbels passed a flimsy across the desk. That's the radiogram I've just dispatched to Plon.'

GRAND ADMIRAL DoNITZ (Personal and Secret)

To be handled only by an officer.

Fuhrer died yesterday, 1530 hours. In his will dated 29 April he appoints you as President of the Reich, Goebbels as Reich Chancellor, Bormann as party minister…

There was more, but Bormann didn't bother to read it. 'Paper, Josef. Just so much paper.

'Perhaps,' Goebbels said. 'But we must preserve the formalities, even at this desperate stage.'

'Why?'

'For posterity, if nothing else. For those who will come after us.'

'Nobody comes after us. Not here — not in Germany for many years to come. Our destiny lies elsewhere for the time being.'

'For you, perhaps, but not for me,' Goebbels said, his voice flat, toneless.

'I see,' Bormann said. 'You intend to emulate the Fuhrer?'

'No shame in ending a life which will have no further value to me if I cannot stand at his side. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life running round the world like some eternal refugee. Preparations are already in hand. The children will be given cyanide capsules.'

'What, all six of them?' Bormann actually smiled. 'Thorough and painstaking to the end, I see. And you and Magda?'

'I have already detailed an SS orderly to shoot us when the moment comes.'

Bormann shrugged. 'Then I can only wish you better luck in the hereafter than you've had here.'

'And you?' Goebbels said.

'Oh, I'll try my luck in the outside world, I think. We should be all right here for the rest of today. I'll make a run for it tonight with Axmann, Stumpfegger and one or two more. We intend to try the underground railway tunnel. That should get us to Friedrichstrasse Station all right. Mohnke is still holding out there with a battle-group of 3,000. SS, sailors, Volkssturm and a whole batch of Hitler Youth kids. They seem to be holding their own.'

'And then?'

'With their help we'll try to cross the Weidendammer Bridge over the Spree. Once on the other side, we should stand an excellent chance. Not many Russians in the northwestern suburbs yet.'

'I can only wish you luck.' Suddenly Goebbels sounded very tired indeed. He turned to the door, started to open it and paused. 'What comes afterwards, if you get away?'

'Oh, I'll make out.'

'Come to think of it, you always did, didn't you?'

Goebbels went out, closing the door. Bormann sat there, thinking about what he had said. I have no intention of spending my life running round the world like some eternal refugee. He shrugged, picked up his pen and resumed his writing.

Jackson lay on the bed, waiting in the dark in the room they'd given him. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. It was twenty past midnight — ten minutes to go. He lit a cigarette and drew on it nervously. Not that he was afraid — simply keyed up. A brilliant suggestion of Strasser's to tell them he was the Reichsleiter. Coupled with Strasser's personal appearance, it had effectively clouded the entire issue. He was certain they'd accepted him completely now.

He checked his watch again. Time to go. He got up and padded to the door, and when he opened it, the passageway was deserted, a place of shadows partially illuminated by a single small bulb at the far end. He caught a brief glimpse of himself in a full-length gilt mirror. He was wearing Hesser's best uniform and it fitted rather well. He moved on, past one oil painting after another, blank eighteenth-century faces staring down at him. He turned the stairs at the end, paused by the white door on the small landing and knocked.

The door opened slightly and on the instant as if the occupant had been waiting. 'Valhalla Exchange,' Jackson whispered.

'Good — everything's ready for you,' Claire de Beauville said.

Jackson stepped into the room. On the washstand was plastic explosive, detonators and a Schmeisser. He put the explosive in one pocket, the detonators in the other and picked up the machine pistol.

'Anything else?' she said. Her face was pale, unnaturally calm.

'Yes. Some sort of hand-gun. Can you manage that?'

'I think so.'

She opened the drawer of the bedside locker and produced a Walther. Jackson checked that it was loaded, then pushed it down into his waistband at the small of his back under the tunic.

'I like an ace-in-the-hole, just in case things go wrong. Amazing how often even an expert search misses that particular spot. Have you spoken to him on the radio again since he was here?'

'Twenty minutes ago. Everything is arranged exactly as planned. They wait on you. You'll need a greatcoat and a cap to get you across the square unnoticed. There are men working out there. The small staircase at the end of the passage takes you to the main entrance hall, you'll find a cloakroom at the bottom, and the room that houses the drawbridge mechanism is first door on the left in the gate tunnel.'

'You've done well,' Jackson grinned. 'Well, mustn't stand here gossiping. Once more into the breach, dear friends…' and he picked up the Schmeisser and slipped out.

In the dining hall, Canning was standing alone in front of the fire when Hesser entered. 'Cold,' the German said. 'Too cold. Schneider said you wanted a word.'

'Yes. Let's say that drawbridge falls and the gates blow, what happens then?'

'They'll come in at full speed in those halftracks, I should imagine.'

'Exactly. Armoured troop carriers and we don't even have anything capable of blowing off a track unless someone gets lucky and close enough with one of your stick grenades.'

'True, but you have some sort of solution, I think, or you would not be raising the matter.'

'We've been together too long, Max.'

Canning smiled. 'Okay — that cannon in the centre of the square. Big Bertha.'

Hesser said. 'She hasn't been fired since the Franco-Prussian War.'

'I know, but she could still have one good belt left in her. Get Schneider on the job. You can soon make up some sort of charge. Prise open a few cartridges to make touch powder. Stoke the barrel up with old metal, chain, anything you can find, then have the men haul her down to the tunnel. Say twenty or thirty yards from the entrance. It could knock hell out of the first vehicle to come out of there.'

'Or simply explode in the face of whoever puts a light to the touch-hole.'

'Well, that's me,' Canning told him. 'I thought of it, so I'll stick with it.'

Hesser sighed. 'Very well, Herr General, you command here, not I,' and he went out.