The Valhalla Exchange

14

Ritter and Claire de Beauville did not exchange a single word during the drive down to the village. When Hoffer finally braked to a halt in front of the Golden Eagle, Claire made no attempt to get out; simply sat there, mute, staring into space, snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes.

'We will go in now, Madame,' Ritter said gently as Hoffer opened the door for them.

He took her hand to help her down and she started to shake. He put an arm about her shoulder. 'Quickly, Erich — inside.'

Hoffer ran ahead to get the door open. Ritter took her up the steps into the bar. Meyer was tending the fire. A look of astonishment appeared on his face when he saw Claire. 'Madame de Beauville — are you all right?'

She was shaking uncontrollably now. Ritter said, 'Where is Herr Strasser?'

'In my office, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'I'll take her there now. You get Dr Gaillard. I think she's going to need him. Go with him, Erich.'

They both went out quickly. Claire leaned heavily against Ritter and he held her close, afraid that she might fall. He walked her across to the fire and eased her into the large armchair beside it. Then he went to the bar, poured brandy into a glass and returned.

'Come on, just a little. You'll feel better, I promise you.'

She moaned softly, but drank, and then she seemed to choke a little, her fingers tightening on his shoulder as she stared past him.

Strasser said, 'What happened? What went wrong?'

Ritter turned to look at him. 'She is not well, as you can see.'

'This is not your department, so kindly keep out of it,' Strasser told him coldly.

Ritter hesitated then got to his feet and moved a few paces away. Strasser said, 'You were discovered?'

'Yes.'

'Then how do you come to be here?'

'General Canning threw me out.'

Strasser stood there, confronting her, hands clasped behind his back, a slight frown on his face. He nodded slowly. 'Exactly the sort of stupidity he would indulge in.'

'What happens now?'

'To you? A matter of supreme indifference to me, Madame.'

He started to turn away and she caught his sleeve, shaking again now, tears in her eyes. 'Please, Herr Bormann, Etienne — my husband. You promised.'

'Strasser,' he said. 'The name is Strasser, Madame, and in regard to your husband, I promised nothing. I said I would do what I could.'

'But Colonel Rattenhuber — '

'- is dead,' Strasser said. 'And I can't be responsible for the empty promises of a dead man.'

There was horror and incredulity on her face now. 'But I did everything I was asked to do. Betrayed my friends — my country. Don't you understand?'

From the doorway Gaillard said, in shocked tones, 'For God's sake, Claire, what are you saying?'

She turned on him feverishly. 'Oh, yes, it's true. I was the puppet — he pulled the strings. Meet my master, Paul. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann.'

'I really am growing rather weary of that bit,' Strasser said.

'Would you like to know why I did it, Paul? Shall I tell you? It's really very simple. Etienne wasn't killed escaping from SD Headquarters in Paris as we thought. He's alive. A prisoner at Mauthausen concentration camp.'

There was agony on Paul Gaillard's face — an overwhelming pity. He took her hands in his. 'I know, Claire, that Etienne wasn't shot trying to escape from Avenue Foche. I've known for a long time. I also know they took him to Mauthausen.'

'You knew?' she whispered. 'But I don't understand.'

'Mauthausen is an extermination camp. You only go in, you never come out. Etienne died there in the stone quarry two years ago along with forty-seven American, British and French fliers. There seemed no point in causing you needless distress when you already believed him dead.'

'How did they die?'

Gaillard hesitated.

'Please, Paul, I must know.'

'Very well. At one point in the quarry there was a flight of steps, 127 of them. Etienne and the others were made to climb them carrying heavy stones. Seventy, eighty, ninety, even one hundred pounds in weight. If they fell down they were clubbed and kicked until they got up again. By the evening of the first day half of them were dead. The rest died the following morning.'

Canning and Justin Birr had a plan of the castle open across the top of the piano. Claudine Chevalier sat opposite them, playing softly. The door opened and Hesser and Howard entered, the German brushing snowflakes from the fur collar of his greatcoat.

Canning said briskly, 'I've called you together for a final briefing on what the plan must be in case of an all-out assault.'

'You think that's still possible, sir?' Howard asked.

'I've no reason to believe otherwise. One thing is absolutely certain. If it comes at all, it must come soon. I'd say no later than dawn because the one thing Strasser or Bormann or whoever he is doesn't have is time. An Allied column could cross this place. However' — he pulled the plan forward — 'let's say they do attack and force the drawbridge. How long can you hold them before they blast that gate. Howard?'

'Not long enough, General. All we have are rifles, Schmeissers and grenades and one machine gun up there. They still have two half-tracks with heavy machine guns and a lot more manpower.'

'Okay — so they force the gates and you have to fall back. What about Big Bertha, Max?'

'She is in position thirty yards from the mouth of the tunnel and overflowing with scrap metal. However, I can't guarantee that she won't blow up in the face of whoever puts light to her.'

'That's my department,' Canning told him. 'I said it, I meant it. If it works, we dispose of the first half-track out of the tunnel and probably every man in it. That should even things up a little.'

'Then what?' Howard demanded.

'We retreat into the north tower, get the door shut and stand them off for as long as we can.'

Justin Birr said mildly, 'I hate to mention it, Hamilton, but it really isn't much of a barrier, that door. Not if somebody starts chucking grenades at it.'

'Then we retreat up the stairs,' Canning said. 'Fight them floor by floor, or has anybody got a better suggestion?' There was only silence. 'All right, gentlemen, let's get moving. I'll see you on the wall in five minutes.'

They went out. He stood there looking at the plan for a while, then picked up a German-issue parka and pulled it over his head.

'A long wait until dawn, Hamilton,' Claudine Chevalier said. 'You really think they'll come?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'And Paul and Claire? I wonder what will happen to them?'

'I don't know.'

'Or care?'

'About Gaillard — yes.' Canning buckled on his holstered pistol.

'How strange,' she said, still playing, 'that love can turn to hate so quickly — or can it? Perhaps we only delude ourselves.'

'Why don't you go to hell?' Canning suggested bitterly and he walked out, slamming the door.

When Sorsa went into the bar at the Golden Eagle he found Ritter sitting by the fire, a glass in one hand. Sorsa beat the snow from his parka. Ritter didn't say a word, simply stared into the fire. The door from the kitchen opened and Erich Hoffer entered with coffee on a tray. He put it down on the side-table without a word. Ritter ignored him also.

Sorsa glanced at the sergeant-major, then coughed. Ritter's head turned very slowly. He glanced up, a brooding expression in his eyes.

'Yes, what is it?'

'You sent for me, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

Ritter stared up at him for a moment longer, then said, 'How many did you lose up there?'

'Four dead — two seriously wounded. We brought them back here for the doctor to deal with. Three others scratched about a bit. One of the half-tracks is a complete writeoff. What happens now?'

'We attack at dawn. Seven o'clock precisely. You and your men are still mine until nine, remember.'

'Yes, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'I'll take command personally. Full assault. We'll use Panzerfausts on the drawbridge. Hoffer, here, was the best gunner in the battalion. He'll blow those chains for us, won't you, Erich?'

It was delivered as an order, and Hoffer reacted accordingly, springing to attention, heels clicking together. 'Zw befehl, Sturtnbannfuhrer.'

Ritter looked up at Sorsa. 'Any questions?'

'Would it make any difference if I had?' Sorsa asked.

'Not really. The same roads lead to hell in the end for all of us.'

'A saying we have in Finland also.'

Ritter nodded. 'Better leave Sergeant-Major Gestrin and four of your best men down here to hold the fort while we're away. You get back to your camp now. I'll be up in a little while.'

'And Herr Strasser?'

'I shouldn't imagine so, not for a moment. Herr Strasser is too important to be risked. You understand me?'

'I think so, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'Good, because I'm damned if I do.' Ritter got to his feet, walked to the bar and reached for the schnapps bottle. 'I've known a lot of good men during the past five or six years who are no longer with us, and for the first time I'm beginning to wonder why.' There was a kind of desperation on his face. 'Why did they die, Sorsa? What for? Can you tell me?'

'I'm afraid not,' Sorsa said gently. 'You see, I fight for wages. We belong to a different club, you and me. Was there anything else?' Ritter shook his head. 'Then I'll get back to my boys.'

The big Finn gave him a military salute and went out. Ritter moved to the fireplace and stared into the flames. 'Why, Erich?' he whispered. 'What for?'

'What's this, Major Ritter?' Strasser said from the doorway. 'A little late in the day for philosophy, I should have thought.'

Ritter turned, the dark eyes blazing in the pale face. 'No more games, Reichsleiter. We've gone too far for that now, you and I.'

'Have we indeed?' Strasser went behind the bar and poured himself a brandy.

'Is it Bormann in Berlin and Strasser here, or the other way about?' Ritter said. 'On the other hand, does it really matter?'

'Speeches now?'

'I'd say I've earned the right, if only because I had to stand by and watch that sickening spectacle with the de Beauville woman. You left her more degraded than a San Pauli whore. You left her nothing.'

'I did what had to be done.'

'For God, the Fuhrer and the Reich — or have I got that in the wrong order?' Ritter ignored the horror on Hoffer's face. 'Hundreds of thousands of young Germans have died, the cream of our nation, who believed. Who had faith and idealism. Who thought they were taking our country out of the degradation and squalor of the twenties into a new age. I now realize they died for nothing. What they believed in never existed in the first place. You and your kind allowed, for your own ends, a madman to lead the German people down the road to hell, and we followed you with joy in our hearts.'

Strasser said, 'Listen to me, Ritter. This is sentimental nonsense of the worst kind, and from you — a man who has served the Reich as few have done. Do you think we are finished? If so, you are badly mistaken. We go on — only now does the Kamaradenwerk begin, and there is a place for you in this. A place of honour.'

Ritter turned to Hoffer. 'We're leaving now, Erich.'

Hoffer went out. Strasser said, 'What do you intend?'

'I'm attacking at seven o'clock. Full assault. We'll use Panzerfausts to blow the drawbridge chains. It might work, but I can't guarantee it. I'm leaving Sergeant-Major Gestrin and four men to look after things here.'

Hoffer returned and handed him his parka and field cap. Strasser said, 'Let me get my coat. I'll come with you.'

'No!' Ritter said flatly. 'I command and I say you stay here.'

As he buttoned his parka, Strasser said, 'As you so obviously feel as you do, why are you doing this?'

'Most of my friends are dead now,' Ritter told him. 'Why should I get away with it?' and he walked out.

Arnie was sleeping peacefully and the only evidence of the ordeal he had passed through were the dark smudges like purple bruising under each eye. Gaillard placed a hand on the boy's forehead. It was quite cool and the pulse was normal for the first time in twenty-four hours.

He lit a cigarette, went to the window and opened it. It was quite dark except for light spilling out from the kitchen window across the courtyard below. It was snowing and he breathed deeply of the cold bracing air.

There was a knock at the door and Meyer entered with coffee on a tray. The Finnish guard stayed outside. Gaillard could see him sitting on a chair on the other side of the corridor, smoking a cigarette.

'How is he, Herr Doktor?' Meyer asked as he poured coffee.

'Temperature down, pulse normal, fever gone and sleeping peacefully as you can see.' Gaillard drank some of the coffee gratefully. 'And now I must check on Madame de Beauville.'

Meyer said softly, 'They mount a general assault on Schloss Arlberg at seven.'

Gaillard said, 'Are you certain?'

'I overheard Major Ritter and Herr Strasser discussing it in the bar a short time ago. Major Ritter has already left for the castle.'

'And Strasser?'

'There was trouble between them, Strasser wanted to go, but Ritter wouldn't have it. He stays here with five Finns to guard him.'

Gaillard turned and leaned on the window sill, considerably agitated. 'If a general assault is mounted up there they won't stand a chance. We must do something.'

'What can we do, Herr Doktor? It's a hopeless situation.'

'Not if someone could get out with news of what's happening here.' There was a new hope on Gaillard's face. 'There must be many Allied units in the vicinity of Arlberg now. You could go, Johann.' He reached out a hand and gripped Meyer's coat. 'You could slip away.'

'I am sorry, Herr Doktor, I owe you a great deal — possibly even my son's life — but if I go, it would be like leaving the boy to take his chances.' Meyer shook his head. 'In any case, it would be impossible to steal the field car with those Finns out in front, and how far could anyone hope to get on foot?'

'You're right, of course.' Gaillard turned back to the window dejectedly and saw something in the courtyard below that filled him with a sudden fierce hope. A set of skis propped against the wall beside the kitchen window.

He controlled himself with considerable difficulty. 'Pour me another coffee before that sentry decides you've been here long enough, and listen. The skis down there — they are yours?'

'Yes, Herr Doktor.'

'You are right, my friend, you do owe me something and now is your chance to repay. You will take those skis, an anorak, mittens and boots and leave them in the wood store at the top of the yard. That is all I ask. Getting out of here is my problem.'

Meyer still hesitated. 'I'm not sure, Herr Doktor. If they ever found out…'

'Not for me or my friends, Johann,' Gaillard said. 'For Arnie. You owe him that much, I think.'

The Finn moved into the room, said something in his own language, and gestured to Meyer, motioning him outside. Meyer picked up the tray.

'I'm counting on you, Johann.'

'I'll try, Herr Doktor.' Meyer looked distinctly unhappy. 'I'll do my best, but I can't promise more than that.'

He went out and the guard made to close the door, but Gaillard shook his head. He picked up his doctor's bag, brushed past him and went down the corridor to the next room. Claire de Beauville was lying down, and when the Finn tried to follow him in, Gaillard shut the door in his face.

She started to get up and Gaillard sat on the edge of the bed. 'No, stay where you are. How do you feel now?'

'A little better.'

'Not if someone comes in, you don't. You feel very ill indeed.'

'The sentry?'

'No, he's been rather more amenable since standing by and watching while I patched up two of his comrades in a room along the corridor. Casualties of some fracas up at the castle.' He opened his bag and took out a stethoscope. 'I haven't got long so listen carefully. This man Strasser or whoever he is. Do you still wish to serve him?'

She shuddered. 'What do you think?'

He glanced at his watch. 'In less than an hour they mount a general assault on Schloss Arlberg. Everything they've got. No holds barred.'

Her eyes widened. 'Claudine, Hamilton and the others — they won't stand a chance.'

'Exactly, so someone must go for help.'

'But how?'

'Meyer is hiding ski-ing equipment for me in the wood store at the back of the inn. Getting out is my own affair. Will you help?'

'Of course.' Her hand tightened on his and she smiled sadly. 'If you want the help of someone like me.'

'My poor Claire. We are all casualties of war to a greater or lesser degree. Who am I to judge you?' There were voices outside. She lay back hurriedly. The door opened and Strasser entered.

'How is she?'

'Not very well,' Gaillard said. 'I'm afraid a total breakdown is quite possible. She has, after all, gone through a lengthy period of intense stress. Add to this the trauma of more recent events. The news of her husband's death.'

'Yes, all very sad,' Strasser said impatiently. 'However, I want to talk to you.'

'It will have to wait. Madame de Beauville needs my full attention at the moment and I would remind you that I have two badly wounded Finns along the corridor.'

'Ten minutes,' Strasser said. 'That's all you can have, then I want you downstairs in the bar.' His voice was cold, incisive. 'You understand me?'

'Of course, Reichsleiter,' Gaillard told him calmly.

Strasser left, leaving the door open, the Finnish guard standing outside. 'That's bad,' Gaillard said. 'It doesn't give us much time.'

'If you don't go now, you won't go at all, isn't that how it stands?' she said.

'Very probably.'

'Well, then, it's now or never.'

She sat up and swung her legs down, somehow managing to knock his bag to the floor. She reached to pick it up, clumsily disgorging most of the contents, instruments, pill bottles and so on, on the carpet.

'Now look what I've done.'

The Finnish guard moved into the room and stood watching. She started to kneel and Gaillard said, 'It doesn't matter. I'll get them.'

Claire turned to the Finn, trying to look as confused and helpless as possible and he responded as she had hoped. He grinned, unslung his rifle, and put it on the bed, then dropped to one knee beside Gaillard.

She didn't hesitate. There was a cut-glass decanter half-full of water beside her bed. She seized it by the neck and struck with all her strength at the base of the skull. Glass fragmented, bone splintered, the Finn slumped on his face without a sound.

She froze for a few moments, listening, but all was quiet. She said, 'Go, now, Paul.'

'And you?' he asked, standing up.

'Don't worry about me.'

He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her briefly and hurried out. Claire stood there, looking down at the Finn, surprisingly calm, drained of all emotion and very, very tired. A drink, she thought, that's what I need, and she went out, closing the door behind her.

Gaillard went down the back stairs. As he reached the stone-flagged passage, the door to the courtyard opened and Meyer entered, stamping snow from his boots. He drew back in astonishment at the sight of Gaillard, who grabbed his arm.

'Have you done as I asked?'

'Yes, Herr Doktor,' Meyer stammered. 'I've just come back.'

'Good man,' Gaillard said. 'If Strasser descends on you when I'm gone just play dumb.'

He opened the door, stepped out and closed it. The first pale luminous light of dawn was filtering through the trees. There was a slight ground mist and it was snowing a little. Meyer's tracks were plain and Gaillard followed them quickly across the yard to the wood store. He got the door open and passed inside.

He was excited now, more so than he had been for years, and his hands shook as he took off his shoes and pulled on the woollen socks and heavy ski-ing boots Meyer had provided. The anorak was an old red one which had been patched many times, but the hood was fur-lined, as were the mittens. He pulled it on quickly, picked up the skis and sticks and went back outside.

It was snowing harder now, cold, early-morning mountain snow, strangely exhilarating, and when he paused on the other side of the wall to put on the skis, he was conscious of the old, familiar thrill again. The years fell away and he was in the Vosges, practising for Chamonix. Nineteen twenty-four — the first Winter Games. The greatest moment of his life when he had won that gold medal. Everything after had always savoured a little of anti-climax.

He smiled wryly to himself and knelt to adjust the bindings to his satisfaction. He pressed on the safety catch, locking his boot in position, then repeated the performance with the other ski. So, he was ready. He pulled on his mittens and reached for the sticks.

It was perhaps five minutes later that Strasser, sitting waiting for Gaillard in the bar, heard a cry from outside in the square. He went to the door. Gestrin and the four Finnish soldiers Ritter had left were standing by the field car. One of them was pointing up above the houses to the wooded slope of the mountain behind.

'What is it?' Strasser demanded.

Manni Gestrin lowered his field-glasses. 'The Frenchman.'

'Gaillard?' Strasser said incredulously. 'Impossible.'

'See for yourself. Up there on the track.'

He handed the field-glasses over. Strasser hastily adjusted the lenses. He found the woodcutter's track that zigzagged up through the trees and came upon the skier in the red anorak almost instantly. Gaillard glanced back over his shoulder giving a good view of his face.

Two of the Finns were already taking aim with their Mauser rifles. Gestrin said, 'Shall we fire?'

'No, you fool, I want him back,' Strasser said. 'You understand me?'

'Nothing simpler. In this kind of country on skis, these lads are the best in the business.'

He turned away, giving orders in Finnish. They all moved quickly to the field car and started to unload their skis.

'You go with them,' Strasser told Gestrin. 'No excuses, no arguments. Just have him back here within the hour.'

'As you say,' Gestrin answered calmly.

They had their skis on within a few minutes and moved away in single file, rifles slung over their backs, Gestrin in the lead. Strasser looked up the mountain to the last bend in the track which could be seen from the square. There was a flash of red among the green, then nothing.

He hurried into the inn, drawing the Walther from his pocket. He went up the stairs, two at a time, and moved along the corridor. Arnie's door stood open. The boy slept peacefully. Strasser hesitated, then turned to Claire de Beauville's room. The Finnish guard lay where he had fallen, face turned to one side. The back of the skull was soft, matted with blood. There was a trickle from the corner of his mouth. He was quite dead and Strasser went out quickly.

'Meyer, where are you, damn you?' he called as he went downstairs.

Meyer emerged from the kitchen and stood there, fear in his eyes. In the same moment Strasser saw that Claire de Beauville was behind the bar, opening a champagne bottle.

'Ah, there you are, Reichsleiter. Just in time to join me. Krug. An excellent year, too. Not as chilled as I would normally expect, but one can't have everything in this life.'

Strasser ignored her and menaced Meyer with his pistol, beside himself with rage. 'You helped him, didn't you? Where else would he obtain skis and winter clothing?'

'Please, Herr Strasser. Don't shoot.' Meyer broke down completely. 'I had nothing to do with this business. You are mistaken if you think otherwise.'

Claire poured herself a glass of champagne, perched on one of the high stools and sipped it appreciatively. 'Excellent. Really excellent — and he's quite right, by the way. I was the one who helped Paul. I had the greatest of pleasure in crowning that SS man of yours with a cut-glass decanter.'

Strasser glared at her. 'You?' he said. 'He's dead, the man you assaulted, did you know that?'

The smile left her face, but she replied instantly, 'And so is Etienne.'

'You bitch. Do you realize what you've done?'

'Ruined everything for you, I hope. There must be British and American troops all over the area by now. I'm sure Paul will run across one of their columns quite quickly.'

'No chance,' he said. 'Gestrin and four of those Finns of his have just taken off after him. Probably five of the finest skiers in the German Army. You think it will take them long to run down a sixty-year-old man?'

'Who won an Olympic gold medal in 1924. The greatest skier in the world in his day. I would have thought that would still count for something, wouldn't you?' She raised her glass, 'A votre sante, Reichsleiter — and may you rot in hell.'

He fired several times as the black rage erupted inside him. His first bullet caught her in the right shoulder, knocking her off the stool and turning her round. His second and third shattered her spine, driving her headlong into the wall, the woollen material of her jacket smouldering, then bursting into flame. He moved forward, firing again and again until the gun was empty.

He stood looking down at her and Meyer, his face contorted with horror, backed away quietly, then turned and rushed upstairs. When he reached Arnie's room, the boy was still asleep. He closed the door, bolted it, then dragged a heavy chest of drawers across as an additional barrier.

He went into the dressing room, lifted the carpet in the corner and removed a loose floorboard. Inside, wrapped in a piece of blanket, was his old sawn-off shotgun from the poaching days of his youth and a box of cartridges, hidden since before the war. He loaded both barrels and went back into the bedroom. He placed a chair in the centre of the room facing the door, sat down with the gun across his knees and waited.

It had been a long time, but some things you never forgot. Gaillard moved out of the trees and started into a flat plateau perhaps two hundred yards across, more trees on the other side. He was using the sliding forward stride much favoured by Scandinavians; a technique he had picked up in his youth and which ate up the miles at a surprising rate.

If you were fit, of course, always that, though at the moment, he felt better than he had for years. Free, yes, but more than that — the knowledge that they'd come to the end of something. That freedom was just around the corner for everyone.

But this was no time for such considerations. He needed a destination and didn't have one. On the other hand, it seemed reasonable to assume that the help he was seeking was more than likely to be found on the main roads, which meant climbing higher, traversing the eastern shoulder of the mountain and then descending.

Something made him glance back, some sixth sense. The Finns were half-way across the plateau, moving in single file, Gestrin leading. He was not afraid, but filled with a fierce delight and started into the trees, moving at a fast, loping rate. He was already a hundred feet up the side of the mountain when the Finns reached the edge of the trees and Gestrin called them to a halt.

'All right,' he said, 'the party's over. He's good, this one. Too good to play with. From now on, it's every man for himself, and remember — we want him alive.'

He started up the slope and they moved after him.

Ritter and Sorsa stood beside one of the two remaining half-tracks, drinking coffee and examining the ground plan of Schloss Arlberg which the German had brought from the inn.

'Once we're in they'll fall back to the north tower,' Ritter said. 'Nowhere else to go.'

'And what's that going to be like?'

'According to Strasser, a heavy, oaken door opening in two sections. That shouldn't take long. Inside, a hall then a broad stairway that diminishes in size, becoming a spiral at the higher levels. The dining hall, then a maze of passages and rooms right on up to the top.'

'If they take it room by room it could be nasty.'

'Not if we keep after them right from the word go. No hesitation, no let-up.'

The Finns were ready and waiting in the half-tracks, half a dozen with the Panzerfausts.

Ritter moved closer to examine the ugly-looking anti-tank projectiles. 'Are they good with these things?'

'We've had our successes. On target, one of these can open a T34 like a can of meat.'

'How many have we got?'

'Ten.'

'Then we can't afford to take chances. I'm putting Hoffer in charge. Make that clear to your men. He's the finest gunner I know.'

At that moment Hoffer called from the field car. 'Herr Strasser on the radio for you, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

Ritter leaned into the car. There was no static and Strasser's voice sounded clear and distinct. 'You've not started the assault?'

'Any minute now. Why?'

Strasser told him. When he was finished, Ritter said, 'So we don't have too much time, that's what you're trying to say? You needn't have bothered, Reichsleiter. We've been a little short on that commodity from the beginning. Over and out.'

He replaced the phone and turned to Sorsa. 'Trouble?' the Finn asked.

'Gaillard's managed to escape. He's taken to the mountain on skis. Strasser's sent Gestrin and his boys after him.'

'No problem,' Sorsa said. 'The best in the business. They'll lay him by the heels soon enough.'

'I wouldn't count on it. He was an Olympic gold medallist at Chamonix in 1924. If he runs across a British or American column before Gestrin and his men get to him…'

Sorsa looked grave. 'I see what you mean. So what do we do?'

'Get this little affair over with as quickly as possible. We move out now.'

He started towards one of the half-tracks and Sorsa caught his arm. 'A moment, Sturmbannfuhrer. The first half-track through that tunnel is likely to have a hard time. I'd like to be in it.'

'I command here,' Ritter said. 'I thought I made that clear.'

'But these are my boys,' Sorsa persisted. 'We've been together a long time.'

Ritter stared at him, a slight frown on his face, and then nodded. 'I take the point. Very well, for this occasion only, you lead and I follow. Now let's get moving.'

He turned and scrambled up into the second half-track.