Syme pointed at David and Ben. ‘I saw them. And a woman. Tall, pretty, brown hair. I’ve written down a description.’ He smiled sourly. ‘She was shooting at me at the time, so I remember her. And I glimpsed Muncaster again.’ He looked at Muncaster’s photo, then shook his head. ‘All this for that weird-looking loony.’
The telephone rang. Gunther thanked the caller, then stood up. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘The arrangements I wanted are in place. I’m going down to see Drax again. Standartenfuhrer Gessler is attending too, I must ring him.’
Syme said, ‘Can I come?’
Gunther hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, why not?’
Drax was still sitting on the bunk but this time there was a man in SS uniform beside him: Kapp, a foxy little man in his thirties, lean but fit-looking, who Gunther knew specialized in what Syme had called ‘the rough stuff’. Gessler was there already, in a corner of the room, standing with his arms folded, glaring angrily at Drax through his pince-nez. One eyelid twitched occasionally. A grey-haired, bespectacled man in a technician’s white coat was setting up a cine camera on a tripod on the other side of the room; Drax was looking at him uncomprehendingly, Kapp with keen curiosity, Gessler with a little secret smile, because he knew what was coming.
Gunther addressed Drax, inclining his head towards Syme. ‘You remember this man?’
‘He was at the O’Sheas’ house.’
‘That’s right,’ Syme said with a smile. ‘Chest all right?’
Drax didn’t answer. The technician opened a circular can and inserted a roll of film into the projector. ‘What’s this?’ Syme asked.
‘We’re going to have a film show,’ Gessler said with a nasty smile. The technician unrolled a white screen and set it up against the opposite wall. He spoke to Gunther. ‘We should have the lights off, sir. They’re very bright.’
‘Yes.’ Gunther nodded to Kapp, who left the cell, switched out the light and returned, closing the door with a clang. The technician turned a switch and there was a whirring sound in the darkness. Then the image of another cell appeared on the screen. The film, Gunther noted with approval, was in colour. The other cell in the film had a metal table and a chair, and the woman Carol Bennett sat tied to the chair with ropes. Her hands were fixed to the table by straps on each wrist. She wore a stained white smock, and her hair was pulled back. Two guards stood behind her, one holding her shoulders. She looked terrified. Gunther heard Drax say, softly, ‘Oh no.’
‘Recognize her?’ Gunther asked.
‘It’s Miss Bennett, she’s a friend of David’s. She’s nothing to do with us –’ his voice rose ‘– she’s nothing to do with the Resistance.’
‘We know.’
In the film another man stepped into view. He wore a long green smock, like a surgeon’s, and he held a large hacksaw with a serrated blade. Gunther glanced at Syme. He was leaning forward slightly.
The man with a hacksaw said, ‘Hold the right hand steady.’
Carol began to scream. ‘Stop! No! Stop, stop!’ She was struggling wildly now but one of the guards grasped her shoulders firmly while the other stepped forward and held her hand down. Without another word the man with the hacksaw leaned over and took a grip of her little finger. He brought the hacksaw down on it, just above the knuckle, and began to saw. Blood spurted over the table. Carol screamed and pleaded for them to stop but none of them took the remotest notice. They were implacable. In the dimness Gunther heard a horrified gasp from Drax, then a brief scuffle as he tried to get up. Kapp held him down. He started coughing again, a choking sound. Gunther looked back at the screen; Carol Bennett’s little finger had been severed, it was lying on the table, blood still leaking from her mutilated hand. She was still screaming as the man laid down his hacksaw, unstrapped her hand and with brisk efficiency held it up, tying a tourniquet round the wrist. The film ended suddenly, the screen going blank. The projector was still on, faintly illuminating the room. Drax shouted, ‘You bastards, you—’ His voice broke in another wild fit of coughing.
‘That took place a couple of hours ago,’ Gunther said quietly. ‘Before we turned her over to the British Special Branch. She’d warned Fitzgerald to get away from his office, you see.’
Gessler stepped away from the wall. ‘That was just what you call the B picture. The main feature is next.’
Drax had stopped coughing, gone quiet again. Through the semi-darkness Gunther caught the glint in his wild eyes. He nodded to the cameraman. The man clipped another reel to the projector, working with surprising agility in the near-dark; Gunther supposed he must be used to it. Another cell appeared on the screen, another chair and table. A man stood, clutching a heavy carving knife, dressed in a leather apron, leather gloves. The camera panned round, showing an elderly man and woman, each held by a guard. They were naked, white, wrinkled flesh exposed, the woman’s breasts long and sagging. They held each other’s hands; both were shaking, faces full of fear. Drax screamed out, ‘Mum! Dad! No! Stop!’
The screen went blank again. Drax was still screaming, ‘Stop! No!’
‘Lights, please.’ Gunther spoke quietly. Kapp went out and switched the light on again. At a nod from Gunther the technician lowered the screen with a snap and began packing his equipment away. He kept his head averted from the others in the room; he had not looked at anyone the whole time. Syme was leaning against the wall, rather pale.
‘We’ve only made that first scene so far,’ Gessler said to Drax, voice full of sarcastic amusement. ‘It could be quite a long film if you want it to be.’
Drax turned to Gunther with a desperate look on his thin face. ‘Don’t hurt them,’ he pleaded. ‘Please don’t hurt them. They know people, you’ll get into trouble—’
‘Not in this case,’ Gunther said quietly, almost sympathetically. ‘They’re only members of a provincial Conservative Party branch, Beaverbrook won’t do anything to protect little people like that. Since Muncaster escaped Berlin has been applying real pressure on your government, and he’s given them to us.’ He added, ‘I’m sorry you had to see that, but we need you to talk. Heroics won’t help here. Your parents are just a few doors away, we filmed what you saw ten minutes ago.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We’ve shown you what we’re prepared to do and if you don’t tell us what we want to know we’ll start on them. And afterwards we’ll show you the film.’ Gunther hoped Drax would talk now, he hadn’t liked any of this and would be pleased if one woman’s finger was all it cost.
Kapp turned to him cheerfully. ‘Otherwise, you know.’ He shrugged. ‘First the fingers, then the toes. This little piggy went to market, then this one. None of them stay at home. Then we go for the eyes.’
‘We don’t need them alive, you see,’ Gunther continued. ‘And then, if you still don’t talk, it’ll be your turn, though in your case we’d probably combine the physical methods with drugs. We learned a few things from the Russians there. So you see, however brave you are personally, it won’t help in the end. But we’d rather have you fully awake. You’ll talk tomorrow at the latest, you should understand that.’ He looked intently at Drax. ‘There’s no shame in talking to save others. Four people are on the run, four lives. They’ll probably get caught but even if some of them get away the Americans will almost certainly kill them once they’ve got what they want out of Muncaster.’ Drax’s head jerked up at that. Gunther didn’t know what the Americans had planned for them, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if they killed Muncaster, given he had a head full of dangerous knowledge. He could see, though, that the thought hadn’t yet crossed Drax’s mind. ‘Weigh that against your parents being tortured to death.’
There was silence for several seconds, then Drax said, his voice desperately weary, ‘I don’t know anything. That’s how we do things, on a need-to-know basis only. I haven’t a clue why the Americans want Muncaster, I’ve no idea.’
Gunther nodded. ‘We know more than you think.’ He took a deep breath. Time for his bluff, while Drax was in a weakened, shocked state. He said, ‘You were planning to leave the country. A submarine, we believe, from the Sussex coast. The coasts are being watched, we’ll pick them up.’
Gunther saw from Drax’s surprised expression that his guesswork had been right; this was what they were going to do.
‘How do you know all this?’ Drax looked appalled.
Gunther didn’t answer, just inclined his head. The Englishman was silent for a moment, then lowered his head and began to cry, weeping like a child, his shoulders shaking, all that proud reserve gone. He had broken. Gessler smirked. Gunther closed his eyes.
‘If I tell you the little I know will you let my parents go?’ Drax’s voice was toneless and dead. ‘You seem to know all of it already.’
