military directives. I'm made to order for the scapegoat. I have to get away from this place, for Christ's sake..'
'Why consult me?'
Her voice was low, little more than a whisper. So quiet he had to lean an arm across the top of the sofa and bend closer to hear her next words.
'Because I'm convinced you've come here to find out something. When you've found it out you'll leave. Oh, yes, you'll escape. You're that sort of man, I can sense it…'
For the first time since the paroxysm had begun she looked at him. She had spoken the last sentence calmly. The fever of fear – if that was what it had been passed as swiftly as it had appeared. She produced a handkerchief from somewhere – he was too intent on studying her to notice from where – and wiped her face. That was when someone tapped gently on the outer door.
'I am Major Gustav Hartmann of the Abwehr. May I come inside. The weather is rather inclement tonight…'
Lindsay froze. A whole chain of events had been stage-managed. First, Christa Lundt had waited for him outside Jodl's but to coax him back to her own quarters. She had then tried to trap him – to throw him off balance by creating an extreme, emotional atmosphere. He had not reacted to that. Now the Abwehr had arrived.
Lindsay was certain that someone was desperate to discredit him before he ever talked to the Fuhrer. The question he needed an answer to was the identity of the stage-manager of the series of events he was being subjected to. Bormann, Keitel – or Jodl?
Hartmann was a large man. Over six feet tall, well built, he wore a military greatcoat with wide lapels. In his late thirties he had a well-shaped head, a small, trim moustache, strong features and watchful eyes. He removed his peaked cap, still waiting in the open doorway. The aroma of fog mingled with damp pine-woods lingered about him.
'You want to see me, Major?' Christa demanded.
'I have a routine mission – to interrogate your guest…'
'You have papers? And how did you know he was here?'
She was giving a convincing demonstration that she had never met Hartmann before. The Abwehr man produced a folder, showed it to her while he studied the Englishman. She returned the folder after checking it.
'You'd better come in. You do understand security is tight at the Wolf's Lair?'
'I have found that out since I flew in from Berlin.' There was an ironical note in the German's voice. 'I was informed that the Englishman was being interviewed by Colonel-General Jodl…'
'You followed us here and then waited,' the girl said sharply.
'It seemed discourteous to intrude immediately,' Hartmann replied smoothly. 'I went to the canteen and then came back..'
Hartmann was unbuttoning his greatcoat when Lindsay decided he had had enough. This charade between Lundt and Hartmann – with the girl pretending the Abwehr officer was a stranger – had to be blown sky-high. He stood up.
'You can keep your coat on, Hartmann. No one is interrogating me until I've seen the Fuhrer. And who the hell gave you authority to ask me questions first?'
'I am not at liberty to reveal the identity of my superior,' the German said stiffly, but he stopped taking off his coat.
'Then I'm not at liberty to tell you anything. If you persist I shall go straight to the top and complain…'
Lindsay's manner was brusque, almost arrogant. He stood erect and outwardly confident as he waited to see whether his bluff had worked. Once caught up in the coils of the lower echelons there was a great danger he would never reach the Fuhrer.
'The interrogation has to be purely voluntary, Hartmann said quietly, his dark eyes still studying the Englishman. 'So…'
He buttoned up his coat again slowly. Christa had closed the outer door and Hartmann held his peaked cap in his hand as he took a few steps closer to both of them, his voice confidential.
'It is very much in Wing Commander Lindsay's interest – even his safety could be involved – if neither of you say a word about my visiting you.' He bowed to Christa, put on his cap and said, 'I repeat, my presence here should remain a secret between us. Should anyone confront you with the fact of my visit you simply deny all knowledge of it..'
'I don't understand you…' Christa began.
'Which is my intention. Good night..'
Lindsay waited until Christa had closed the door again and they were alone. She leaned back against the door, her brow furrowed.
'He's Section Three of the Abwehr – counter-espionage. Creepy.'
'I thought you'd never seen him before,' Lindsay rapped. 'How do you know what section he's attached to?'
'Because I examined his papers, idiot!' She folded her arms and walked slowly towards the coffee pot. 'They're all around us, Wing Commander – and closing in..'
Chapter Twelve
'Who the devil are you?'
'Major Hartmann. Abwehr
The question had been arrogant, overbearing in tone. Hartmann's reply was brusque, abrupt. On leaving Fraulein Lundt's quarters he had moved across the fog-bound compound and was passing under a high overhead light beamed downwards when accosted.
Field Marshal Keitel gripped his baton more tightly as he summoned a nearby guard to join him. The uniformed soldier came running, his rifle held ready for action in both hands. The powerful light was blurred in the swirling grey vapour as the three men faced one another, the soldier staring at the Field Marshal as he waited for the next instruction.
'Are you carrying a weapon?' Keitel demanded.
'Only a 9-mm. Luger,' Hartmann replied. 'And before you ask, yes, the weapon. is fully loaded. An empty pistol is rather pointless, would you not agree?'
Keitel was almost speechless with fury. No more than the mouthpiece of the Fuhrer – 'the ventriloquist's solid wooden dummy' as one battle-weary general commented after a visit to Rastenburg, he compensated by bullying all those of inferior rank or influence.
'Disarm him!' Keitel ordered.
Hartmann's movement would have seemed like a conjurer's sleight of hand in broad daylight; in the murk of the night beneath the dim lamp it seemed little short of miraculous. Before the soldier had even begun to react, the Luger appeared in Hartmann's hand. It was aimed point-blank at the soldier's chest.
' Drop the rifle! '
In the soundless compound there was a clatter as the weapon left the soldier's nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. There had been a grim urgency in Hartmann's voice which made his action a reflex. Keitel, astounded, made several attempts before he managed coherent speech.
'Do you realize whom you are addressing?'
'No.' A pause. 'In this benighted fog how the hell could anyone? I have identified myself. Kindly repay the compliment before I lower this pistol. You could be bluffing – it's the oldest trick in the world to assume an autocratic tone. And I have come here because this place is crawling with treachery…'
'Field Marshal Keitel! I am Keitel…'
'You look like anyone in this lousy light. If we are to talk, may I suggest you dismiss this soldier – who, incidentally, does not handle his weapon very impressively. Security here appears lax..'
'You can go!' Keitel snapped at the guard. 'Don't forget your weapon – not that the bloody thing is any use.' He turned to the Abwehr officer. 'Kindly accompany me to my hut. I want to talk to you..
Walking slowly behind the ramrod back, Hartmann smiled to himself as he extracted a pipe after returning the
