on the sofa. Clasping both his hands, she moved her face close to him. 'The Fuhrer has just taken one of his lightning decisions. Everyone, including Bormann, was astounded. He does that – to keep even those closest to him off balance, and for security reasons. Ian, we are all to leave immediately for Obersalzberg! Hitler is temporarily moving his headquarters to the Berghof!'
'How soon is immediately?' Lindsay asked. 'Within two hours! There is a railway siding… 'I've seen it…'
'The train is already there. Oh, Ian, it is so luxurious! And you are to come with us. The Fuhrer regards you as his one possible link with the peace party in England. A little luck – that is what you said we needed!'
As they sat together on the sofa the relationship between them was becoming highly charged. Their tremendous relief at the prospect of leaving the Wolf's Lair was releasing their inhibitions. Lindsay made an effort to keep his mind on practical problems.
'When will your file arrive from Berlin?'
'Tomorrow at the earliest. The girl in charge of records is a friend of mine. She will delay it as long as possible – here..'
'When is the earliest that file could reach the Berghof?'
'Five days after we leave the Wolf's Lair. And Gruber is coming with us.' The enthusiasm left her voice. It was, after all, only a short-lived reprieve, Lindsay reflected. He was half-convinced now that Christa was genuine – a link with the anti-Nazi faction.
'I suggest you don't worry,' was as far as he dare go.
She still held his hands. She leaned forward slowly and her lips brushed his own, lightly at first. Then her arms were round him and she pressed her mouth hungrily against his, her well-formed breasts firm against his chest. Slowly, with surprising strength, she bent her back down on to the sofa, pulling him with her. The tempo of the embrace quickened. His left hand located the buttons down the side of her skirt and unfastened them deftly. 'Yes, yes, yes!' she gasped. She held on to him fiercely – as though he were her only contact with safety. Lindsay ended it.
'Any moment someone can walk in on us…'
After she had gone he opened the carton of cigarettes she gave him as a parting gift. He thought about a dozen things as he lit one, marshalling his thoughts into some sort of order.
The Berghof… by train. That meant their ultimate destination was probably Salzburg – from there a motorcade to the mountainous retreat. Salzburg! On the main line to Munich…
Munich! The agreed rendezvous with the mysterious Paco – who had the power to get him across the frontier into Switzerland. All he had to do was to exploit the rivalry between the Gestapo and the Abwehr to hold them both in check. Mere child's play! Like bloody hell. Lindsay's mind churned as he packed the case Christa had brought him.
At least he had discovered answers to the two questions Ryder Street was concerned about. But what had shaken him was his recent walk in the pine forest. He had the overwhelming impression the Fuhrer was acting out a part – that of the Fuhrer.
On the surface Hitler was Hitler, the man he had conversed with at length in Berlin before the war. But every movement of his hands, his way of walking, his changes of expression – all had a certain exaggeration. Like an actor overplaying. Lindsay was trying to absorb a major shock. He was convinced he had been in the presence of a double, a doppelganger…
Still half in a mental trance, he snapped the catches shut on his case. When someone rapped on the outer door he nearly jumped out of his shoes.
'Who is it?' he called out.
'Hartmann..'
'You may come in..'
Lindsay's voice and manner were arrogant and confident, anything but that of a prisoner suspected of God knew exactly what. The grey-eyed German came in, closed the door and looked at the suitcase.
'You are ready for the long journey, I see..'
'Just how long? And what route do we take, for God's sake – to get from the swamps of East Prussia to the Alps of Bavaria?'
'That is classified information. I wish I knew why you made this hazardous trip. No one really knows, I'm sure. Yet..'
'That is not classified information,' Lindsay responded while the Abwehr officer perched himself on the sofa. 'I came solely to establish links between the Fuhrer and certain powerful elements in Great Britain who foresee Russia as the real enemy…'
The German crossed his legs, took out his pipe and lit it, tamping the tobacco with his index finger. His eyes never left the Englishman's face as he took his time replying. Lindsay sensed he was in the company of one of the most experienced interrogators in the Third Reich.
'And who are these powerful elements you speak of?' he eventually enquired:
'That is classified information also. Ask the Fuhrer
Keep the replies short. Don't elaborate – above all don't get drawn into the trap of conversing freely with Hartmann. On the surface the German seemed a kindly man, more like an intelligent civil servant than a member of one of the most ambiguous organizations in Hitler's Germany.
'This nonsense about your being involved in an assassination attempt.. Hartmann paused, giving the Englishman time to make some comment. Lindsay remained silent, lighting another cigarette from the pack supplied by Christa.
'You appear to be on good terms with Christa Lundt,' Hartmann remarked, switching the topic without warning.
'She's curious about me because I'm British, I suppose…'
'She has also become very attached to you since your arrival. I have found out she kept very much to herself before that.'
'If you say so.'
Hartmann stood up and smiled. 'We are fencing. I gain the strongest impression you have been trained to resist any form of interrogation…'
'Wouldn't you be wary if you had people like Gruber prowling about?' Lindsay flashed back. 'Not that I equate you with the Gestapo…' It was the Englishman's turn to study the other man's reaction. Hartmann paused in the act of knocking out his pipe in an ashtray, looking up at Lindsay from beneath his bushy eyebrows. Some kind of message passed between them, something unfathomable.
'We will talk some more at the Berghof,' Hartmann said, straightening up and adjusting the belt of his trench coat. 'You knew the Fuhrer before the war?'
'We met in Berlin..'
'As an outsider, you sense something peculiar about the atmosphere at the Wolf's Lair?'
'Since you arrived, yes! And Gruber..'
'A mood of distrust, people looking over their shoulders at men they have known for years – as though treason stalks the compounds very close to the top?'
'You would know more about that than me…' 'Would I?'
On the verge of leaving, Hartmann turned, his hand on the handle of the outer door. His expression had become stern and he stood very erect as he stared at the Englishman while he spoke rapidly.
'Would I!' he repeated. 'Wing Commander, you are nobody's fool. I have only arrived here for the first time in my life. You have been here over two weeks! The Fuhrer has what we call in Germany fingertip-feeling – the ability to sense something wrong before he has located the source of his unease. I, also, in all modesty, am credited with something of the same ability. Is it really the possible presence of a Soviet spy?' He walked a few paces closer to Lindsay. 'Or is it something quite different I sense – without knowing what I detect? Your plane took you to the Berghof before you were flown here. What is it you have noticed? Help me, Wing Commander. I can be a useful ally.
'I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' Lindsay replied without hesitation.
'Very well! But I warn you – we will talk again…'
The Fuhrer's train, curiously called Amerika, travelled at high speed. The icy blast from an open window -or door – funnelled down the corridor as Lindsay peered into the distance and saw the vague silhouette of a slim figure
