'You'd better go or you'll be late for your appointment,' she said severely, cutting off the Englishman in mid- sentence.
Christa hugged Helga and, picking up her suitcase, ran out of the apartment, her eyes brimming. Lindsay picked up his own case, looked at Helga who had picked up the axe and waved it to get him moving. He heard her lock the apartment door as he fumbled his way down the beastly staircase.
'… you'll be late for your appointment.'
The old woman was clever. She'd dismissed them as though they were on their way to attend some business meeting, knowing the tension they must be experiencing as they made their way to their uncertain rendezvous.
High up in the attic overlooking the Frauenkirche, Paco focused the lenses of the field-glasses and slowly scanned the Neuhauser-Kaufigerstrasse, lingering on the open space in front of the great church. A road- sweeper stood near the entrance, wielding his bristle-broom which was almost worn down to the handle. Nearby stood his innocent-looking wheeled trash-bin. As he cleaned the pavement he dragged his left leg.
Paco checked the time. 10.55. If the English agent was coming he had to appear within the next five minutes. So far there was no suspicious activity in the area – only a handful of housewives wearily trudging past on their way to the next stop. Some of them would have been up at six o'clock to make an early start.
Paco climbed down the winding staircase from the observation point and hurried to the ground floor. Dressed in an Astrakhan coat with a matching Russian-style hat pulled well down over the ears, Paco was a sturdily built figure who gave an impression of some wealth.
From a secret cupboard on the ground floor the agent collected a violin case. Inside it was a Schmeisser machine-pistol, fully loaded.
Christa led the way through a maze of cobbled alleys. Looking up, Lindsay caught the occasional glimpse of the twin green domes. It told him how close they were to their destination. How the hell was Paco going to get them away safely? The problem had irked him for some time.
'Stop! Get into a doorway!'
Inside yet another slit-like alley Christa called out the warning and pressed herself into the alcove of a doorway. Lindsay obeyed, the case in his left hand. His right hand slipped under his jacket and gripped the butt of the Luger. He peered along the alley to the street at the end.
A camouflaged military truck, moving very slowly, slid across the gap at the alley's end. He even saw rifles projecting from the open rear, presumably held by troops sitting inside the vehicle. He checked his watch. 10.58! God, they were going to be late. Would Paco wait – or even turn up at all?
'All right now,' Christa called out.
'How did you know?' he asked as he caught up with her.
'You learn to recognize the sound of an Army truck – I just hope they're not deploying in front of the Frauenkirche.'
'There must be a lot of military stuff moving through here all the time,' he said confidently. 'How close are we?'
'Across that street, down the alley opposite – and then we've arrived.'
'So now I take the lead. If there's trouble – if only one of us can get away with Paco – you're elected.. 'No, I couldn't leave you..
'Don't give me trouble now, you bloody fool!'
He left her behind, but not before he saw the stricken look on her face at the way he had reacted. He had never spoken to her like that before. He emerged from the alley, glancing both ways. A queue of people formed a long crocodile outside a shop. Others hurried to join it. No police. No troops. He crossed the street and entered the alley. Behind him the click-clack of Christa's shoes hurried to catch up. He paused inside the alley and turned. He hugged her briefly, still holding his case.
'I'm sorry,' he said quickly, 'but someone has to get to London with the information. It's vital.'
'I do understand, Ian.'
Her face flooded with relief. She smiled bravely. He kissed her briefly. She bit her lips to hold back the tears.
'I won't be a burden, I promise…'
'A burden! Good God, I'd never have got this far without you. Now, come on, we have to get moving. What's that bell striking?'
'Eleven o'clock. The Frauenkirche is at the end of this alley.'
A turmoil of emotion. Nerves tautened with stark fear. It was inevitable, Lindsay thought as he walked rapidly down the shadowed alley with Christa at his heels. If only the girl hadn't fallen in love with him.
They were out in the open. It was a visual shock. After scuttling like rabbits through a series of warrens, the wide open spaces were frightening. You felt so exposed. Lindsay paused, Christa beside him, to survey the view.
The vast edifice of the Frauenkirche towered above them to the right. A Volkswagen with an ugly contraption mounted on its body – a device for storing synthetic fuel – drove slowly past, its motor sputtering. In the distance a uniformed chauffeur opened the rear door of a green Mercedes while a booted figure wearing an Astrakhan coat and hat climbed inside.
Nearer to the Frauenkirche a large delivery van stood parked by the kerb while the driver buried his head under the bonnet. It was getting so that nothing worked for long. Most skilled mechanics were at the front. A road- sweeper nearby brushed the flagstones with a bristle broom, dragging one leg. Lindsay walked in front of the Frauenkirche, placed a half-smoked cigarette in his mouth with his left hand, lit it, smoked a few puffs and stubbed it beneath his left foot.
The sky was heavily overcast. A sea of grey clouds pressed down on Munich. The atmosphere was turgid, plucked at the nerves. A gentle, chilling drizzle began to fall, casting a misty veil over the city. Lindsay wondered how long he should stay there, conspicuous by his lack of movement.
The green Mercedes was moving now, heading towards them at speed. Lindsay watched it approach – it seemed unlikely…
'Papers! Your papers!'
'Look out, Ian…!' There was desperation in Christa's urgent cry. ' Behind you! '
The bastards had hidden inside the church. Two SS men. One, a tall individual confidently extending his hand for the demanded papers. The second, shorter and plump, cradled a machine-pistol under his arm.
Lindsay spun round, had a snapshot vision of the two men, then his attention was caught by movement beyond the Frauenkirche. The driver had lifted his head from underneath the bonnet of the delivery van and men in grey uniform carrying rifles were jumping out of the back.
Which way to go?
There was a skidding scream of tyres, a grinding jamming of car brakes. The green Mercedes slid to the edge of the kerb close to them. The figure in the back had thrown open the rear door.
The road-sweeper had lost his limp, had dropped his broom, was rummaging inside the wheeled trash- bin. He jerked erect holding something in either hand. Lindsay recognized the stick-grenades he was gripping. They sailed through the air, landed in front of the grey-clad soldiers from the delivery van. They detonated with dull thumps.
The soldiers performed weird acrobatic motions, jumping upwards like marionettes on strings, hurling their rifles away, toppling backwards. The road-sweeper had hurled his third missile. It landed close to the same spot and a balloon of dark vapour spread and blotted out van and stricken soldiers Smoke bomb…
A hand reached out from the rear of the Mercedes and gripped his wrist. A voice called out the order. In English.
'Get inside, you fool! You want to get us all killed…'
'The girl first…'
Lindsay turned to grab Christa, to throw her if necessary head first inside the back of the car. She wasn't within grabbing distance. A horrific sight met his eyes. He yelled like a crazed animal.
He had dropped the suitcase. The Astrakhan-clad figure who had given him the abrupt order still clung to his left hand with an iron grasp. With his right hand he hauled out the Luger and aimed it. He was beside himself with terror.
