The SS man – the short, fat-bellied swine with the machine-pistol – was pointing the muzzle at Lindsay to cut him down. But Christa was standing in the way – deliberately Masking his line of fire. 'Oh God, oh God, oh dear God…!'
The SS man pressed the trigger, emptied half the magazine into her. She slumped forward, both hands holding her stomach. The blood was drenching the pavement. Above her drooping body the fat SS man appeared. He raised the muzzle of his weapon. Lindsay shot him twice in the face, his aim true, his hand steady as a rock.
He fired a third time but the hand gripping his other wrist had jerked him at the same moment and the shot went wide. It made no difference. The SS man had fallen alongside his victim.
'If you don't get into this car I'll shoot you myself,' the voice in English snapped. 'She's dead – can't you see that…'
He climbed inside the car, slamming the door shut, aware now that other things had been happening. The road-sweeper had grabbed his case, dived into the front passenger seat and shut the door. The car took off.
Lindsay twisted round and stared through the rear window. He had only one last glimpse. Christa's shattered body lying crumpled on the pavement. He hoped she had died immediately. Her slim legs were sprawled at a strange angle.
'She saved my life,' he said.
No one seemed interested. The powerful engine of the Mercedes carried them through the streets of Munich at manic speed. The Astrakhan-clad figure by his side had a machine-pistol in its lap, an open violin case on the floor which presumably had concealed the weapon.
Lindsay felt he no longer cared whether they got away or not. He couldn't stop thinking of Christa acting as a human shield to save him. Minutes earlier he had called her a bloody fool. The car slowed down as it entered a deserted street and then swung left into a cul-de-sac.
A hand closed over his own. He looked down and realized he was still clutching the Luger. He'd forgotten all about the blasted thing – the gun Christa had provided. His companion's tone of voice was critical.
'The safety catch is still off…'
'All right! All right!'
He put the safety on and stared ahead. They were nearly at the end of the cul-de-sac. Now he saw a garage was open. The car slid inside, stopped. The chauffeur jumped out, closed the doors. Nobody said anything as he climbed out on to a concrete floor and an overhead light came on. A stench of petrol.
The figure in the Astrakhan coat and hat walked round the car and stared at Lindsay. The same height as the Englishman, the wearer's voice was abrupt when it asked the question.
'The mission was to collect you. Who was the girl?' 'A German secretary of Hitler's. Without her help
I would not have been there for you to collect.' ' C'est la guerre
…
The figure removed the Astrakhan hat, revealing thick blonde hair, a well-shaped nose and chin – strong bone structure – and greenish tinted eyes. Lindsay was staring at a girl. She would be about twenty-seven, held herself very erect and was extremely attractive.
'I'm Paco,' she said. 'Now all we have to do is get you back to the Allied lines. Simple? Yes? No?'
Chapter Twenty-Three
'We establish a battle headquarters! Its sole objective – to track down the two fugitives! I shall take personal command..'
Bormann, clad in his normal uniform, his trousers thrust inside jackboots, his squarish face flushed, stopped in mid-sentence as the Fuhrer made a gesture of disagreement.
'Really, Bormann,' Hitler commented mildly and with some amusement, 'we are not fighting Zhukov and his Soviet divisions. Not here, anyway. We are talking about two people.'
It was a muddle and the Reichsleiter had caused it. What should have been a military conference had been side-tracked by Bormann bringing up the problem of Lindsay and inviting the wrong people to attend the meeting. Eight men were seated in the huge living room with the famous picture window at Berghof.
Keitel and Jodl sat side by side on a sofa, scarcely bothering to conceal their annoyance. The other four were Colonel Jaeger with his deputy, Schmidt; the Gestapo representative, Gruber; and Gustav Hartmann of the Abwehr.
'I understand, mein Fuhrer,' Bormann agreed hastily.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his short, stocky legs as the phone began ringing shrilly. Bormann practically leaped on the phone and pressed the receiver to his ear.
'Yes, Mayr, this is Bormann. You have caught them?'
There was a pause while he listened and Hartmann, watching his expression, felt certain he knew what had happened. He was also dying to light his pipe but there could be no smoking in Hitler's presence. Still, Bormann's face was a picture…
'Mayr, this is impossible,' Bormann protested. 'I made no call to you about any Lindsay rendezvous with an Allied agent. What's going on here? Why didn't you check back? Wait a minute..'
He cupped a pudgy hand over the speaker and stared at the seated men. 'Someone here at the Berghof impersonated me when they called Mayr.' His gaze rested on Keitel and Jodl.
Keitel, his chin perched on the point of his baton, looked into the distance as though Bormann did not exist. Jodl folded his arms and regarded the Reichsleiter with a saturnine expression. The atmosphere was tense. Bormann continued the call.
'Listen, Mayr!' he exploded. 'You say someone pretending to be me told you about this rendezvous, that you acted on the information, that Lindsay did turn up – so presumably you have now got him… All right, go on..'
The other men in the room remained silent. The Fuhrer studied his fingernails with a bored expression. Hartmann kept his face blank, enjoying the whole incident.
'This morning, you say…' Bormann sounded incredulous. 'Wait a minute,' he repeated. He stared at the others. 'There has been a massacre outside the Frauenkirche, soldiers killed.'
' Give me the phone! ' Hitler snapped.
His passive manner changed in one of his unpredictable switches of mood. He stood very erect, the phone pressed to his ear.
'The Fuhrer speaking. This is taking too long. Tell me in a few words what happened..'
Hitler listened intently, occasionally acknowledging what was being said to him with a simple 'Yes' or 'No'. This was another myth about the Fuhrer, Hartmann reflected as he reached for his pipe and put it in his mouth without lighting it. The myth that Hitler could never listen. When he was intrigued by a subject, the Fuhrer was one of the world's most attentive listeners.
'Do what you can, Mayr,' the Fuhrer said eventually. 'Spread a massive dragnet as you suggest. The Englishman must not leave Germany. I prefer he should be taken alive. Report regularly to Bormann about your progress. Do your best, Mayr.'
He put down the phone and began pacing the wide spaces of the room in an agitated manner, hands clasped behind his back. It was several minutes before he spoke.
'There has been a terrible accident. Christa, Lundt, my favourite secretary, has been shot dead.'
'By the Englishman, Lindsay. Bormann jumped in.
'No!' Hitler glanced at him with a look of contempt. 'I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep quiet until I have finished speaking. And you may be interested to hear Christa was shot by a member of the SS..'
Hartmann looked at Colonel Jaeger and actually saw the blood drain from his face at the news. One by one, the Fuhrer was using the event to unnerve almost everyone present. He stopped in front of Gruber who started to rise to his feet.
'Sit down!' Hitler snapped. 'Apparently on the basis of information received a trap was laid this morning. The Gestapo were conspicuous by their absence. They don't seem to know what is going on even in Munich…'
He turned on his heels and stared down at Hartmann. The Abwehr officer stared back, his unlit pipe clenched
