'Now, Wing Commander Lindsay, you are safe – you fit the description we have been given,' Paco told him. They had also exchanged the quaint password Browne had provided in London.
'And if I hadn't?' Lindsay enquired.
'I would have 'strangled you. It is quieter and saves bullets.'
The man who had acted as chauffeur gave this morale-raising reply. Paco, who seemed to command the group, turned on him.
'You will not talk like that again to our guest. He is a very important man. The nephew of a British duke.
Half an hour had passed since Lindsay was bundled into the Mercedes and taken on the mad drive through Munich which ended inside a garage. A concealed door inside a cupboard at the back of the garage led to a staircase which they had descended to a basement – a large room with two double-tiered bunks against separate walls.
Once the concealed door had been closed – it was made of sheet steel faced with heavy wood so no amount of tapping inside the garage would have produced a hollow sound – Paco introduced her companions.
'This,' she said, indicating the hard-faced `chauffeur', 'is Bora. He speaks good English. Shake hands, Bora…'
He was as tall as Lindsay, about thirty years old, his eyes were hostile and the Englishman instantly disliked him. Fortunately he had the foresight to stiffen his hand because Bora had a grip like a wrestler's and exerted full pressure.
`Do behave, Bora,' Paco said softly. 'I saw that. 'Bora is the name of a strong dry wind which blows up the Adriatic,' Lindsay observed.
'Now you know why we gave him that code-name.' She turned to the second man – maybe forty years old with a weather-beaten face and a humorous glint in his shrewd eyes. 'This is Milic. He also speaks English, but do not expect perfection.'
'Milic is most pleased to meet the Englishman… the girl bulleted by the Nazi was very close friend?'
'He means, Paco interjected in her direct manner, 'were you in love with her. Were you?'
'No,' Lindsay said tersely.
'But I think she was in love with you,' Paco continued. She had a soft, appealing voice which contrasted strangely with her poise, the erect way she held herself. Her slow-moving, wary eyes watched him closely.
'It was a tragedy,' Lindsay replied.
'There is so often one who loves, one who is loved – I think your writer, Somerset Maugham, said something like that.' She changed the subject abruptly. 'I will tell you a little about myself.'
Paco – it was a code-name – was twenty-seven years old. She had been born of an English mother and a Serbian father, a professor of languages at Belgrade University. Educated at the Godolphin, an English boarding- school, she had gone on to a Swiss finishing-school and then returned to Yugoslavia. She was fluent in English, German and Serbo-Croat.
'When Hitler bombed Belgrade both my parents were killed. In one night I became an orphan. No need for sympathy, Wing Commander – it has happened to so many in England also. I joined the Partisans. In Yugoslavia it is almost as common for a woman to carry a gun as a man. And my German is useful – it allows me to operate inside the Third Reich.
'You must have contact with London,' Lindsay suggested.
'There is a limit to what you need to know,' Paco said brusquely. 'But a little information about the people your life now depends on – and equally whose lives may depend on you at a critical time – will help us to work as a team. You know, Wing Commander, I have to point out you are a novice at this dangerous game..'
'I did escape from the Berghof,' Lindsay snapped. 'True.' Her greenish eyes surveyed him. 'I do find that a most promising omen for the future.' She became stern again. 'Bora. He has killed many Germans and trusts no one. His wife was killed in the bombing the same night as my parents died. But I think he found his natural vocation as a fighter. You would not believe it – he was a furniture-maker, carving fine chairs..'
'You find that amusing, Paco?' Bora, who had been cleaning the machine-pistol, leaned forward, his manner aggressive.
'I find it strange – you use your skilled hands to build complex explosive devices. Once you created, now you destroy..'
'It is the war.'
The girl was not in the least disturbed by Bora's attitude. As she lit a cigarette, Lindsay was struck by the serenity which never seemed to desert her. She stroked her blonde hair, gazing at the- third member of- her group.
'Now Milic here…' Her tone of voice became more affectionate '.. he was a stone-mason who once worked in the quarries. He has no idea what has happened to his wife and two children. They were on holiday in Zagreb when the war came. He is very strong – and very controlled. You follow me?'
'I think so,' Lindsay replied; not looking at Bora.
'So now,' Paco went on, 'we have to move very quickly – to take you out of Germany before the highly- efficient Nazi apparatus has time to get organized. No later than tonight.'
'That's quick,' Lindsay commented.
'I just hope it is quick enough. You may stay here. Milic and I have to go out to see what is happening before we escort you to safety…'
'May I ask where is safety?'
'Switzerland.'
Colonel Jaeger stood with his hands on his hips surveying the scene inside the main station at Munich. A cold wind was blowing, sending pieces of paper scuttering along the rail tracks, chilling everyone. Jaeger was glad of his fur-lined military greatcoat and his deputy, Schmidt, who had just joined him, clapped his gloved hands together.
'All the barricades to Switzerland are manned,' Schmidt informed his chief. 'There is the usual desperate shortage of personnel but they will not slip through by road.'
'Nor by train,' Jaeger affirmed. 'Every train to Switzerland is carrying a special team. They have the Englishman's description, orders to check the papers of all passengers irrespective of that description. We may scoop up other interesting fish in our net…'
He paused and Schmidt followed his gaze. A tall, blonde-haired girl in her late twenties had just been stopped by one of Jaeger's patrols. She wore an expensive leather coat and a fetching black fur cap perched on the top of her head. She glanced across, her eyes met Jaeger's, then she resumed her conversation with the two soldiers.
'She's a beauty,' Jaeger said appreciatively. 'Maybe the lady could do with a little help.'.
He left Schmidt who smiled cynically. The Colonel was noted for his keen eye for attractive women. As Jaeger approached, the two soldiers stiffened to attention and saluted.
'What seems to be the trouble?' Jaeger enquired affably.
'These men are harassing me.,.' Paco turned her eyes and held Jaeger's in a long look. 'I am the Baroness Werther, the niece of General Speidel..
'I think you can leave this to me…' Jaeger dismissed his men with a curt gesture, his eyes still on Paco as he returned their salute. 'They are looking for an English spy,' he explained, 'so they sometimes show excessive zeal.'
'I look to you like a spy, Colonel?' asked Paco.
'Of course not, Baroness.' Jaeger bowed. The girl really had an instantaneous effect on him and Jaeger regarded himself as something of a connoisseur of the fair sex. Of course, all this Aryan propaganda was claptrap, but the sceptical Colonel began to wonder whether there was a point to it as he continued to stare at this vision.
'Since you have military connections,' he suggested, 'could you possibly join me for lunch so I may, express my regrets in a practical way at the inconvenience you have just suffered? I do have a table permanently reserved at the Four Seasons…'
He waited, somewhat surprised at his impulsive action and even more surprised when he realized he was almost holding his breath for her reply. She looked at him steadily, taking her time while she considered his proposal. It would be a rejection, Jaeger felt sure.
