'Is that the real reason why you extend this invitation, Colonel? Simply to express regrets?'
She was holding him on a tightrope of anticipation. It was quite ridiculous but he desperately wanted to get to know her better – and she had thrown him completely off balance.
'It would be an honour,' he said frankly, 'to walk into the Four Seasons graced by your company. Simply lunch – I promise you as an officer..'
'And a gentleman?' She smiled to take the sting out of her playfulness. 'I would be very glad to join you – for lunch…' said Paco calmly.
'Alfred,' Jaeger informed Schmidt, 'this is the Baroness Werther, niece of General Speidel. You will assume command of the operation while we take lunch at the Four Seasons. Good hunting!'
Paco dipped her head a fraction in acknowledgement of Schmidt's bow, her eyes catching briefly those behind the rimless glasses of Jaeger's thin-faced deputy. Something about the man disturbed her.
The Colonel was a buoyant, full-blooded personality who enjoyed life and radiated a warmth of feeling, a man a woman could understand – even if at times he might prove a handful. 'Alfred', she sensed, was a very different proposition.
'Who was that man you introduced me to?' she asked as Jaeger escorted her from the station to his waiting car.
'Schmidt, my deputy,' Jaeger replied impatiently. 'A good man – but hardly your type. Before the war he was a policeman! Now, in a matter of minutes we can get to know each other better in the comfort of the Four Seasons..'
The little alarm bell at the back of Paco's mind kept on ringing.
It was quite true that in peacetime Alfred Schmidt had been in the police force. Blessed with a sixth sense that the Fuhrer would have appreciated – and a first-rate mind – Captain Alfred Schmidt had been Chief of Police in Dusseldorf.
When the war came on 1 September 1939 his obvious destination was the Gestapo. Schmidt, a man with a wide knowledge of international police forces and security organizations, appreciated some specialist outfit was needed to guard the state. He knew that England had its Special Branch, America the FBI, and so on.
But the Gestapo had already built up a certain reputation – to put it bluntly Schmidt didn't like the smell of it. To avoid being co-opted into the Gestapo he volunteered for the SS. Even after several years of war his policeman's instincts had not deserted him.
For one thing no one had checked 'the Baroness's' papers. He had observed the two soldiers had been shown nothing by the time Jaeger arrived. He had noted the girl's long glance in the direction of his chief. The Colonel he highly respected and liked was lunching with a girl whose credentials were quite unknown.
Schmidt was in a dilemma. To check on Jaeger's lunch companion he must use a 'safe' telephone – which meant driving to the SS barracks, and the Colonel had left him in charge at the station.
It was probably all a wild goose chase anyway, but – like Paco – the ex-police chief had a sixth sense which warned him that something was wrong. With such a beautiful escort he estimated Jaeger would be away at least two hours. He made up his mind.
'Klaus!' he called out. 'Take command of operations here – I'll be back later..
He drove himself to the barracks, leaped from behind the wheel and ran upstairs to his office. The lines were busy – so it took twenty minutes to get through to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. He asked to be put through to Gestapo chief Heinrich Muller.
'It is lunchtime,' a bored voice informed him. 'He is out. Who did you say was calling?'
'SS Colonel Jaeger's deputy from Munich. Who am I speaking to? It is an urgent matter…'
'Brandt. I have been seconded here temporarily. No, everyone else is out – I told you, it is lunchtime..'
'Then you must deal with this personally. Can you check the General Records? Good. I need information as to whether there exists a Baroness Werther, niece of General Speidel. How long will that take? You can't say? God Almighty…'
He arranged for Brandt to phone back the information to his secretary, replaced the receiver and instructed his secretary.
'Type out the reply from this half-wit, Brandt. Have a despatch rider standing by. Give him the reply in a sealed envelope and tell him to race like hell to the main station and hand it to me.'
He drove back to the station and was relieved on arrival when Klaus reported nothing had happened in his absence. Now it was a matter of waiting for the reply. If something was wrong he could phone Jaeger direct at the Four Seasons.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was 4 pm when the despatch rider from the SS barracks pulled up his machine in front of Munich station bringing a sealed envelope for Captain Alfred Schmidt. Since Jaeger had still not returned, his deputy assumed he must really be enjoying himself with the Baroness.
'Dumb-head!'
Schmidt swore to himself as he watched the motorcyclist brake at speed, causing his machine to skid alongside the kerb and very nearly hurl its rider over the handlebars to kingdom come. And all because a group of SS troops stood watching. Sheer, stupid bravado!
'If I ever see you behave like that again I'll have your stripes, Sergeant!'
'Sorry, sir..'
The despatch rider held out the envelope. He was going to make the excuse the brake had slipped but something in Schmidt's eye warned him to keep quiet. Taking the envelope, Schmidt glanced behind the sergeant, stiffened and spoke quickly.
'That is all, Sergeant! Back to barracks immediately!'
A Mercedes had just arrived and Jaeger was climbing out of the vehicle. He seemed to be in high good humour, pausing while talking to the SS troops and saying something which caused them to laugh. A popular officer, Jaeger. Schmidt, anxious to conceal the message he had just received unless it was alarming, tore open the envelope and pulled out a folded message sheet.
He had taken a chance. No senior officer, even one as comradely as Jaeger, likes a junior snooping on his private excursions. He heard another burst of laughter, this time from Jaeger himself, as he swiftly scanned the wording his secretary had typed after hearing from Brandt.
The news was alarming – from two sources. Milic arrived back first in the basement hideaway. He wore cleaner's overalls and an old peaked cap. He looked serious as he removed his cap, nodded to the Englishman and scratched his thatch of grey hair.
'Well?' Bora demanded.
'Switzerland is the trap,' Milic said, speaking in his careful English for Lindsay's sake. 'We go that way and we see Gestapo prison…'
'Why?' asked Bora impatiently. 'Give details…'
'I cycle three roads south.. every road has the barrier. Many troops. They look at papers, use their telephones…'
'The station then,' snapped Bora. 'We take him out by train…'
'No train.' Milic shook his head. 'At the station I watch the trains to Switzerland. Men – not in uniform – are on these trains. They look at the papers…'
He broke off as Paco arrived and closed the secret door. She took off her fur cap and dropped it on a crate. Gazing at Lindsay she used her hands to tidy her blonde hair. He could read nothing in her expression.
'We have a problem,' she said quietly. 'The Swiss route is shut down. They have sealed the border. Any attempt to smuggle you there will end in disaster.' She paused. 'I have just had an excellent lunch with Colonel Jaeger of the SS…'
'You've done what!'
Bora jumped up from his crate, staring at her as though she were mad. His eyes swivelled briefly to the door and back again to the girl.
