phone with his other hand. Carson, who had closed the door, picked up the instrument.
'I can't be sure one way or the other – about our friend..' She sounded unhappy as she went on. 'He seems OK. Got a pencil and pad? Good. We're staying at the Hotel Sharon. Yes, together, so to speak. Phone number and extension…'
Harrington scribbled in the excruciating scrawl only he could decipher. 'Anything more about our friend?'
'He goes off on trips on his own. There could be someone else inside this hotel. He stumbled once. Said he was going out and I watched from an upper floor window overlooking the exit. He never appeared. After ten minutes he came back, said he'd left his wallet in another suit and maybe I would like to come with him for a morning stroll…'
'What time was that – the missing ten minutes?' 'Precisely ten o'clock to ten after ten…'
'His manner when he came back?' Harrington pressed.
'Normal.' A pause. 'Maybe a little more relaxed, a shade of relief. That's all. I'm phoning. from Mulligan's place. He's out at the moment.'
'Take care. Keep trying.'
'I intend to.'
They replaced the receivers at the same moment. Carson picked up an officer's stick and began walking round the room, tapping his teeth lightly with the end of the stick. He paused by the open window. Not even a shiver from the curtain this morning. An airless humidity like a smothering blanket had closed over the Grey Pillars complex.
'Warn the pilot at Benina to be ready for immediate take-off,' Carson said. 'Don't supply a map reference yet. It may be changed at the last minute. Talking about minutes – that missing ten minutes out of Standish's life keeps niggling at me …'
'What can you do in ten minutes?'
'Men have changed history in that time. I don't like any of this, you know.'
'Check urgently with London? Express your doubts.'
'And what will London reply?' Carson demanded savagely. 'Not urgently, for a start. Maybe in a fortnight – when they've cranked up their brain-boxes – a dismissive answer. Our courier has our full confidence. Wholly reliable…' He spoke the few words in a plummy voice. 'They like 'wholly' – probably because it sounds like 'holy'…'
'So, no signal to London?'
'We have to do it ourselves – as always.' Carson's pace became brisker. 'I'm leaving you in sole charge. Anything crops up, you decide. Right?'
'Of course. You're going somewhere?'
'First available plane to Lydda. Have transport standing by to rush me to Jerusalem. Pray God I spot the niggle which is driving me mad…'
With Stalin now placing full confidence in the information from Woodpecker and Lucy, by early winter '43 the Red Army had retaken Kiev. All along the front, at the price of enormous blood-letting, the Russians were advancing.
Snow had fallen on the forests smothering the Wolf's Lair. The branches of the trees were sagging, encased in ice. Frequently inside the dense forest a rifle shot would ring out. Crack! But it was not a rifle shot – it was the sound of a branch snapping off.
A lowering sky like a grey sea, heavy with snow, pressed down on the encampment. The atmosphere – as much as the news from the front – was affecting the occupants. Only the Fuhrer maintained an air of optimism.
In his Spartan quarters inside a wooden building – he disliked the bunker built for use in an air raid – he was striding back and forth as he lectured Bormann. He wore his usual dark trousers, his tunic with wide lapels, the three buttons fastened down the front, his sole decoration the Iron Cross attached to his breast.
'I need Wing Commander Lindsay brought back here urgently. We must negotiate an arrangement with England. I will guarantee the existence of the British Empire, an important – unique – stabilizing force in the world. If that is ever destroyed there will be chaos. Then we can devote our whole strength to eliminating the Soviets, as much England's enemy as ours. Where is Lindsay now? My lunch is getting cold…'
On the table, with a cover to keep it warm, was a bowl of vegetable gruel. Hitler ate sparingly, took little interest in his food. His sole weakness was apple cake which he indulged in at the Berghof.
'I'm worried that Lindsay may have detected your impersonation,' Bormann began tentatively. 'I have read his file. He was once a professional actor. Some of the visitors here look at you with puzzled expressions – Ribbentrop…'
'And who has said a word?' Hitler challenged him.'Even if they suspect anything how dare they voice their doubts? I am the keystone of the arch holding up the Third Reich. Without me they are nothing.
They know that…'
'Then there is Eva…`
'Eva!' The Fuhrer was amused but he spoke with mock ferocity. 'Eva and I get on fine! You keep your lecherous eyes off her or you'll hang from your ankles!'
'My Fuhrer! I did not mean…'
'I ask you again. Where is Lindsay?'
It was a typical tactic of the Fuhrer's – to divert someone from an awkward topic they had raised by introducing another subject which threw them off balance. Eva Braun had told him about this ploy.
'I am expecting a signal at any time from Colonel Jaeger who has made his headquarters in Zagreb. He is still hunting Lindsay in Yugoslavia. Jaeger has so far successfully kept the Partisan group hiding Lindsay on the move – to stop the English air-lifting him out of the Balkans…'
'He is an excellent fellow, this Jaeger. I chose him for the task myself. Remember? But he must move quickly. Alexander now controls southern Italy. Allied Military Missions are in close touch with the Partisans. Bormann… Hitler's mood changed suddenly. He hammered the table with his fist. Gruel from the covered bowl slopped over the edge. 'See, you have ruined my lunch. I want results! I want Lindsay!'
'I will go to the signals office and get in touch with Colonel Jaeger at once…'
'I'll expect you back by the time I have finished what remains of my gruel.'
'A fresh bowl…'
`Go! Bormann, go!'
On his way to the signals office Bormann met Jodl who had just entered Security Ring A after showing the special. pass issued by Himmler. Jodl, his face looking drawn, waved with his gloved hand round the compound.
'This claustrophobic place is getting us all down… 'Where have you been, my dear chap?' Bormann asked casually.
'For a walk in the forest – and a think…'
`So, apparently, has someone else…'
Keitel, his boots clogged with snow, muffled in greatcoat and scarf like Jodl, had also just come in through the checkpoint. His manner distant, as always, Keitel raised his baton to them and changed direction to avoid them, stalking at his slow, measured tread towards his quarters.
'Keitel also is going round the bend,' Jodl observed.
'He must have gone a long way into the forest. Did you see his boots?'
'So, he too likes to get away from it all. You seem to be on edge, Bormann,' Jodl teased, 'Trouble with the Fuhrer?' The tall Chief of Staff folded his arms. 'You should take some exercise yourself, he remarked and smiled cynically. 'The hours you keep, it's all going to get on top of you one of these days.'
'Trouble with the Fuhrer? Of course not! And I took a walk early this morning.'
'I know. I saw you from my window…
He watched Bormann hurrying away, a small, stumpy figure scurrying through the snow. Jodl shrugged, clapped his gloves together to warm his frozen hands.
'Servile little creep.'
In the depths of the forest the transceiver operated by Woodpecker still rested in its log hide. Thick snow was packed hard where gloved hands had that morning concealed it after usage.
