They were out of the village now, roaring along the country lane.
“Get your driver to stop up here,” the SD officer barked.
“Why?” the count asked.
“There is a call box. I want to call for support. I’ve left all my men in the village; I want an escort. Just in case the Red Orchestra tries to free her.”
“I thought you killed them all back there?”
“We took out one cell, but there are others—more than you can imagine. Although I’m not surprised the Abwehr has no idea what Germany is up against. Decadent, aristocratic fools. Driver, pull over here.”
There was a shack just off the road. The count looked at the SS man suspiciously. The driver brought the big car to a stop and Schmidt got out, then reached back in and grabbed at Aubrey. “She must come too.”
“Why?” Helmut said. “This is absurd.
“Simply speaking, mein Colonel, I don’t trust you. And it will be my neck if she gets away.”
“Mine too, or don’t you know my boss, Admiral Canaris? He doesn’t tolerate failure.”
“The call box is on the other side of this building. I used it this morning to call in my men.” Schmidt strode off, dragging Aubrey along.
“That’ll be quite enough of that,” the count said.
There was a voice from behind them. “I agree. That’s far enough.”
Aubrey recognized it: Hewitt Purnsley. He’d stepped out from some bushes on the other side of the road and had a gun pointed at the count.
“I’ll take her, if that’s okay.”
Aubrey saw the bumper of a car poking out from the hedgerow farther down the road.
“I was hoping we’d meet, Herr Colonel,” Purnsley said.
“She is working for you?”
“Indeed. On loan, you might say, from the Yanks. They won’t take kindly to her being returned in anything but tip-top condition. Aubrey, come stand behind me. Move smartly.”
She broke away from Schmidt and hurried over to Purnsley.
“Sorry it has to end like this, Helmut,” Hewitt said.
“It’s just a game, an endless game.” The count shrugged. “There is always another round.”
“I agree. Until next time, then.”
“You’re not free and clear yet.” The count looked around at the surrounding countryside, and that mischievous smile that Aubrey had come to know, love and now loathe, appeared once more. “You’re still in my country, Herr Purnsley.”
Schmidt, who’d moved behind the count while the two intelligence men were talking, pointed his Luger at the count’s head and pulled the trigger. It was the tiniest of pops, no louder than a Christmas popper, but the count went down like a sack of stones. The chauffeur’s door opened. Hewitt spun and put two bullets into the chest of the emerging driver sending him slumping back into the vehicle.
Aubrey screamed.
“It’s okay, Aubrey. It’s over,” Hewitt told her.
Schmidt holstered his weapon, then pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over to Hewitt.
“Thank you, Starlight,” Hewitt said. “I’m also glad that you and I finally meet.”
“You don’t have long. You must go,” Captain Schmidt said.
“Why’d you do that?” Hewitt said, motioning towards the dead count.
“I will call it in. I’m afraid I will have to tell them what happened—that you ambushed us, took her from me, killed the count and his driver. I was lucky to get away alive. To maintain my cover, I will have to order them after you. You have a head start of an hour, I’d say. You’ll have to make your way across the frontier on foot. The border crossings will be watched, trains searched.”
“I figured that.”
“Poland is your best bet; I’ll tell them you’re likely headed to France.”
“Thanks, Starlight. Aubrey, let’s go.”
She looked down at the fallen count, dashed a tear off her cheek. “Hold on.” She went to him and crouched down.
“Aubrey, we don’t have time.”
“For this we do.” She pulled her father’s pistol from the count’s jacket. “This doesn’t belong to me; I need to return it.” She reached in again and found the clip of bullets. She loaded the .45, cocked it and pointed it at Captain Schmidt.
The evil little man, in his evil little spit-and-polish uniform, did not flinch. “I believe she wants to kill me.”
“Aubrey, no! He is a valuable agent.”
“Perhaps another time, Fraulein. Good luck… to both of you.” Schmidt started to drag the dead chauffeur out of his seat.
Hewitt said, “Come on, Aubrey. The clock is ticking.”
29
“I followed you from your hotel this morning, saw you drive off alone. I even picked you up again when you left the camp with your passenger,” Hewitt said to her as they drove off.
“Never spotted you.”
“But then I lost you. Luckily that fighter plane let me know where you were. I thought for a moment that you’d been killed in the explosion, but then I spotted you with binoculars, running away with that Fuchs chap.”
“Did you know he was a spy?”
“Suspected it. He is good, one of the best. I would have liked to have had a chat with him.”
“He’s probably dead by now. That bastard’s men will rip him apart.”
“And with good reason.”
“What was it all for? What did Starlight give you that’s so important?”
“You have no need to know.”
“Damn it all, I almost got killed because of what you got me mixed up in.”
“Listen, Aubrey, I didn’t tell you to get hooked up with any Red Orchestra or a cell of communists. You did that all on your own. You should be in Paris right now, fully debriefed and on your way home.”
Hewitt tightened his grip on the wheel. He pulled out the slip of paper and handed it to her. “I guess you were instrumental,” he said.
She read the note. It was in German, written in ballpoint pen, hard to read. She recognized a few words; her written German even weaker than her spoken. She got the gist of it, though; it was an innocent-sounding note, a man writing to a woman about a romantic weekend spent in the Alps. Something she could easily have written herself if things hadn’t turned out the way they
