Black Cross

before you finish.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?”

“Go straight to the factory. First, get a sample of Soman. McConnell will know how to use the mini-canisters and universal couplers. After that, let him take you on a tour through the plant. Anything he points at, you shoot a picture of. Laboratory logs, notes, things like that, take them. Then steal a German vehicle and run for the Baltic coast. You’ll find an inflatable boat cached there, and a Royal Navy submarine waiting to pick you up.”

Stern laid his elbows on the desk and looked into Smith’s eyes. “An inflatable boat? You do know the Baltic coast is often frozen this time of year?”

“Quite. That’s why they won’t be expecting you to leave in a boat. You’ll find the raft cached by a shipping channel maintained by icebreaker. I’ll give you all the details later.”

Stern felt far from reassured. “How are we getting into Germany?” he asked.

“From here we stage to Sweden by air, then—”

“We? You mean McConnell and me.”

Smith leaned forward. “I mean myself as well. I’ll be bivouacked on the Swedish coast, waiting for confirmation of success.” The brigadier could not conceal his excitement. “This is no hop into the French countryside to keep the Resistance in biscuits, man. It’s a thrust to Jerry’s vitals! If we pull off this bluff, we’ll have changed the course of the war.”

Stern studied Smith’s craggy face. “Do your masters know you’re flying over occupied territory? If you were captured—”

“No chance of that. I’ve arranged special transport for this trip. You won’t believe it until you see it. From Sweden, you and McConnell will go into Germany by Moon plane. That’s a single-engine wooden kite, painted matte black.”

“A Lysander?”

“Right. You’ll be landed just west of the hills, hopefully out of sight and sound of both Dornow village and the camp.”

“We’ll be met?”

“Yes, but you won’t know by whom until you get there.”

Stern’s eyes flickered with apprehension. “Password?”

“Your password for the reception party is Black Cross. That’s what I’ve named the mission as well. Black Cross is the Allied code name for nerve agents — it’s meaningless to the Jerries. You’ll get a more detailed set of codes before you leave.”

“When will that be, exactly?”

Brigadier Smith leaned back in the chair and rested his hand in his lap. “In exactly ten days, Stern, Heinrich Himmler is going to stage a demonstration of Soman at Raubhammer Proving Ground on the Luneburger Heath. Among those present will be Adolf Hitler. Himmler intends to convince the Fuhrer that nerve gas is the only weapon that can stop the coming Allied invasion. And, my boy, Himmler is right.”

Smith held up his hand and splayed his fingers. “Five days before that test — six nights from now — you and McConnell are going in. That gives you a four-day window in which to make your attack. Four days to wait for the proper wind and weather conditions. Four days to convince Heinrich Himmler that the Fuhrer’s fears of Allied gas capabilities are extremely well founded.”

Stern stood up and flexed his fists with nervous energy. “I want to know about this contact of yours, Brigadier. Our lives will be in his hands from the moment we’re inside Germany. Is it someone in the village? A soldier in the camp? Who?”

Smith’s face gave away nothing. “If I told you that, his life would be in your hands. And right now, he is a lot more valuable than you are.”

“I see.” Stern leaned over the maps in silence for nearly a minute. “One question. It seems to me that a place like this would have a lot of safety equipment. Gas masks, suits, safety drills, that kind of thing.”

“I think the reality will surprise you. Remember, Sarin and Soman can kill simply by contact with the skin. I’m sure Brandt and his staff have special protection, but to really protect the SS troops, everyone would have to wear a full body suit and mask at all times. It’s just not practical. There are gas alarms in the factory itself, but the SS troops don’t even carry masks with them. If you ask me, Himmler considers the Totenhausen detachment expendable. Satisfied?”

“This sounds like it could actually work.”

“It’s going to work.”

Brigadier Smith fired his pipe and leaned back in Colonel Vaughan’s chair. “Tell me,” he said, “how are you and the good doctor getting along?”

Stern shrugged. “He’ll do his job, I suppose. As long as he doesn’t figure out that the real objective is to kill people, not disable the lab and factory.”

“He won’t. As long as you don’t help him.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are we finished?”

“Finished?” Smith slapped the desk with a bang. “Not nearly. You’ve still got some training to do before bed.”

“Training?”

“Climbing that pylon is going to be ticklish, especially in the dark. We’ve rigged a dummy here for you to practice on. We’ve got climbing spikes, harness, the lot.”

“I’ve climbed a hundred telegraph poles,” Stern objected. “I can do it without spikes and without practice.”

Smith chuckled. “The pylons at Totenhausen are sixty feet tall, laddie, and may well be covered with ice.”

“More games,” Stern grumbled.

“Look, I know you’ve no use for us,” Smith said equably. “We’re not too fond of you either, to be frank. But you’ve got to set that aside. It’s Jerry you want to kill, remember.”

He stood up and walked to the closed door and rapped sharply on it. Someone pushed open the door. It was Sergeant McShane, dressed for foul weather. From the Highlander’s hands dangled leather belts and straps fitted with medieval-looking spikes of iron.

Brigadier Smith folded his maps with amazing dexterity for a one-armed man, then tucked his case under his arm.

“Take him up the hill, Sergeant,” he ordered.

When Stern finally trudged into the Nissen hut behind the castle, all his muscles were shaking with fatigue. By then someone had sent an orderly to the hut with blankets, pillows, and matches, but McConnell was not yet asleep. He was reading his German textbook by the light of the paraffin lamp.

Stern collapsed onto his cot and lay staring at the ceiling.

McConnell closed the book. “What were you doing to get so wet?”

“Studying electricity. What about you?”

McConnell dropped the textbook on the floor. “Colloquial German. SS protocols and orders. Plus a little organic chemistry.

“Say something in German.”

“Wie geht es Ihnen?”

“Ach, your accent is terrible!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” Stern said in an exhausted voice. “I’ll do any talking that needs to be done. I doubt we’ll have to do much.”

“I suppose we’re going in dressed as Germans?”

Stern turned his head and looked across the narrow space that divided them. “Why do you say that?”

“Christ, they’re fitting us up with German weapons, they’ve got me studying SS orders. . .  What else could it be?”

Stern said nothing.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lying here,” McConnell said. “And I’ve got to tell you, this mission doesn’t