Schorner’s head snapped back as if Sturm had slapped him.
“That’s right,” Sturm said, this time more confidently. “I know your game. You’re no better than Gauss or anyone else. By my standards, you’re a damn sight worse.”
Schorner’s hand was around Sturm’s throat in less than a second. He slammed the stunned sergeant up against the wall of the kennel and squeezed his neck with enough force to kill. The German shepherds went wild.
Sturm was trying to speak, but no air could escape his throat.
Schorner’s voice grated like broken glass. “You wish to say something, Hauptscharfuhrer?” He loosened his grip just enough for Sturm to whisper.
The sergeant sucked in as much air as he could, then rasped, “You’re not fit to wear that uniform, you Jew- fucking bastard.”
Schorner’s face went completely white. To hear such words from a man who had never fought in a single battle, who had never even come under hostile fire, made him temporarily lose his reason. He drove his right knee into Gunther Sturm’s groin. When Sturm doubled over in agony, he smashed his fist down on the back of his neck. Before the sergeant could react, Schorner’s boot was across the back of his neck, crushing his face into the gravel.
Rachel watched from the hospital wall in horror and fascination. She could tell that Frau Hagan was even more stunned than she was. Sturm’s red face was being ground into the gravel like a willful dog’s. Major Schorner seemed to be considering whether or not to go ahead and snap Sturm’s neck with his finely polished hobnailed boot. He regarded the back of the sergeant’s bare head for several moments, as if carefully weighing the pros and cons of the choice.
Rachel heard a sudden roar of engines from the other side of the barracks. A motorcycle with an empty sidecar swept into the alley and skidded to a stop beside Schorner. Its rider removed his goggles and stared at the prone figure on the ground.
“What is it, Rottenfuhrer?” Schorner asked.
The rider’s eyes stayed on Sergeant Sturm. “Sturmbannfuhrer, it’s . . .”
“Speak up, man!”
“Sergeant Gauss, Sturmbannfuhrer! We found his body. He’s been murdered! Shot by an automatic weapon!”
“
“Near the Kleist woman’s house, just as you said. Buried in the snow. We had to dig up half the yard, but we found him. And Sturmbannfuhrer, that’s not the worst of it. We found four parachutes buried with him.
Schorner lifted his boot off of Sturm’s neck. “Get up, Hauptscharfuhrer! Get every dog and man you have and meet at the Kleist house immediately.” He leaped into the sidecar of the motorcycle. “Take me to the spot, Rottenfuhrer!”
“
Sturm got slowly to his feet as the corporal kicked the bike into gear.
“What are you staring at?” Schorner asked him, as if nothing had passed between them. “There may be British commandos in the area. Everything else can wait!”
Sturm nodded dully. Too much had happened too quickly for him to take it all in. “
Schorner looked at Rachel, his eyes full of intense but unreadable emotion. Then the motorcycle roared out of the alley.
Rachel hugged Jan to her breast and looked at Frau Hagan. The Polish woman shook her head. “He’s mad,” she said. “He has lost his mind.”
“Jan, Jan,” Rachel crooned in a low voice. “Everything is all right now.”
“No, it isn’t,” Frau Hagan said. “This is just beginning.”
“What do you mean? Will Sturm report him?”
“I don’t think so. I think those two will settle this privately. Schorner must have something on Sturm, something bad enough that Sturm is afraid to bring charges against him for consorting with you. That’s why he tried to get you this way. Whatever it is will probably keep him from reporting this.”
The Pole rubbed her grayish-brown hair with both hands. “It won’t keep him from killing Schorner, though. It may take a little time, but he’ll find a way. You’re the one who has to worry now. You’re the pawn between them.”
Rachel shuddered. “Let’s go back to the block. I want to find Hannah.”
They moved out of the alley, Rachel carrying Jan. “You know the worst thing Sturm said? That he had reliable information that I had the diamonds.”
“Do you?” Frau Hagan asked bluntly.
Rachel hesitated, then finally gave up her pretense. “Yes. I’m sorry I lied to you.”
Frau Hagan waved her hand. “You keep them where he said?”
“Yes.”
“Where do you hide them when you go to Schorner?”
“Don’t ask.” Rachel quickened her pace. “I can’t believe anyone would inform on me. Someone in the same position we are! Someone must have watched me in the toilet or the showers.”
“If I find out who,” Frau Hagan said matter-of-factly, “I’ll strangle them with a bootlace.”
“But how could they do it?”
The Block Leader grunted with a sound that summed up a lifetime of disillusionment. “I told you your first day here, Dutch girl. The prisoner’s worst enemy is the prisoner.”
27
“What? What?”
McConnell came awake in the dark the way he once had as an intern in Atlanta, eyes wide open but full of sleep, shaking his head to jar his brain into action.
Someone was shaking him by the arm.
“Get up, Mr. Wilkes! Wake up, sir!”
McConnell’s eyes focused. Where he expected the face of a nurse, he saw the young face of one of Colonel Vaughan’s orderlies. The orderly pulled him to his feet.
“Is that your only bag, sir?”
“What the hell’s going on?” McConnell demanded.
“Is this all your gear, sir?”
“No, damn it, I have suitcases at the castle. Just wait a minute. Jesus . . . is this it? Tonight?”
“Leave everything in the hut behind, sir. You won’t be needing it. Follow me.”
The orderly marched out. McConnell groped in the dark for his shoes, pulled them on and went after him. It was raining outside, no surprise at Achnacarry. The orderly waited on the path to the castle, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
McConnell walked rapidly but did not run, another habit he had developed as an intern. It gave him time to get his thoughts together. Where the hell was Stern? Just after supper they had both lain down in the hut. Now Stern was gone. The day had been a washout, the first time Sergeant McShane had not shown up at dawn to work them to death. He had not appeared during the remainder of the day either, and Stern — quite out of character — had shown no curiosity about the matter.
McConnell sidestepped the rear corner of the castle and moved quickly along the wall. When he rounded the front, he saw only the dim yellow bulb over the castle door, burning through the rain. A stiff hand bumped him in the chest.
“Hold here, Mr. Wilkes,” said the orderly.
“What the hell—?”
