'Yes. I work for Special Operations Executive, Colonel. Knowing things is our business. I'm sure you'll be surprised to discover that the man you tried to shoot that night at Meltham House wasn't Mr Churchill.'
Steiner looked incredulous. 'What are you trying to tell me now? What nonsense is this?'
'Not nonsense,' Jack Carter said. 'He was one George Howard Foster, known in the music halls as the Great Foster. An impressionist of some distinction.'
Steiner laughed helplessly. 'But that's wonderful. So bloody ironic. Don't you see? If it had all succeeded and we'd taken him back... ? My God, a music hall artist. I'd love to have seen that bastard Himmler's face.' Concerned that he was going too far, he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. 'So?'
'Your friend, Liam Devlin, was wounded but survived,' Carter said. 'Walked out of a Dutch hospital and escaped to Lisbon. As far as we know, your second-in-command, Neumann, still survives and is hospitalized.'
'As is Colonel Max Radl, your organizer/ Munro put in. 'Had a heart attack.'
'So, not many of us left,' Steiner said lightly.
'Something I've never understood, Colonel,' Carter said. 'You're no Nazi, we know that. You ruined your career trying to help a Jewish girl in Warsaw and yet that last night in Norfolk, you still tried to get Churchill.'
'I'm a soldier, Captain, the game was in play and it is a game, wouldn't you agree?'
'And in the end, the game was playing you?' Munro said shrewdly.
'Something like that.'
'Nothing to do with the fact that your father, General Karl Steiner, was being held at Gestapo Headquarters at Prinz Albrechtstrasse in Berlin for complicity in a plot against the Fuhrer?' Carter asked.
Steiner's face shadowed. 'Captain Carter, Reichs-Fuhrer Himmler is noted for many things, but charity and compassion are not among them.'
'And it was Himmler behind the whole business,' Munro told him. 'He pressured Max Radl into working behind Admiral Canaris's back. Even the Fuhrer had no idea what was going on. Still hasn't.'
'Nothing would surprise me,' Steiner said, stood up and paced to the wall. He turned. 'Now, gentlemen. What is this all about?'
'They want you back,' Munro told him.
Steiner stared at him, incredulous. 'You're joking. Why would they bother?'
'All I know is that Himmler wants you out of here.'
Steiner sat down again. 'But this is nonsense. With all due respect to my fellow countrymen, German prisoners of war have not been noted for escaping from England, not since the First World War.'
There has been one,' Carter told him. 'Luftwaffe pilot, but even he had to do it from Canada into the States before they were in the war.'
'You miss the point,' Munro said. 'We're not talking of a prisoner simply making a run for it. We're talking about a plot, if you like. A meticulously mounted operation master-minded by General Walter Schellenberg of the SD. Do you know him?'
'Of him only,' Steiner replied automatically.
'Of course it would require the right man to pull it off which is where Liam Devlin comes in,' Carter added.
'Devlin?' Steiner shook his head. 'Nonsense, Devlin is one of the most remarkable men I have ever known, but even he couldn't get me out of this place.'
'Yes, well it wouldn't be from here. We're moving you to a safe house in Wapping. St Mary's Priory. You'll be given the details later.'
'No, I can't believe it. This is some trick,' Steiner said.
'Good God, man, what profit would there be in it for us?' Munro demanded. 'There's a man at the Spanish Embassy here in London called Jose Vargas, a commercial attache. He works for your side on occasion for money. Operates via his cousin at the Spanish Embassy in Berlin using a diplomatic pouch.'
'He works for us, you see, also for money,' Carter said. 'And they have been in touch, indicated their interest in pulling you out and requesting more information as to your whereabouts.'
'And we've told him what he needs to know/ Munro put in. 'Even your new home at the Priory.'
'So, now I understand/ Steiner said. 'You allow the plan to proceed, Devlin comes to London. He will need help, of course, other agents or what have you and at the appropriate moment you arrest the lot.'
'Yes, that is one way,' Munro said. 'There is another possibility, of course.'
'And what would that be?'
'That I simply allow it all to happen. You escape to Germany...'
'Where I work for you?' Steiner shook his head. 'Sorry, Brigadier. Carter was right. I'm no Nazi, but I'm still a soldier _ a German soldier. I'd find the word traitor difficult to handle.'
'Would you say your father and others were traitors because they tried to remove the Fuhrer?' Munro asked.
'In a sense that's different. Germans trying to handle their own problem.'
'A neat point.' Munro turned and said, 'Jack?'
Carter went and knocked on the door. It opened and the MP appeared. Munro got up. 'If you'd be kind enough to follow me, Colonel, there's something I'd like you to see.'
As far as Adolf Hitler was concerned there was to be no possibility of an honourable death for a traitor. No officer convicted of plotting against him met his end at the hands of the firing squad. The punishment was statutory, death by hanging, usually from a meat hook and often piano wire was employed. Victims frequently took a long time to die, often very unpleasantly. The Fuhrer had ordered all such executions to be recorded on film. Many were so appalling that even Himmler had been known to walk out of the showings, sick to the stomach.
The one which was being shown now in the large stockroom at the end of the corridor was flickering and rather grainy. The young Intelligence sergeant, anonymous in the darkness behind the film projector, was using the white painted wall as a screen. Steiner sat on a chair alone, Munro and Carter behind him.
General Karl Steiner, carried in by two SS men, was already dead from a heart attack, the only good thing about the entire proceedings. They hung him to the hook anyway and moved away. For a little while the camera stayed on that pathetic figure, swaying slightly from side to side, then the screen went blank.
The projectionist switched on the light. Kurt Steiner stood, turned and moved to the door without a word. He opened it, went past the MP and walked down the corridor to his room. Munro and Carter followed. When they went into the room, Steiner was standing at the window gripping the bar and looking out. He turned, his face very pale.
'You know I really think it's about time I took up smoking again, gentlemen.'
Jack Carter fumbled a cigarette out of a packet of Players and gave him a light.
'I'm sorry about that,' Munro said, 'but it was important you knew that Himmler had broken his promise.'
'Come off it, Brigadier,' Steiner said. 'You're not sorry about anything. You wanted to make your point and you've made it. I never thought my father stood much of a chance of survival, whatever I did. As far as Himmler is concerned, keeping promises is a low priority.'
'And what do you think now?' Munro asked.
'Ah, so we come to the purpose of the exercise? Will I now, in a white-hot rage, offer my services to the Allies? Allow myself to be spirited off to Germany where I assassinate Hitler at the first opportunity?' He shook his head. 'No, Brigadier. I'll have some bad nights over this. I may even ask to see a priest, but the essential point remains the same. My father's involvement in a plot on Hitler's life was as a German. He wasn't doing it to advance the Allied cause. He was doing it for Germany.'
It was Carter who said, 'Yes, one sees that.'
Steiner turned to him. 'Then you must also realize that for me to do what the Brigadier suggests would be a betrayal of everything my father stood for and gave his life for.'
'All right.' Munro stood up. 'We're wasting our time. You'll be transferred to St Mary's Priory in the New Year, Colonel. Your friend Devlin hasn't a hope of getting you out, of course, but we'd love him to try.' He turned to Carter. 'Let's get moving Jack.'
Steiner said, 'One thing, Brigadier, if I may?'
'Yes?'
'My uniform. I would remind you that under the Geneva Convention I am entitled to wear it.'
Munro glanced at Carter who said, 'It has been repaired, Colonel, and cleaned. I'll arrange for you to have it later today together with all your medals, naturally.'
'That's all right then,' Munro said and went out. Carter took out his packet of cigarettes and a box of matches and laid them on the locker. 'You mentioned a priest. I'll arrange for one if you like.'
Til let you know.'
'And a supply of cigarettes?'
'Better not. This one tasted terrible.' Steiner managed a smile.
Carter went to the door, hesitated and turned. 'If it helps at all, Colonel, it was apparently a heart attack your father died of. I don't know the circumstances...'
'Oh, I can imagine them well enough, but my thanks anyway,' Steiner answered.
He stood there, hands thrust into the pockets of his robe, quite calm, and Carter, unable to think of anything else to say, stepped into the corridor and went after Munro.
As they drove through the fog along Tower Hill, Munro said, 'You don't approve, do you, Jack?'
'Not really, sir. An unnecessary cruelty in my opinion.'
'Yes, well, as I told you before, it's not a nice war. At least we know where we stand with friend Steiner now.'
'I suppose so, sir.'
'As for Devlin - if he's mad enough to try, let him come whenever he wants. With Vargas tipping us off on every move he makes we can't go wrong.'
He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes.
It was actually New Year's Day when Devlin finally arrived in Berlin. It had taken him two days to get a seat on the Paris Express from Madrid. In Paris itself, his priority, thanks to Schellenberg, had got him on the Berlin Express, but 617 bombers of the American 8th Air Force operating out of England had inflicted severe damage on the Frankfurt railway marshalling yards. This had necessitated a rerouting of most rail traffic from France or the Netherlands into Germany. The weather was bad in Berlin, the kind of winter that couldn't make up its mind, a thin snow changing to sleet and driving rain. Devlin, still wearing a suit more apt for Portugal, had managed to procure a raincoat in Paris, but he was freezing and quite miserable as he trudged through the crowds in the railway station at Berlin.
Use Huber recognized him at once from his file photo as she stood at the barrier beside the security police. She had already made arrangements with the sergeant in charge and when Devlin appeared, bag in hand, his papers ready, she intervened at once.
'Herr Devlin? Over here please.' She held out her hand. 'I am Use Huber, General Schellenberg's secretary. You look awful.'
'I feel bloody awful.'
'I have transport waiting,' she said.
The car was a Mercedes saloon with an SS pennant conspicuously on display. Devlin said, 'I suppose that thing makes people get out of the way fast?'
'It certainly helps,' she said. 'It occurred to General Schellenberg that you might be caught out by the weather.'
'You can say that again.'
'I've made arrangements to take you to a secondhand shop. We'll get everything you need there. And you'll need someplace to stay. I have an apartment not too far from headquarters. There are two bedrooms. If it suits, you can have one of them while you're here.'
'More to the point, does it suit you?' he asked.
She shrugged. 'Mr Devlin, my husband was killed in the Winter War in Russia. I have no children. My mother and father died in an RAF raid on Hamburg.
Life could be difficult except for one thing. Working for General Schellenberg usually takes at least sixteen hours out of my day, so I'm hardly ever home.'
She smiled and Devlin warmed to her. 'It's a deal, then. Use, is it? Let's get on with the clothes. I feel as if some of my more particular parts have frozen solid.'
When they emerged forty minutes later from the second-hand shop she'd taken him to, he wore a tweed suit, laced boots, a heavy overcoat almost ankle-length, gloves and a trilby hat.
'So, you are equipped to handle Berlin in January,' she said.
'Where to now? Your apartment?'
'No, we can go there later. General Schellenberg wants to see you as soon as possible. He's at Prinz Albrechtstrasse now.'
Devlin could hear the sounds of shooting as they descended the steep stairway. 'And what's all this then?'
Use said, 'The basement firing range. The General likes to keep in practice.'
