Radl said, 'Perhaps this gentleman would be happier serving on the Eastern Front, Herr Reichsfuhrer? Army Group South, under Field Marshal von Manstein. Plenty of hot spots there for those who crave real action.'
Preston, realizing that he had made a very bad mistake, hastily tried to make amends. 'I can assure you, Herr Reichsfuhrer, that...'
Himmler didn't give him a chance. 'You talk of volunteering, where I see only an act of sacred duty. An opportunity to serve the Fuhrer and the Reich.'
Preston snapped to attention. It was an excellent performance and Devlin, for one, was thoroughly enjoying himself. 'Of course, Herr Reichsfuhrer. It is my total aim.'
'I am right, am I not, in assuming that you have taken an oath to this effect? A holy oath?'
'Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'
'Then nothing more need be said. You will from this moment consider yourself to be under the orders of Colonel Radl here.'
'As you say, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'
'Colonel Radl, I d like to have a word with you in private ' Himmler glanced at Devlin Herr Devlin if you would be kind enough to wait in the ante-room with Untersturmfuhrer Preston.'
Preston gave him a crisp Heil Hitler, turned on heel with a precision that would not have disgraced the Grenadier Guards, and went out Devlin followed, closing the door behind them.
There was no sign of Rossman and Preston kicked the side of one of the armchairs viciously and threw his cap down on the table He was white with anger and when he produced a silver case and extracted a cigarette, his hand trembled slightly.
Devlin strolled across and helped himself to a cigarette before Preston could close the case.He grinned. 'By God, the old bugger's got you by the balls.'
He had spoken in English and Preston, glaring at him, replied in the same language. 'What in the hell do you mean?'
'Come on, son,' Devlin said 'I've heard of your little lot Legion of St George, British Free Corps. How was it they bought you? Unlimited booze and as many women as you can handle, if you're not too choosy, that is. Now it's all got to be paid for.'
At an inch above six feet, Preston was able to look down with some contempt at the Irishman. His left nostril curled 'My God, the people one has to deal with - straight out of the bogs, too, from the smell. Now go away and try playing nasty little Irishmen elsewhere, there's a good chap, or I might have to chastise you.'
Devlin, in the act of putting a match to his cigarette, kicked Preston with some precision under the right kneecap.
.
In the office Radl had just come to the end of a progress report 'Excellent,' Himmler said, 'and the Inshman leaves on Sunday?' 'By Dormer from a Luftwaffe base outside Brest - Laville. A north-westerly course from there will take them to Ireland without the necessity of passing over English soil. At twenty-five thousand feet for most of the war they should have no trouble.'
'And the Irish Air Force?'
'What air force, Herr Reichsfuhrer?'
'I see,' Himmler closed the file 'So, things seem to be really moving at last. I'm very pleased with you, Radl Continue to keep me informed.'
He picked up his pen in a dismissive gesture and Radl said 'There is one other matter.'
Himmler looked up 'And what is that?'
'Major-General Steiner.'
Himmlei laid down his pen 'What about him?'
Radl didn't know how to put it, but he had to make the point somehow. He owed it to Steiner. In fact, considering the circumstances, the intensity with which he wanted to keep that promise surprised him. It was the Reichsfuhrer himself who suggested I make it clear to Colonel Steiner that his conduct in this affair could have a significant effect on his father's case.
'That is so,' Himmler said calmly 'But what is the problem?'
'I promised Colonel Steiner, Herr Reichsfuhrer,' Radl said lamely 'Gave him an assurance that... that...'
'Which you had no authority to offer,' Himmler said. 'However, under the circumstances, you may give Steiner that assurance in my name.' He picked up his pen again. 'You may go now and tell Preston to remain. I want another word with him. I'll have him report to you tomorrow.'
When Radl went out into the ante room, Devlin was standing at the window peering through a chink in the curtains and Preston was sitting in one of the armchairs 'Raining cats and dogs out there.' he said cheerfully 'Still, it might keep the RAF at home for a change Are we going?'
Radl nodded and said to Preston, 'You stay. He wants you. And don't come to Abwehr Headquarters tomorrow. I'll get in touch with you.'
Preston was on his feet very military again, arm raised 'Very well, Herr Oberst. Heil Hitler!'
Radl and Devlin moved to the door and as they went out, the Irishman raised a thumb and grinned amiably. 'Up the Republic me old son!'
Preston dropped his arm and swore viciously Devlin closed the door and followed Radl down the stairs. 'Where in the hell did they find him? Himmler must have lost his wits entirely.'
'God knows,' Radl said as they paused beside the SS guards in the main entrance to turn up their collars against the heavy rain. 'There is some merit in the idea of another officer who is obviously English, but this Preston.' He shook his head 'A badly flawed man Second-rate actor, petty criminal. A man who has spent most of his life living some sort of private fantasy.'
'And we're stuck with him,' Devlin said 'I wonder what Steiner will make of it?'
They ran through the rain as Radl's staff car approached and settled themselves in the back 'Steiner will cope,' Radl said 'Men like Steiner always do. But now to business. We fly to Paris tomorrow afternoon.'
'Then what?'
'I've important business in Holland. As I told you, the entire operation will be based on Landsvoort, which is the right kind of end-of-the-world spot. During the operational period I shall be there myself so, my friend, if you make a transmission, you'll know who is on the other end. As I was saying, I'll leave you in Paris when I fly to Amsterdam. You, in your turn, will be ferried down to the airfield at Laville near Brest. You take off at ten o'clock on Sunday night.
'Will you be there?' Devlin asked.
'I'll try, but it may not be possible.'
They arrived at Tirpitz Ufer a moment later and hurried through the rain to the entrance just as Hofer, in cap and heavy greatcoat, was emerging. He saluted and Radl said, 'Going off duty, Karl? Anything for me?'
'Yes, Herr Oberst, a signal from Mrs. Grey.'
Radl was filled with excitement. 'What is it, man, what does she say?'
'Message received and understood, Herr Oberst and the question of Herr Devlin's employment has been taken care of.'
Radl turned triumphantly to Devlin, rain dripping from the peak of his mountain cap 'And what do you have to say to that, my friend?'
'Up the Republic,' Devlin said morosely 'Right up! Is that patriotic enough for you? If so, could I go in now and have a drink?'
.
When the office door clicked open Preston was sitting in the corner reading an English-language edition of Signal He glanced up and finding Himmler there watching him, jumped to his feet 'Your pardon, Herr Reichsfuhrer.'
'For what?' Himmler said, 'Come with me, I want to show you something '
Puzzled and also faintly alarmed, Preston followed him downstairs and along the ground floor corridor to the iron door guarded by two Gestapo men One of them got the door open, they sprang to attention, Himmler nodded and started down the steps.
The white-painted corridor seemed quiet enough and then Preston became aware of a dull, rhythmic slapping, strangely remote, as if it came from a great distance. Himmler paused outside a cell door and opened a metal gate. There was a small window of armoured glass.
A grey-haired man of sixty or so in a tattered shirt and military breeches was sprawled across a bench while a couple of heavily muscled SS man beat him systematically across the back and buttocks with rubber truncheons. Rossman stood watching, smoking a cigarette his shirt sleeves rolled up.
'I detest this sort of mindless violence,' Himmler said 'Don't you, Herr Untersturmfuhrer?'
Preston's mouth had gone dry and his stomach heaved 'Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer Terrible.'
'If only these fools would listen A nasty business, but how else can one deal with treason against the State? The Reich and the Fuhrer demand an absolute and unquestioning loyalty and those who give less than this must accept the consequences. You understand me?'
Which Preston did - perfectly And when the Reichsfuhrer turned and went back up the stairs he stumbled after him, a handkerchief to his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from being sick.
In the darkness of his cell below, Major-General of Artillery Karl Steiner crawled into a corner and crouched there, arms folded as if to stop himself from falling apart 'Not one word,' he said softly through swollen lips 'Not one word - I swear it.'
.
At precisely 02 20 hours on the morning of Saturday 9 October. Captain Peter Gericke of Night Fighter Group 7, operating out of Grandjeim on the Dutch coast made his thirty-eighth confirmed kill. He was flying a Junkers 88 in heavy cloud, one of those apparently clumsy, black, twin-engined planes festooned with strange radar aerials, that had proved so devastating in their attacks on RAF bombing groups engaged on night raids over Europe.
Not that Gericke had had any luck earlier that night. A blocked fuel pipe in the port engine had kept him grounded for thirty minutes while the rest of the Staffel had taken off to pounce upon a large force of British bombers returning home across the Dutch coast after a raid on Hanover.
By the time Gericke reached the area most of his comrades had turned for home. And yet there were always stragglers, so he remained on patrol for a while longer.
Gericke was twenty-three years of age. A handsome, rather saturnine young man whose dark eyes seemed full of impatience, as if life itself were too slow for him. Just now he was whistling softly between his teeth the first movement of the Pastoral Symphony.
Behind him, Haupt, the radar operator, huddled over the Lichtenstein set gave an excited gasp 'I've got one.'
In the same moment base took over smoothly and the familiar voice of Major Hans Berger, ground controller of NJG7, crackled over Gericke's headphones "Wanderer Four, this is Black Knight, I have a Kurier for you Are you receiving?'
'Loud and clear,' Gericke told him.
'Steer nought-eight-seven degrees. Target range ten kilometres.'
The Junkers burst out of cloud cover only seconds later and Bohmler. the observer, touched Gericke's arm. Gericke saw his prey instantly, a Lancaster bomber limping home in bright moonlight, a feathered plume of smoke drifting from the port outer motor.'
'Black Knight, this is Wanderer Four,' Gericke said 'I have visual sighting and require no further assistance.'
He slipped back into the clouds, descended five hundred feet then banked steeply to port, emerging a couple of miles to the rear and below the crippled Lancaster. It was a sitting target, drifting above them like a grey ghost, that plume of smoke trailing gently.
During the second half of 1943, many German night fighters began operating with a secret weapon that was known as Schraege Musik, a pair of twenty millimetre cannon mounted in the fuselage and arranged to fire upwards at an angle of between ten and twenty degrees. This weapon enabled night fighters to attack from below, from which position the bomber presented an enormous target and was virtually blind. As tracer rounds were not used, scores of bombers were brought down without their crews even knowing what hit them.
So it was now. For a split second, Gericke was on target, then as he turned away to port, the Lancaster banked steeply and plunged towards the sea three thousand feet below. There was one parachute, then another. A moment later, the plane itself exploded in a brilliant ball of orange fire. Fuselage dropped down towards the sea, one of the parachutes ignited and flared briefly.
'Dear God in heaven!' Bohmler said in horror
'What God?' Gericke demanded savagely 'Now send base a fix on that poor sod down there so someone can pick him up and let's go home.'
.
When Gericke and his two crewmen reported to the Intelligence Room in the Operations building it was empty except for Major Adler the senior Intelligence officer, a jovial fifty-year old with the slightly frozen face of someone who had been badly burned.
He had actually flown during the First War in von Richthofen's Staffel and wore the Blue Max at his throat.
'Ah, there you are Peter,' he said 'Better late than never. Your kill's been confirmed by radio from an E-boat in the area.'
