There was a dull
boom
—the sound of a heavy door closing somewhere within the house—the echo of which both cut him off and roused them both out of their evident embarrassment.
Another
boom
, nearer now. Audley … if it was Audley, they were both glad now, he could see it in their expressions—
But should he be glad? After believing that he was beaten, now he knew he was winning? Except that … even if Audley accepted the plain contact lenses in support of his explanation … that illegal Luger pistol tied him to the illegality of whatever they were doing, making him too hot to let loose, after all that had happened to him, in the pit and afterwards—
The latch on the door behind Kelly snapped as sharp as a pistol-shot, so that it was a credit to the Irishman’s nerves that he didn’t move a muscle, except to drop the discredited spectacle-case quickly into his pocket, as Dr David Audley came through the doorway like the wrath of God.
“What the hell’s happening?” Audley took in the three of them at a glance. “What’s he doing here?” The glance ranged back from Benedikt to Gunner Kelly, taking fire from what it observed. “For Christ’s sake—what’s that bloody cannon out for?”
“Oh, David—” began Miss Becky, and then stopped.
“We caught him in Number Two pit, in the spinney, sir. And he’s not after telling us why he was there.” Kelly swallowed. “An‘ the Police have been all round the village, the bastards—”
“I know that.” Audley gestured dismissively. “I stopped off at the
Bells
—”
“They didn’t get anything, sir,” cut in Kelly quickly. “The till was open, an‘ the curtains closed—an’ the door locked, an‘ Davey knew the names an’ addresses of everyone that was drinkin‘ there, as was his guests after hours—we’ve taken no trouble from that, I swear.”
“No trouble? Christ, man—the Police weren’t born yesterday! There should have been
nobody
there, with the ford covered—and Rachel should have been in her transparent nightgown to make them ashamed for knocking at her door.” Audley shook his head angrily. “I leave the Chase for a few hours … and every damn thing falls apart, as though I’d never been here. You’re not fit to take a punt from one side of the Cam to the other!”
Kelly drew a breath. “But sir—”
“
Silence
, Gunner Kelly!” Audley sniffed. “Small bloody wonder you couldn’t hold the stripe of a lance-bombardier from one pay day to the next—you wouldn’t have held any rank in my regiment either, that did the real work at the sharp end, where there were real Germans, by Christ!”
“Sir!” Doubt and outrage warred in Kelly’s objection.
“Don’t you dare
sir
me, with that
souvenir
, taken by a better man than you, in your hand! Christ, almighty! As if I didn’t know all I wanted to know about gunners—I should have my head examined …
Becky
now—my god-daughter, who’s no fool, so I’ve fondly believed until now, says you’re no idiot—
you
tell
me …
what’s supposed to be happening—if you can?”
Benedikt was much reassured by this outburst of anger, in spite of appearances to the contrary. Because … if the Kom-missar in Wiesbaden had nothing to say about Gunner Kelly and Miss Rebecca Maxwell-Smith, it had had quite a lot to reveal about David Audley, if not who his god-daughter was; and nothing had been said about losing his cool, except for some very good reason, so there had to be a very good reason for this.
“David—it’s exactly as Michael says: when the Police crossed the water we went on the Yellow Alert… But until we get the walkie-talkie radios we can’t reach everyone—Blackie’s collecting them tomorrow—”
“Today,” corrected Kelly. “Today—promised, they are, and he’ll be there at eight-thirty to collect them … And then we’ll be ready for anything, begod, sir!”
“But…” Miss Becky blinked at Benedikt “… but then the warning went off, and that was the Red Alert, and Michael went out to check it—we weren’t expecting it so soon, of course, but he wouldn’t let me go—”
“Aaargh! And isn’t that the truth!” Kelly came to her rescue. “Would I be lettin‘ her go—orders or no orders? Ye weren’t here, an’ it was dark as the pit—”
“Kelly …” Audley’s voice turned dangerous. “Don’t you dare play the bloody stage Irishman with me!”
“So to hell with that!” Kelly cut back at him in a new voice, different from all its predecessors. “He was in the trap and I wanted to have a look at him—so what? I know what I’m looking for better than you do, Dr Audley.”
Audley looked down over his big broken nose at the Irishman. “So you do, Mr Kelly—so you do. And what did you find, then? Someone you knew?”
The face-in-the-crowd was inscrutable, as anonymous as ever, but the eyes glittered with dislike. “No, Dr Audley—only someone you so kindly let me see from afar this afternoon, I grant you that. But it was a justifiable risk, nevertheless.”
“It was
not
a justifiable risk—it was unnecessary.”
Kelly shrugged. “Not in my judgement.”
“And since when has your judgement been worth a brass farthing?” Audley looked at Benedikt suddenly. “Do you know him?”
“No, sir.” Kelly squirmed uncomfortably. “But you were right about him, sir.”
“I was?” Audley continued to study Benedikt. “What has he told you?”
“He hasn’t told us anything. But now I’ve seen him close up … He’s good … But I know the type.”
“What type?” Audley returned to Kelly.
“Never a civil servant. Soldier or policeman—soldier for choice… I’ve seen enough of them in my time. Regular soldiering marks a man—I don’t care whose army. And I’ve seen his type before—it’s an obstinate look, they have, even when you’ve got the bastards at gunpoint—I know that look, sir!”
Miss Becky stirred. “Michael—David—”
Audley’s expression changed. “Yes, Becky?”
“He
does
wear contact lenses—he admitted that … I mean … he’s wearing them
now
, you see.”
Audley shook his head. “Doesn’t mean a thing, my dear. Or rather … it does mean quite a lot, to put it another way: it means exceptional attention to detail, as you would expect of him. It means he’s good, as Kelly says.” He turned the look on Benedikt, but with a suggestion of sympathy. “You had bad luck there, I’m afraid. My wife wears contact lenses, and I’ve watched her with them a thousand times. I made her wear them—as a matter of fact, I’ve tried wearing them myself, but I could never really get to terms with them … But I know all about them, anyway … And there’s a particular way some people touch the area under the eye, instead of wiping the eye—my wife does it, and so do you, and it’s as good as a nod to me … It’s a game I play—identifying people who wear them. You can even change eye-colour with them. But you’d know that, of course.” He shook his head. “Still … belt and brace is one thing, but contact lenses and spectacles is another, Hauptmann Schneider. Bad luck, you had there.”
Bad luck—Hauptmann Schneider—
For a moment no one spoke, then Miss Becky said “Haupt—?” cutting the rank off into a hiccup of surprise.
“Captain,” translated Audley. “Captain Benedikt Schneider, formerly of the Army of the Federal Republic … more recently of Grenzschutzgruppe 9, and now of the NATO Anti-Terrorist Liaison Group of the Bundesnachrichtendienst, attached to the West German Embassy in London as of next week.”
“Holy Mother of God!” said Kelly. “Grenzschutzgruppe 9!”
Miss Becky frowned at him. “Grenzschutz—who are they, Michael?”
“GSG 9, for short—I read about them in the
Mirror
a while back, Madam—what the Germans call their SAS—the real hard boys.” Kelly shook his head. “I think we caught the wrong tiger, Madam.”
IN DAYLIGHT
, finishing his breakfast coffee on the terrace, Benedikt could understand even better how Gunner Kelly had felt the night before. The broad sweep of the manor lawn, wide between thick plantations of woodland on either side of it, rose gently to the ridge itself, without any intervening obstacle: the splendid view, which had surely delighted generations of the Maxwell family, would be no less satisfactory downwards from the crest, almost a thousand metres distant, to delight any well-trained and properly-equipped marksman, day or night; while from the edges of those woods, for those who first looked where they put their feet, even a tiro could hardly miss his mark.
The
clunk
of the postern door latch, which he had heard for the second time when the nervous servant-girl had ushered him on to the terrace, sounded behind him.
He held his gaze on the ridge deliberately. Nerves were for servant-girls and Thomas Wiesehöfer, not for Benedikt Schneider: that at least he must pretend, now that he could be something like himself.
“Captain Schneider—good morning.”
It was Audley behind him—and that was good, for with Audley he knew more nearly where he was.
He turned slowly. “Good morning, Dr Audley.”
“Was the English breakfast to your taste?” Audley inclined his head politely, and then smiled. “But then perhaps your mother has accustomed you to it?”
I know all about you, Captain Schneider
, that was the first signal.
“It was excellent.” Coolly, then. “But my mother never locked my bedroom door, even when I was a child. Is that an English custom with guests?”
“No. But it’s a custom to protect them from accidents, and last night there were some very trigger-happy characters around.” Audley gestured towards the ridge. “You were admiring the view?”
“I was, yes … But I was also remembering that last night Mr Kelly did not do the same. He regarded it as unsafe, as I recall. And so, I think, did you?”
“So I did—quite right!” Audley raised his hand again, indicating the stone steps in front of them, down which Benedikt had stumbled not many hours before with a gun in his back. “Shall we take a stroll? The view from up above, across the valley, is much more interesting … So I did, indeed. But not this morning—and not for
us
at any time, I’m sure.”
Benedikt mounted the steps. Far above, on the very skyline, the sheep which grazed the ridge scattered suddenly, catching his eye with their panic. A moment later a horseman appeared, and then another. They reined in together and conferred for a few seconds, then split left and right.
“The Dawn Patrol,” murmured Audley at his side. “By autumn the Duntisbury Hunt should be in excellent shape, the exercise the horses are getting.”
They walked in silence for a time, until they came to a curious open grassy ditch which divided off the well-cut manor lawn from the rougher sheep-cropped pasture of the ridge. The upper side of it sloped gently, but the manor side was revetted vertically with stone to form a sunken wall protecting the garden without breaking the clear view from below.
Another sniper’s post
, thought Benedikt, running his eye along the trench until he reached its junction with the highest point of the wood on their left. But then he caught a glimpse of movement under the trees—
“It’s all right,” said Audley soothingly. “It’s ‘one of ours’, as they say. And we are not the target, as
I
say.”
Benedikt turned towards him. “But Mr Kelly is?”
“Ah …” Audley stared back the way they had come. “This will do well enough. We’d see more if we went higher, but you can get some idea of it from here.”
The rise of the lawn was greater than Benedikt had expected it to be. Beyond the manor house below, he could see the roofs of Duntisbury Royal peeping from among the village trees, with the squat church tower to their left marking the position of the Roman villa field on the edge of the inadequate River Addle.
“Peaceful little place, isn’t it?” Audley invited him to disagree.
“I did not find it so last night,” Benedikt obliged him.
“No. But then you did rather invite trouble—like Mr King in Colonel Dabney’s covers … Do you read Kipling?” Audley raised a mild eyebrow inquiringly. “No … I suppose not … But what
am
I to do with you, then?”
Now they had come to it. “I do not see that there is anything that you can do with me, Dr Audley—if you know me so well—?”
“Oh, I do, Captain Schneider, I do. And it’s a good report I have of you, too: good soldier, good officer … good son, good Christian …
good German
, I suppose one might say, even.” He looked sidelong at Benedikt. “But you know what we used to say about
good Germans
in the old days? Your distinguished father would know—he was a damn good German, if ever there was one!”
“My father?” Audley’s private source, whatever or whoever it was, was also a damn good one. “He would be delighted to hear himself described as ‘distinguished’, I am sure, Dr Audley.”
“ ‘David’—do call me ‘David’. It’s so much harder to sound offensive with Christian names, don’t you think? So may I call you ‘Benedikt’?” Audley hardly waited for a reply. “He certainly is—and was—distinguished … Distinguished scholar now, and distinguished soldier once upon a time … An anti-tank gunner, I believe? Eighty-eights in the desert, with the goth Light? I must say I’m extremely glad I was never in
his
sights!”
Benedikt realised the condition of the ‘good Germans’ to whom Audley had been referring, which would be the same for ’good Englishmen‘—and ’good Indians‘—down history, and which was hardly reassuring now.
“The trouble is, Benedikt, that now I appear to be
in your
sights. And I’m afraid that I must insist on your telling me why, without more ado,” concluded Audley.
“Insist?”
Audley gave a little shrug.
“Or else … what?” Benedikt did not like being leaned on. “If you keep me here I shall be missed—and there will be those who will come to look for me. You can depend on that … David.”
“My dear fellow! They may look—” Audley swept a hand over the valley “—it may not seem so very big, but it hid one German in it for fifteen centuries … Also the people here are good at digging deep holes, as you discovered last night. And if that sounds rather barbarous … there is one thing I’d perhaps better explain which you must bear in mind.”