the Valhalla Exchange (v5) (18 page)

Gaillard sat there, staring into space. Impossible to believe. Meyer must have got it wrong. Must have. The boy cried out and Gaillard turned quickly, squeezed out his cloth in the bowl of water and wiped the forehead gently.

Claire de Beauville paused in the shadows at the bottom of the back stairs, listening. All was still. She opened the door on her left gently and stepped into the cloakroom. When she slipped out a few seconds later, she was wearing a military greatcoat and a steel helmet, both far too large for her, but that didn't matter. In the darkness, it was only the general impression that was important.

It was snowing lightly when she went outside and the entire courtyard was shrouded in darkness, no one working on Big Bertha this time. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, went down the steps and started across to the gate.

There was a murmur of conversation up on the wall where the sentries talked in subdued voices. In the tunnel itself, silence. She hesitated at the door of the winding-gear room, then tried the handle gently. The door opened with a slight click. It was dark in there. With a tremendous surge of relief, she stepped inside. Her groping hand found the switch and she turned on the light.

Canning was standing there with Hesser and Birr, Howard and Finebaum against the wall. She stood there, very pale, looking suddenly like some little girl in a macabre game of dressing-up that had gone wrong, lost in that ridiculous greatcoat and steel helmet.

'How did you know?' she said tonelessly.

'Well, I'll tell you, miss, you'll have to blame me for that.' Finebaum slung his M1, crossed to her side and searched her pockets, finding the explosive and detonators instantly. 'You see, the general here, being highly suspicious of our old pal Bannerman, put me on his tail. I was sitting it out up there in the passage by his room when he came out, and the plain fact is, miss, he called on you. The rest, as they say in the movies, you know. I didn't get a chance to tell the general about it right away because everything sort of happened on wheels after that.'

'That'll do, Finebaum,' Canning said.

'Anything you say, sir.'

Finebaum moved away. She stood there, defenceless. Canning glared at her, eyes burning, agony on his face.

It was Hesser who said, strangely gentle, 'Strasser is Bormann then?'

'I don't know. I've never met him. Remember the Gestapo security check on the castle two months ago when we were all interviewed personally? I received my instructions then from that SS colonel, Rattenhuber. He said he was acting for Bormann. A special radio was secreted in my room. I was given times when I could expect messages.'

'The damage to our own radio spares?' Hesser said. 'That was you?'

'Yes.'

'Why, for God's sake?' Canning cried harshly.

'It's really quite simple,' she said. 'Remember my husband, Etienne?'

'Of course. Shot dead while trying to escape from SD headquarters in Paris.'

'So I believed,' she said, 'until Rattenhuber was able to prove to me that wasn't true. Etienne is alive, Hamilton. Has been all along. An inmate of Mauthausen concentration camp.'

'I see,' Justin Birr said. 'And the price of his continued existence was your cooperation.'

'It wasn't enough,' Canning cried. 'You hear me? Not to excuse what you have done.'

The rage, the anguish in him was personal and obvious to everyone there. His hand came up, clutching his Walther.

'Shoot me then, Hamilton, if you must,' she said in the same flat voice. 'It doesn't matter. Nothing matters any longer. Etienne is as good as dead now.'

It was Finebaum who moved first, getting in front of her and facing Canning, his M1 still slung from his shoulder.

'General, I respect you - I respect you like hell, but this isn't the way, sir, and I can't just stand by and let you do it.'

Canning gazed at him wildly, the Walther shaking in his hand, and then something seemed to die inside him, the light faded; he lowered the pistol.

'Captain Howard.'

'Sir.'

'Lower the drawbridge, then open the gate.'

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'You heard me.' Canning's voice was flat. 'I don't want her here, you hear me? Let her go. She can't harm us now.'

He brushed past her and went outside.

It was Sorsa, in the observation post the Finns had set up in the trees above the first bend, who noticed the drawbridge descending. Ritter had only just arrived from the village and was still in the field car on the road below.

Sorsa called softly, 'Something going on up there at the gate. They're lowering the drawbridge.'

Ritter scrambled up the bank to join him, and as he did so the judas opened and Claire de Beauville stepped into the light. She started across without hesitation, and the moment she reached the opposite side the drawbridge lifted again behind her. She came on.

'You know who it is?' Sorsa demanded.

'Madame de Beauville, one of the prominenti.' Ritter lowered his night-glasses. 'Now I wonder what friend Strasser will have to say about this rather singular turn of events?'

As the drawbridge started to rise again, Canning went back into the winding-gear room. Finebaum and Hoover were turning the massive wheels by hand, Howard watching them. Hesser and Birr talked together in low voices.

Canning's face was white with fury. 'Okay, that's it. I've had enough of hanging around and nothing happening. I'm going out there to see what the situation is.'

'Good God, Hamilton, how on earth are you going to do that?' Birr demanded.

'Leave by the water gate. There's an old skiff in the tunnel there. We can cross the moat in that. They'll be heavily occupied with the woman at the moment. They won't expect any move like this.'

Birr shrugged. 'All right, Hamilton. If that's how you want it - I'm your man.'

'No, not you. You're needed here.'

Howard said, 'If you're looking for volunteers, sir.'

'Captain, in my entire career, I never asked anyone under my command to volunteer for anything. If I need a man, I tell him.' He nodded at Hoover and Finebaum. 'I'll take these two. You stay here to back up Colonel Birr. Any questions?'

Birr shrugged helplessly. 'You give the orders, Hamilton. You're in command.'

It was damp in the tunnel, and cold. They waited while Schneider got the water gate unlocked and then the sergeant-major and a couple of his men got the skiff into the water.

Hesser said, 'It's in a pretty rotten condition, Herr General. Careful your boot doesn't go through the bottom.'

Howard handed Canning his Thompson. 'Better take this, sir. You could need it.'

'Thanks,' Canning said. 'We'll hit those trees as fast as we can, then work our way through and see if we can make out what's happening round that first bend in the road. In and out again, nice and fast. I'd say we should be back here in thirty minutes.'

'We'll be looking for you,' Birr called softly.

Hoover and Finebaum were already in the skiff. Canning joined them sitting on the stern rail and Howard gave them a strong push. The skiff glided across the moat, its prow bit into the snow of the other bank and Finebaum was ashore in an instant. He knelt there, covering Hoover and Canning while they pulled the skiff up out of the water a little.

'Okay,' Canning whispered. 'Let's go.'

'Excuse me, General, but I figure we've got something to settle first.'

'What in the hell are you talking about, soldier?'

'You did say this was a reconnaissance mission, General?'

'Yes.'

'Well, that's good because that's what Harry and me and the captain have been kind of specializing in for the past eighteen months, only I always take point, sir. I mean, I lead the way on account of I seem to have a nose for it and we all live longer. Okay, General?'

'Okay,' Canning said. 'Just as long as we get moving.'

'Right. Just keep your mouth shut and follow my ass.

He was away in an instant, moving very fast, and Canning went after him, Hoover following. They reached the tree line and Finebaum paused to get his bearings. In spite of the darkness, there was a faint luminosity because of the snow.

Finebaum dropped to one knee, his face close to the ground, then he stood up. 'Ski tracks, so these mothers are still around.'

He set off again, going straight up the slope through the trees at a speed which had Canning struggling for breath. Once on top, the ground inclined to the east more gently, through pine trees whose branches were covered with snow.

Finebaum was some yards in advance by now, and suddenly signalled to halt and went forward. He waved them on.

He was crouched beside a snow-covered bush in a small hollow on the ridge above the road. The Finns were encamped below beside the three half-tracks and the field car. The scene was illuminated by a couple of storm lanterns, and in their light it was possible to see Sorsa, Ritter and Claire de Beauville standing by the field car. The Finns squatted around portable field stoves in small groups.

'Hey, this could be a real Turkey shoot,' Finebaum said. 'There must be thirty to thirty-five guys down there. We open up now, we could take half of them out, no trouble.' He caressed the barrel of his M1. 'On the other hand, that would probably mean the lady getting it and you wouldn't like that, would you, General?'

'No, I wouldn't like it at all,' Canning said.

Strange how different it seemed, now that they were apart. Standing down there in the lamplight, she might have been a stranger. No anger in him at all now.

'But when she moves out, General?' Finebaum said. 'That would be different.'

'Very different.' Canning eased the Thompson forward.

Finebaum leaned across to Hoover. 'You move ten yards that way on the other side of the bank, Harry. Give us a better field of fire. I'll look after the General.'

'And who'll look after you?' Hoover asked and wriggled away through the snow.

Finebaum took out a couple of German stick grenades and laid them ready in the snow. They were still talking down there by the field car.

Canning said, 'What are you going to do when you get home, Finebaum?'

'Hell, that's easy, General, I'm going to buy something big like maybe my own hotel up there in Manhattan some place. Fill it with high-class women.'

'And make a fortune out of them or plunge in yourself?'

'That's where I can't make my mind up.' They didn't look at each other, but continued to watch the group below. 'It's a funny old war.'

'Is it?'

'If you don't know, who does, General?'

Claire got into the field car. Ritter climbed in beside her and nodded to Hoffer, who started the engine. 'Beautiful,' Finebaum breathed. 'Just too beautiful. Get ready, General.'

The field car moved into the night, the engine note started to dwindle. And then, as Canning and Finebaum eased forward in the snow to take aim at the men below, there was a sudden whisper in the night like wings beating.

They both turned as a Finn in white winter uniform, the hood of his parka drawn up over his field cap, erupted from the trees and did a perfect stem turn, coming to a dead halt. Finebaum fired from the hip three times very fast, knocking him back among the bushes.

'Watch it, you two,' Hoover yelled. 'Three o'clock high.'

Canning swivelled in the right direction and found another Finn coming down the slope through the trees like a rocket. He started to fire the Thompson, snow dancing in fountains across the face of the slope, and the Finn swerved to one side and disappeared. There was uproar down below as Sorsa shouted commands, ordering his men forward in skirmish order. Someone started to fire from the trees above them, and then below on the road a big Finnish Rottenfuhrer jumped into one of the half-tracks, swung the heavy machine gun and loosed off a burst that cut branches from the trees above Canning's head.

'You wanted action, General, you got it,' Finebaum said, and called to Hoover, 'Hey, Harry, get ready to move out, old buddy. One, two, three - the old routine. Say if you understand.'

There was no reply. He emptied his rifle into the men and the road below and shoved in another clip. 'Okay, General, let's move it,' he said and crawled through the bushes towards Hoover.

The sergeant was lying on his back, eyes open wide as if surprised that this could happen to him after all this time. There was a large and very ragged hole in his throat where two machine-gun bullets had hit together.

Finebaum turned and started to crawl back to their original position. The Finns were half-way up the slope at the side of the road now. He picked up the first stick grenade and tossed it over. There was a deafening explosion and cries of anguish. He ducked as the Rottenfuhrer in the half-track swung the machine gun in his direction, kicking a wall of snow six feet into the air.

'Goodbye, old buddy!' Finebaum shouted and tossed the second grenade.

It seemed to drift through the night in a kind of slow motion. The Rottenfuhrer ducked, it dropped into the halftrack beside him. A second later it exploded, lifting him bodily into the air.