Алистер Маклин - Where Eagles Dare

On his way to the door Smith stopped briefly by Schaffer and said: ‘Well, I fouled that one up.’

‘You could have handled it differently,’ Schaffer conceded, then went on curiously: ‘What did you say to him? The young Alpine Corps captain, I mean.’

‘I gave him to understand that I was Himmler’s son.’

‘The Gestapo boss?’ Schaffer asked incredulously. ‘God above, you took a chance.’

‘I couldn’t afford to take a chance,’ Smith said cryptically. ‘I’ll go try the “Eichhof”. Better luck there, maybe. Back in ten minutes. Less.’

He left Schaffer looking uncertainly after him, made an urgent negative move of his hand towards Carraciola, who was approaching him, and passed outside. He moved a few paces along the wooden boardwalk, stopped and glanced briefly up and down the snow-filled street. It was deserted in both directions. He turned and walked quickly up a narrow alleyway which paralleled the side of ‘Zum Wilden Hirsch’. At the rear stood a small wooden hut. Smith checked again that he was unobserved, opened the door quietly.

‘Eight o’clock,’ he said into the darkness. ‘Come on.’

There was a rustle of clothes and Mary appeared in the doorway. She was shivering violently, her face blue-tinged with the extreme cold. She looked questioningly at Smith but he took her arm without a word and led her quickly to the back door of the Gasthaus . They entered a small hallway, dimly lit by an oil lamp, crossed it, climbed a flight of stairs, moved along a corridor and stopped at the second door on the right. They passed swiftly inside, Smith closing the door behind him.

It was a small room, plainly furnished, but from the chintz soft furnishings and toilet articles on a dressing-table, very obviously a feminine room. Mary sat down on the bed, hugging herself tightly to try to restore some warmth and looked up at Smith without any admiration in her face.

‘I hope you’re enjoying your little game,’ she said bitterly. ‘Seem to know your way around, don’t you?’

‘Instinct,’ Smith explained. He stooped over the low-burning oil lamp by the bed, turned up the flame, glanced briefly about the room, located a battered leather case in one corner, swung it to the bed and snapped open the lid. The case contained women’s clothing. He pulled Mary to her feet and said: ‘Don’t waste time. Take off your clothes. And when I say that, I mean your clothes. Every last stitch. Then get into that top outfit there. You’ll find everything you need.’

Mary stared at him.

‘Those clothes? Why on earth must I–’

‘Don’t argue . Now!’

‘Now it is,’ she said resignedly. ‘You might at least turn your back.’

‘Relax,’ Smith said wearily. ‘I have other things on my mind.’ He crossed to the window, stood peering out through a crack in the chintz curtains and went on: ‘Now, hurry. You’re supposed to be coming off the bus from Steingaden that arrives in twenty minutes’ time. You’ll be carrying that case, which contains the rest of your clothes. Your name is Maria Schenk, you’re from Düsseldorf, a cousin of a barmaid that works here, and you’ve had TB and been forced to give up your factory job and go to the mountains for your health. So you’ve got this new job, through this barmaid, in the Schloss Adler. And you have identity papers, travel permit, references and letters in appropriately postmarked envelopes to prove all of it. They’re in that handbag in the case. Think you got all that?’

‘I – I think so,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But if you’d only tell me–’

‘For God’s sake!’ Smith said impatiently. ‘Time, girl, time! Got it or not?’

‘Maria Schenk, Düsseldorf, factory, TB, cousin here, Steingaden – yes, I have it.’ She broke off to pull a ribbed blue wool dress over her head, smoothed it down and said wonderingly: ‘It’s a perfect fit! You’d think this dress was made for me!’

‘It was made for you.’ Smith turned round to inspect her. ‘36–26–36 or whatever. We – um – broke into your flat and borrowed a dress to use as a model. Thorough, that’s us.’

‘You broke into my flat?’ she asked slowly.

‘Well, now you wouldn’t want to go around like a refugee from a jumble sale,’ Smith said reasonably. He looked at the dress with an approving eye. ‘Does something for you.’

‘I’d like to do something for you,’ she said feelingly. Her eyes mirrored her bafflement, her total lack of understanding. ‘But – but it must have taken weeks to prepare those clothes – and those papers!’

‘Like enough,’ Smith agreed. ‘Our Forgery Section did a very special job on those papers. Had to, to get you into the lion’s den.’

‘Weeks,’ Mary said incredulously. ‘Weeks! But General Carnaby’s plane crashed only yesterday morning.’ She stared at him, registering successive expressions of confusion, accusation and, finally, downright anger. ‘You knew it was going to crash!’

‘Right first time, my poppet,’ Smith said cheerfully. He gave her an affectionate pat. ‘We rigged it.’

‘ Don’t do that,’ she snapped, then went on carefully, her face still tight with anger: ‘There really was a plane crash?’

‘Guaranteed. The plane crash-landed on the airfield HQ of the Bavarian Mountain Rescue pilots. Place called Oberhausen, about five miles from here. The place we’ll be leaving from, incidentally.’

‘The place we’ll be leaving–’ She broke off, gazed at him a long moment then shook her head almost in despair. ‘But – but in the plane I overheard you telling the men that if the mission failed or you had to split up that you were all to make a rendezvous at Frauenfeld, over the Swiss border.’

‘Did you now?’ There was mild interest in Smith’s voice. ‘I must be getting confused. Anyway, this Mosquito put down on the Oberhausen airfield riddled with machine-gun bullet holes. British machine-gun bullet holes, but what the hell, holes are holes.’

‘And you’d risk the life of an American general – and all the plans for the Second Front–’

‘Well, now, that’s why I’m in such a hurry to get inside the Schloss Adler.’ Smith cleared his throat. ‘Not before they get his secrets out of him but before they find out that he’s not an American general and knows no more about the Second Front than I do about the back of the moon.’

‘What! He’s a plant?’

‘Name of Jones,’ Smith nodded. ‘Cartwright Jones. American actor. As a Thespian he’s pretty second rate but he’s a dead ringer for Carnaby.’

She looked at him with something like horror in her eyes.

‘You’d risk an innocent–’

‘He’s getting plenty,’ Smith interrupted. ‘Twenty-five thousand dollars for a one-night stand. The peak of his professional career.’

There came a soft double knock on the door. A swift sliding movement of Smith’s hand and a gun was suddenly there, a Mauser automatic, cocked and ready to go. Another swift movement and he was silently by the door, jerking it open. Smith put his gun away. Heidi came in, Smith shutting the door behind her.

‘Well, cousins, here we are,’ he announced. ‘Mary – now Maria – and Heidi. I’m off.’

‘You’re off!’ Mary said dazedly. ‘But – but what am I supposed to do ?’

‘Heidi will tell you.’

Mary looked uncertainly at the other girl. ‘Heidi?’

‘Heidi. Our top secret agent in Bavaria since 1941.’

‘Our – top–’ Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Nobody would.’ Smith surveyed Heidi’s opulent charms with an admiring eye. ‘Brother, what a disguise!’

Smith opened the back door of the Gasthaus with a cautious hand, moved swiftly outside and remained stock-still in the almost total darkness, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the change of light. The snow, he thought, was heavier than when they had first entered ‘Zum Wilden Hirsch’ and the wind had certainly freshened. It was bitingly cold.