Алистер Маклин - Where Eagles Dare

‘This will take but minutes, only,’ Smith said in a soft and ominous voice. ‘Anne-Marie, bring in three more capsules of scopolamine.’ He smiled at her. ‘And I needn’t remind you to bring the hypodermics.’

‘Colonel Kramer!’ Carraciola said desperately. ‘This is madness! Are you going to allow–’

‘Guard!’ Smith’s voice was harsh. ‘If that man talks again, silence him!’

The guard jabbed his carbine muzzle none too lightly into Carraciola’s back. Carraciola subsided, fuming, his fists clenched till the ivory showed.

‘What do you take Reichsmarschall Rosemeyer and Colonel Kramer for?’ Smith demanded cuttingly. ‘Credulous fools? Little children? Imbeciles of your own calibre, who imagine you can get away with a cretinous masquerade of this nature? The scopolamine will be used after I have established my own bona-fides and after I have disproved yours. Anne-Marie?’

Anne-Marie smiled and marched away. It was not every night that she got the chance to administer three injections of scopolamine. Then she stopped and turned, eyebrows raised in interrogation, as Smith called her name again.

‘One moment, Fräulein.’ Smith, brandy glass in hand, was staring unseeingly into the middle distance and the watchers could see a slow smile coming to his face, a smile obviously heralding the birth of a new idea and one that pleased him very much. ‘Of course, of course,’ Smith said softly. ‘And bring three note-books will you, my dear?’

‘ Three note-books?’ Colonel Kramer’s tone was neutral, his eyes watchful. ‘ Three capsules? You give the impression that we have four enemies of the Reich here.’

‘Only three enemies that matter,’ Smith said in weary patience. ‘The American?’ The fact that he neither bothered to glance at Schaffer nor even permit a trace of contempt to creep into his voice showed unmistakably his opinion of the American. ‘He doesn’t even know what day of the week it is. Now then.’ He picked up a cigar from an inlaid marquetry box, lit it and sipped some more brandy. ‘Let’s be fair and establish my bona-fides first. Pointers first, then proof. In the best judicial fashion.

‘First, why did I invite another guard in and lay down my own gun?’ He paused and went on sarcastically: ‘Of course! Because I wanted to increase the odds against myself. Secondly, why didn’t I kill Colonel Weissner and his men when I had them at my mercy – if, that is, I’m an enemy of the Third Reich – earlier this evening? I had some difficulty, I might tell you, in restraining our fire-eating young American here from turning himself into a one-man firing squad. Very aggressive, he was.’

‘I’ll damned well tell you why,’ Carraciola said viciously. ‘Because you knew the shots would be heard!’

Smith sighed, lifted the flap of his jacket, produced an automatic and fired. The sound of the impact of the bullet thudding into the couch inches from Carraciola’s shoulder completely blanketed the soft plop made by the automatic itself. Smith carelessly threw the silenced Luger into a nearby empty chair and smiled quizzically at Carraciola.

‘Didn’t know I had that, did you? I didn’t kill Colonel Weissner because German does not kill German.’

‘You are German?’ Kramer’s eyes were still watchful but the tone perhaps a shade less neutral.

‘Johann Schmidt, at your service.’ This with a little bow and click of the heels. ‘Captain John Smith of the Black Watch.’

‘From the Rhineland, by your accent?’

‘Heidelberg.’

‘But that is my home town.’

‘Indeed?’ Smith smiled his interest. ‘Then I think we have a mutual friend.’

Momentarily, a faraway look came to Kramer’s eyes and he said softly, apparently apropos of nothing: ‘The columns of Charlemagne.’

‘Ah, and the fountain in the courtyard of the dear old Friedrichsbau,’ Smith said nostalgically. He glanced at Kramer, and the nostalgia gave way to a pseudo-mournful reproof. ‘How could you, my dear Colonel? To proceed. Why – third point, I think – why did I stage this elaborate car accident – because I knew those three impostors wouldn’t dare come into the open until they thought I was dead. Anyway, if I were the impostor, would I have come back when I knew the game was up? Anyway, to come back for what?’ He smiled wearily and nodded at Jones. ‘To rescue another impostor?’

Kramer said thoughtfully: ‘I must say I’m rather beginning to look forward to hearing what our three friends here have to say.’

‘I’ll tell you now what I’ve bloody well got to say.’ Christiansen was on his feet, ignoring the guard’s gun, his voice shaking with fury. ‘He’s fooling you, he’s fooling all of us. He’s a damned liar and you’re too damned stupid to see the wool over your eyes. A tissue of – lies, from beginning to end–’

‘That will do!’ Kramer’s hand was up, his eyes bleak, his tone icy. ‘You condemn yourselves from your own mouths. Every statement made so far by this officer is demonstrably true. Sergeant Hartmann–’ this to the guard with the carbine ‘–if any of those men speak again, do you think you could silence him without silencing him permanently?’

Hartmann produced a small woven-leather truncheon from his tunic and slipped the looped thong over his wrist.

‘You know I can, Herr Colonel.’

‘Good. Pray continue, Captain Schmidt.’

‘Thank you. I hadn’t finished.’ Smith felt like pouring himself another brandy, a celebration brandy or, alternatively, pinning a medal on Christiansen for having so unerringly if unwittingly exposed the chink in Kramer’s armour, a wounded intellectual vanity, the lacerated professional pride of a brilliant man being reminded of his capacity for being duped by one of those who had already duped him. ‘For the same excellent reason I came here by the roof of the cable-car – they’d never have come into the open if they’d known I was here – and alive. Incidentally, Kramer, hasn’t it occurred to you that it’s impossible to enter the Schloss Adler from the roof of the header station without the assistance of a rope and someone inside?’

‘Damnation!’ Coming so soon after Christiansen’s reminder of his fallibility, Smith’s question left Kramer’s self-confidence badly shaken. ‘I never thought–’

‘Von Brauchitsch,’ Smith said carelessly. ‘He had his orders direct from Berlin.’ He placed his glass on the mantelpiece, walked across and stood before the three spies. ‘Tell me, how did I know Jones was an impostor? Why did you not know he was one? And if I’m not what I claim to be then what in God’s name am I doing here at all? Perhaps you would like to explain that?’

The three men glared up at him in baleful silence.

‘Perhaps they would indeed,’ Kramer said heavily. He came and stood by Smith, staring down at the three men with an oddly expressionless gaze that was more disturbing than any show of anger could ever have been. After another and longer silence he said: ‘Captain Schmidt, this has gone far enough.’

‘Not yet.’

‘I require no more,’ Kramer persisted.

‘I promised you proof – those were but the pointers. A proof to satisfy the Deputy Chief of the German Secret Service – and that proof is in three parts. A yes or no, Colonel Kramer, if you please. Do you or do you not know the name of our top man in Britain?’ Kramer nodded. ‘Then suppose we ask them?’

The three men on the couch looked at each other, then at Smith. They looked in silence. Thomas licked dry lips, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Kramer. Smith produced a small red note-book from his tunic pocket, removed a rubber band, tore out the central page, then carefully replaced the band on the book and the book in his pocket. He wrote something on the page and handed it to Kramer, who glanced at it and nodded. Smith took the paper from him, walked across to the fire and burned it.