Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'Brigadier Masson..'

The Swiss Intelligence officer was a tall man in his forties. Instead of his normal uniform and peaked cap he wore his civilian clothes. Clean-shaven, solemn in expression, he stared hard at Roessler and then sat in the threadbare armchair Anna indicated.

'You received the latest signal? Your messenger collected it,' Roessler assured him.

'Your friend inside Germany has changed the code again,' Masson informed him. 'Our code-breakers cannot decipher it..'

'So you have told me before…` Roessler made a helpless movement. also have no idea of what those signals mean.

'I must know the identity of this contact at the top of the Nazi hierarchy. Now!'

Masson, normally the soul of courtesy, was cold and distant in voice and manner. Watching him, Anna had the impression he was labouring under great tension. She intervened, her tone sharp.

'After all we have done we cannot be bullied. Tell us what is worrying you or leave us in peace..'

Masson shrugged and reached for his hat. 'The identity of your friend in Germany,' he repeated. 'We sense danger..'

'Danger to whom?' Anna burst out. 'And Rudolf knows our informant only as The Woodpecker – Der Specht! I ask you once more – what is it about this latest signal which worries you?'

'Our code-breakers were not entirely unsuccessful,' Masson told her as he rose to leave. 'It makes a reference to Switzerland..'

At the beginning of April 1943 the whole world seemed to be waiting – waiting without knowing it. The war, involving millions of men, could still go either way. Victory was still within the grasp of the Third Reich. One massive blow against the Red Army could destroy Communism. Would the decisive attack be launched?

In London Tim Whelby, who so far had only dabbled his feet in treachery, was disturbed and irresolute. The instruction given by Savitsky confronted him for the first time with the prospect of personal violence. In short, murder. He waited for the next sign.

In Bavaria at the Berghof Martin Bormann waited – waited with the deepest anxiety to see whether his protege could successfully seal the success of the greatest impersonation in history. If he did, the Nazis would remain in power. If not, the generals would launch a military coup under the direction of General Beck.

At the Berghof another man waited – waited for the chance to get away. Ian Lindsay still felt handicapped by his relationship with Christa Lundt, still had not solved the problem of two people making an escape from the most heavily-guarded establishment in Nazi Germany.

And in the ancient city of Munich Colonel Browne's agent, Paco, also waited – waited for the next Monday. Would the Englishman reach the Bavarian capital in time to keep the agreed rendezvous? Every seven-day delay increased the danger. But patiently, Paco waited.

In Moscow the son of a Georgian cobbler also waited – waited as he tried to decide whether he could trust the reports from Woodpecker, whether he could take military action on the basis of the stream of signals which kept coming in via Lucerne.

'The arrival of the Englishman with Hitler at the Berghof is my greatest anxiety,' Stalin confided to Beria as the two men sat alone in his office inside the Kremlin. 'It is a pity the first attempt to kill him came to nothing..'

'I understood from earlier Woodpecker reports this Lindsay does not officially represent Churchill,' Beria responded cautiously.

Stalin stared at the secret police chief contemptuously, puffed at his pipe and then rested it inside an ashtray. He sat back in his chair and clasped both hands before speaking.

'If Hitler can find a way to bring the forty German divisions now guarding Western Europe to our front we are finished! You understand, Beria? Finished,' he repeated bitterly. 'And now I learn that Englishman is alive and well and has journeyed with Hitler to the Berghof. Quite obviously he has gained the Fuhrer's confidence. At this very moment he may be negotiating terms for a separate peace. Whatever happens he must be killed before he can return to England. Killed! I am handing over the responsibility for his fate to you..'

Stalin also was – waiting…

Five days had passed since the arrival of the Fuhrer at the Berghof. It was Saturday, which, Lindsay thought grimly, would be succeeded by Sunday and Monday. And still he had no plan for escaping to keep the Munich rendezvous with Paco. Escape was vital. Reaching London was urgent. What a weapon for Churchill – if he could broadcast to the world that a pseudo-Hitler had been installed…

'These will be your quarters,' Bormann had told him brusquely when they reached the Berghof. 'The Fuhrer has agreed you are to undergo intensive interrogation…'

On this encouraging note the Reichsleiter had left the Englishman alone. The first surprise was the quarters allocated to him. They included the large room at the foot of a flight of stairs where Lindsay had witnessed a nightmare scene on his earlier visit.

Inside this room he had seen through a half-open door the mirror image of the Fuhrer practising a speech – a Fuhrer surrounded by a circle of mirrors as he thundered at the top of his voice, studying the effect of his body language while he gestured violently. All the mirrors had vanished.

As soon as he was on his own, Lindsay had examined the highly polished floor carefully. The mirrors had been heavy cheval glasses. The supporting legs should have left traces on the woodblock floor. He found nothing. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to remove all traces.

There was a faint aroma of, fresh polish. The surface of the woodblocks gleamed. He suspected the floor had first been stripped. He opened a drawer at the base of a heavy wardrobe. It contained books by Clausewitz, von Moltke and Schlieffen – all the classic military authorities. Many had the corners of pages turned down, passages underlined. He found an unused 1943 diary. On impulse he pocketed it.

Christa Lundt had come to see him soon after he had unpacked his few things. She had entered without knocking, closed the door and placed a finger over her lips to stop him greeting her. She had then spent a quarter of an hour checking the apartment.

'No microphones,' she pronounced eventually. 'So we can talk.'

'You've been to the Berghof before, of course? I imagined so. Have you ever been down here?'

'Never! It was closely guarded – sealed off from the rest of the Berghof. Access was under the personal control of the previous commandant, the one who committed suicide…'

' Committed suicide? How long ago was this, Christa?'

'About two weeks ago. It must have been just after you flew to the Wolf's Lair. I'm talking about Commandant Muller

'Muller!' Lindsay was pacing the room, frowning. 'I met Muller when I was here before – that man never committed suicide. What the hell is going on here?' He stopped pacing and faced Christa. 'How did he commit suicide?'

'Well.. Christa hesitated and the Englishman waited silently. 'The first report was he had an accident. He fell four hundred feet from the outer platform of the Kehlstein. That's the Eagle's Nest, the eyrie the Fuhrer had built at the peak of the mountain. You get up there by a lift which ascends inside the rock face..'

'Go on,' Lindsay urged as she paused.

'Commandant Muller was supposed to have slipped on the ice and plunged over the wall when he went up there by himself…'

'Why would he do that – at this time of the year?'

'I never heard of him going there before. Afterwards we heard rumours that the accident story was to cover up the fact that he had killed himself..'

'And who was appointed in his place? Who did appoint his successor, by the way?'