Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'The car is gone. They've taken it away,' Christa remarked and her tone was edgy. 'I suppose you'll say that proves it was a trap they set for us..'

'I really don't know. Maybe someone was going to use it and the weather changed their mind..' 'You're just saying that to pander to me..'

He took three long strides across the room and grasped her with both hands. His voice was low and brutal, his eyes hard.

'Now listen! In less than thirty minutes we're walking out of that door – if the laundry truck ever turns up. We have to dodge the driver, hide ourselves in the back of the truck and from that moment there's no turning back..'

He let go with his right hand, reached down and pulled up the leg of his trouser, exposing the knife he had stolen from the galley on board the Fuhrer train.

'I may have to kill the driver,' he went on. 'At some stage the killing will start. So, my girl, unless you get a grip on yourself damned quick you'll be a liability.'

'I was all right at Salzburg when we got off the train,' she said quietly. 'It was just bad luck that Hartmann intervened and stopped us. I'll be all right again – once we're on the move. Ian, I won't let you down. It's the waiting which twists me into knots..'

'Join the club.'

He released her and regretted his outburst. She was, of course, right. On previous form she could be relied on. You should always go on previous form, not what people say.

'Are you staying here with me?' she asked. 'Yes.'

'You don't have to. I can wait it out on my own. If someone checks your room it would be safer for you if you were up there – if they search me I'm carrying the Luger…'

'Either way it's a risk,' he told her in a businesslike tone as though she were the last consideration. 'I've managed to get down here unseen. My door is closed. If they post a guard they'll just assume I'm inside. They always have done. But if I'm inside, then I have to get past him to get down here again. There's no ideal formula for this kind of situation.' He smiled. 'So just keep on pacing…'

At 10.45 he asked her to give him the Luger and spare magazine. He shoved the pistol under his jacket and inside his belt. They went on waiting and neither of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say.

It was debatable which of them checked their watches more regularly. The minutes crawled. 10.50. Outside it was still snowing but less heavily. Lindsay prayed it would keep on falling. Bad weather – plus the fact it was Sunday – were the two factors which might keep everyone indoors long enough. They both checked their watches at the same moment. Their eyes met. 10.59.

Time is relative the man said, whatever that might mean – whoever the man was – but one thing is certain. Sixty seconds never took longer to tick past.

Neither moved. Both stood well clear of the window overlooking the entrance. 11.00 am…

Lindsay had his head cocked to one side, listening for the first sound of the laundry truck's motor. A leaden silence. Outside the snow was falling more thickly, heavy flakes drifting down, spinning slowly in tiny somersaults. 11.01.

'It isn't coming.. Christa began.

Lindsay shushed her with a shake of his head, listening intently. Christa couldn't keep still. She clenched and unclenched her small hands. The Englishman remained quite motionless, his mouth tight as he concentrated. Waiting it out. Pure hell. A nerve-drainer.

He raised one hand to keep her quiet, held it in mid-air. The distant sound of an engine approaching fast. 'He drives like a maniac,' Christa had said. Something like that. He motioned her to keep still and moved to the window, sidling close to a curtain edge.

A shape loomed through the snow, burst through the pallid veil, swung in a wild skid through a hundred and eighty degrees so the bonnet faced the way back to Salzburg. He was staring straight at the back of the closed vehicle with a roll-top shutter door. The laundry did call Sundays.

Through an inch-gap in the slightly-opened anteroom door Lindsay looked into the entrance hall. The driver wore a white coat and trousers – overalls – and a peaked cap. He had opened one of the double doors and staggered inside carrying a huge white sack over his shoulder. He disappeared through a doorway on the far side of the hall.

'The truck door's wide open,' called out Christa who was watching from the window.

' Then we move! '

They were both holding their cases. Lindsay opened the door wide and shoved Christa through first. He was careful to dose the anteroom door behind him. Christa had already vanished outside. There was no way of knowing how quickly the driver would reappear. Lindsay ran light-footed across the marble floor disfigured with snow patches from the driver's boots and followed Christa.

It was less cold than he had expected, the snow was thinning, the flakes smaller, fewer. She had followed his instructions – he could just see the indentations where, walking on her toes, she had dug into the snow. Moving on his heels, he took great strides. There must be no traces of footprints prominent enough for the driver to see.

He hauled himself up inside the truck and her voice called softly. 'Back here…' She had scrambled over piles of linen sacks to the very back of the truck, just behind the driver's cab. He couldn't see her in the semi-dark and that encouraged him. With luck they would remain undiscovered by the driver, unless he searched for a sack close to the cab.

Lindsay buried himself under the pile and she snuggled close to him. He was lying on his case but movement now would be dangerous. Reaching under his jacket, he pulled out the Luger. Her lips spoke direct into his right ear.

'Why the gun? You're not going to shoot him.. 'Only if he finds us. Then I grab the driving wheel and we take off.

'Let's hope not..'

She subsided. Let's hope not. Christ! Shooting the driver at this stage would be the last resort. Later, Lindsay would have no compunction, but parked outside the Berghof there were so many hazards.

Someone might hear the shot. The body would have to be concealed. How would they get through the checkpoints with Lindsay at the wheel? He felt Christa stiffen. The driver was returning for a fresh load. They heard him bang his boots against the outside to kick off snow. Submerged under the linen piles they heard him rummaging about and it seemed he was very close. Lindsay hoped to God that – if it came to it – he could eliminate the man with a blow from the barrel rather than firing the weapon.

Clump! He had dropped to the ground with further supplies. They heard the crunch of his heavy-footed tread on the snow. With luck any traces their own feet had left in the snow would be gone. But Lindsay's nerves were tingling. The delivery seemed to be taking forever. And every second they lingered at this point increased the danger of someone noticing he was missing.

Three more times the driver made trips inside the Berghof. Now each time he returned he brought back sacks of dirty linen which he tossed carelessly towards the back. On the third occasion Lindsay saw something which made him freeze.

The driver was approaching the truck. Through a gap between the sacks Lindsay saw exposed – in full view – the forefoot of Christa's left boot. A sack which had previously covered her foot had slithered away. To miss seeing that boot the driver would have to be blind. The crisis had arrived. He took a firm grip on the butt of the Luger.

'God in heaven! This bleedin' weather..'

The driver was talking to himself as he scrambled aboard. A man of method, he climbed aboard to ensure the dirty linen was stored at the very back of the truck. Standing upright he peered towards the back, holding the new sack of dirty linen while he recovered his breath.