Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'I was handicapped…' the Colonel stood his ground.. by the fact that my detachment of guards was dispersed over a wide area to spring the trap. A trap you originally suggested..'

Bormann, the top of his head level with Jaeger's chest, paused in his tirade. He recognized a quagmire when his foot felt the surface subsiding. If the Fairer launched an investigation, this SS hyena would share the blame for the disaster – with himself.

'How could he have got away?' he demanded. 'May I say something?' requested Schmidt, who was standing two paces behind his chief.

Bormann stared at the thin-faced officer who wore rimless glasses. He disliked rimless glasses: they always reminded him of his bitter enemy, Himmler. But Schmidt had an analytical mind. They made a dangerous combination, this pair. Schmidt provided the intellect; Jaeger was the man of action. He nodded: permission to speak.

'There may, I regret, be further bad news,' Schmidt informed him. 'Fraulein Christa Lundt is known to have frequented the company of the Englishman. She, also, appears to be missing..'

'Two of them gone!'

'I believe, Schmidt continued, 'there is only one method of escape they could have used. The laundry truck which calls daily at eleven in the morning. The timing is right..'

'The checkpoints!' Bormann raved.

'The alert was cancelled after our plan for the Mercedes trap clearly had not worked,' Jaeger intervened.

Bormann noted the word our and suddenly calmed down. Schmidt took the opportunity to make a suggestion. Jaeger would be most grateful if he could divert Bormann's fury.

'The driver of the laundry truck may have information. Shall I call him on the phone?'

It took Schmidt only a few minutes to track down the driver at his home. He passed the phone over to the Reichsleiter who was careful not to panic Hans.

'What was that? An SS officer's uniform missing…. your depot is close to the railway… a couple was seen walking towards the station… an SS officer and a girl… the Munich express… hold on…' He looked at Schmidt. 'A railway timetable. Quickly. A train to Munich about 12.30…' He spoke a few more words to the driver before ending the call.

The meticulous Schmidt had already located a timetable and was leafing through the pages. He found the right place as Bormann gave the instructions to Jaeger.

'Get me the chief of Munich SS on the line. I will talk to him. An SS officer's uniform sent for cleaning in that truck has gone missing. Well, Schmidt?'

'If they were able to board the express – and the Lundt girl would probably manage that for them both – they departed Salzburg at 12.30 and arrive Munich at 1.30…'

Bormann glanced at a wall-clock. 1.39. 'Let's hope to God it arrives late – they usually do these days.'.

Jaeger was holding the receiver, one hand clamped over it while he spoke. 'I have the Munich SS chief on the line. His name is Mayr…'

'Bormann speaking. Mayr? Two fugitives from the Berghof… an Englishman and a German girl… descriptions… suspected they are aboard the 12.30 express from Salzburg arriving at Munich about this moment. The man may be wearing SS uniform… seal off the station…'

'The train is going to arrive late,' Christa commented. 'It was that hold-up at Rosenheim…'

Lindsay borrowed her hand-mirror to check his appearance. He was wearing the SS officer's uniform Christa had seen projecting from one of the linen sacks in the laundry truck. There was a blemish on the left sleeve. Otherwise it was in impeccable condition. It fitted him better than he had feared. A bit tight round the collar. He adjusted the peaked cap so it hid the top part of his face and glanced round the mail-van they had travelled inside from Salzburg. He checked his watch. 1.40 pm. Ten minutes late.

Moving slowly, the train began to rumble over points. He looked at Christa who stood close to the door with her suitcase. They'd agreed they must leave the coach as soon as it stopped. Earlier he had used his knife to try and manipulate the outside bolt open. On the verge of giving up, he felt the bolt elevate and clang as it dropped free.

'We're coming in now, Christa said calmly. 'There's a system of points where the tracks converge..'

'Get to the far end of the coach,' Lindsay ordered. 'I know this station – it's huge,' she protested. 'Do as you're bloody well told.'

She glowered and then obeyed his instruction. Lindsay took up a position to one side of the sliding door, the knife held in his right hand, the suitcase in his left. Slipping inside the mail van at Salzburg had been easy. Munich could be more dangerous.

Major Hugo Bruckner of the SS stood on the platform as the Salzburg express came in. A burly man of medium height, he took his duties very seriously. He had a particular detestation for army deserters – probably because he had served a long stint on the Russian front. They travelled about on trains. A favourite hiding-place was the mail-van which he could see approaching.

The passenger coaches slid past him, doors already opening as troops and civilians prepared to alight and join the jostling mob in the concourse. He stiffened as his keen eyes spotted the loose bolt on the mail-van. It looked as though he might gather up more cannon fodder for the Eastern front – the inevitable destination of deserters caught in the act.

The train stopped. Bruckner stood on an isolated portion of the platform and noted the door was ajar a couple of centimetres, enough for anyone hidden inside to peer out. The darkness inside the mail-van was making it difficult for Bruckner to see into the coach but he had no fear of slimy deserters. He threw the door to one side and climbed aboard.

The coach was empty. He looked to his right and Lindsay was now within three feet of him. It was the SS uniform which momentarily froze Bruckner's reflexes – the last person he had expected to encounter was an SS officer..

Lindsay's right hand flashed up and drove down with all his strength behind the vicious lunge. The blade slid off the edge of the German's breastbone and plunged up to the hilt. Lindsay let go of the handle and Bruckner staggered back inside the coach with a grunt of surprise.

Christa, one hand to her mouth, watched Bruckner toppling back with the knife protruding from his chest like a decoration. A red lake had appeared and was welling over his uniform. Lindsay put an arm round his neck, well clear of the blood, hauled him deep inside the van and dropped him in the place where they had hidden.

He piled mail-bags on top of the dead German with furious haste. Christa had peered out and had dropped to the platform. He grabbed his case and followed her. Catching up with the girl, he saw her face was white.

'I think I'm going to be sick…'

'Reactions come later. Get a hold on yourself! You said you knew this station. So do your stuff – get us out of it.

His violent verbal assault did the trick. She glared at him and recovered, then quickened her pace. 'Look at those post trolleys coming towards us – they're heading for the mail-van…'

Killing the German had been a reflex action, something he knew he would have to do sooner or later. The crocodile of mail trolleys, proceeding down the platform towards them, was something unforeseen. they'd never get clear of the station before the body was found…'

Christa was moving at almost a running pace, taking long strides, and now they were approaching the end of the platform. No inspectors at the barrier – in Germany tickets were checked on the train while in motion. He glanced back. The trolley cavalcade, pulled by one man, pushed by another, had almost reached the mail-van. They walked through the barrier.

They were caught up in the milling mob, submerged by it as people criss-crossed the concourse. Christa linked her arm inside his and guided him towards an exit. At the sight of the SS uniform other passengers made way for them. It speeded their passage but drew attention to them.