Jack Higgins - The Bormann Testament (The Testament of Caspar Schultz)

After a while, he moved his head back a little and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be frightened, liebling. I won’t hurt you.”

“That seems obvious enough,” she said, and laughter seemed to bubble over in her voice. “Who are you, mein Herr, a burglar?”

He shook his head. “Nothing quite so romantic, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ve secretly admired me for months and tonight you finally plucked up enough courage to declare yourself.”

Chavasse stifled an insane desire to laugh out loud. “What’s your name, liebling ?”

“Gisela,” she said. “I’m one of the maids here.”

“Maybe you can help me,” he said. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was brought here early this morning in an ambulance from the Hauptbahnhof.”

“That’ll be the one in number twelve on the first floor,” she said. “They keep him locked in his room. Karl, the chief nurse, says he’s really mad, that one.”

“That’s the whole trouble,” Chavasse told her. “I don’t happen to think he is, but they won’t let me in to see him. That’s why I decided to try the more unconventional approach.”

She looked up at him critically. “You know, you’re rather handsome in your own particular way.”

“That’s what all the girls say,” he told her, and reached for the door handle.

She pulled him back, and sliding one arm up around his neck, kissed him full on the mouth. As he gently disengaged himself, she said hopefully, “I’ll be off duty at eleven-thirty. I’m on late shift this week.”

“Sorry, Gisela,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I’ve got to see my friend before the film ends. Number twelve, I think you said.”

As he moved out into the corridor, she whispered softly, “Whatever you do, watch out for Karl. He’s a terrible brute when he gets going.”

He walked quickly along the corridor and started to move downstairs to the first floor. There were only ten minutes left in which to finish this thing and as he turned the corner into the corridor, he wondered how Hardt was getting on. He soon found out.

The door to number twelve stood open, and from inside he heard Steiner’s voice and it was not pleasant.

“I am really quite disappointed,” he was saying. “I had hoped to see our mutual friend, Herr Chavasse, but for the moment you will do. I am sorry Herr Muller isn’t here to greet you personally, but don’t let that worry you. I think I can safely say you’ll be seeing him before much longer. Now turn, hands high, and move out into the corridor.”

Chavasse moved three steps up the staircase and waited, his body flat against the wall. Hardt was the first to cross his line of vision, hands held above his head, and then Steiner moved into view. He was holding a Mauser with a bulbous barrel that acted as an effective silencer. It was a relic of the war years and much used by German counterintelligence.

Chavasse said, “Steiner!” As the big German swore and turned toward him, he kicked the Mauser from his hand. It hit the wall and fell onto the bottom step. As Steiner reached for it, Hardt chopped him across the back of the neck and he slumped forward on to his face.

Chavasse jumped down into the corridor, and Hardt gave him a warning cry as a man in a white jacket moved out of the open door of room number twelve and launched himself forward.

He must have been at least six and a half feet tall, with a scarred, hairless head and a face out of a nightmare. As Chavasse tried to duck, hands reached out and fastened around his throat.

Remembering Gisela’s warning, Chavasse decided this must be the terrible Karl. He allowed himself to go limp, and spit in the German’s face. Karl instinctively released his hold, and Chavasse lifted his knee into the man’s crotch.

Karl grunted with pain, but kept on his feet. His left arm lashed out, smashing Hardt against the wall, and with his right arm he reached for Chavasse. Chavasse twisted the arm around in a shoulder lock, exerting all his strength, and Karl screamed. Still keeping that terrible hold in position, Chavasse ran him forward along the corridor toward the head of the stairs. A few feet from the rail, he released the arm and kicked the German with all his force behind the left knee. Karl went headfirst over the wrought-iron rail of the landing.

As his body crunched against the marble floor of the hall, the doors of the lounge were thrown open and a woman screamed. Chavasse paused long enough to retrieve Steiner’s automatic from the floor. Hardt was already at the end of the corridor, pressing the button for the elevator.

As Chavasse arrived, the doors opened and they jumped inside. A moment later, they were running through the cellars to the boiler house. Faintly from the interior of the house came the sound of disorder, and they started across the lawn toward the wall.

Behind them, a door was flung open and there was a cry. As Chavasse entered the bushes, he heard the muted report of a silenced automatic. He slipped the Mauser into his pocket and ran on.

When they reached the wall, Hardt cupped his hands into a stirrup and braced himself. Chavasse didn’t argue. He took the offer and jumped for the top of the wall, Hardt pushing him upward.

His hands clawed across the sacking and as he pulled himself over, glass sliced its way through, pain knifing into him in a wave of agony.

He swung himself onto the roof of the summer house, and then turned quickly and leaned across the sack, reaching a hand down to Hardt. Hardt moved a little way back and then ran forward and jumped. Chavasse caught hold of his right wrist and held on.

As Hardt secured a grip on the edge of the wall, there was a crashing through the bushes below and then another muted cough, as the silenced automatic was fired again at point-blank range.

Hardt started to slip. “He’s got me in the shoulder,” he said. For a moment longer, he seemed to make an effort to hang on. Chavasse desperately tried to pull him up, but it was no use. “Get out of here, you fool,” Hardt grunted, and fell.

As he crashed into the bushes below, there was a cry of triumph from his pursuers. Chavasse didn’t wait to hear any more. He jumped down to the ground from the roof of the summer house and staggered through the bushes toward the path.

He turned out of the gates and ran along the pavement, and the pain in his arms was intense. He wrenched open the door of the Volkswagen and slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Let’s get out of here!” he gasped.

Anna turned in alarm. “What about Mark?”

“Don’t argue – just get this thing moving.”

For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to protest, and then she thought better of it and switched on the engine. A few seconds later, they were turning into the main road and she moved into top gear and drove very fast toward the center of Hamburg.

After a while, she said, “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’ve cut my arms getting across the blasted glass-topped wall, but I don’t think it’s serious.”

“And Mark?”

He told her what had happened. When he had finished, she said with surprising calm, “How badly do you think he was wounded?”

“He said it was in the shoulder,” Chavasse said. “I don’t think it could have been very serious.”

“And what happens now?” she said.

“I want some first aid for these arms, for one thing.”

“I can manage that all right,” she told him. “I’ve got a first-aid box back at the apartment.”

She drove the rest of the way in silence, and Chavasse lay back against the seat and closed his eyes. What a complete and utter mess the whole thing had been. Since Steiner knew they had talked to Schmidt, it must have been obvious to him that, sooner or later, they would be paying the clinic a visit. And yet what other move could they possibly have made?