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

Sir George turned from the rail. “Oh, it’s you, Chavasse. Changed your mind about going to bed, eh?”

Chavasse nodded. “There are one or two loose ends to the Bormann affair. I thought you might be able to help me tie them up.”

“Certainly, my boy,” Sir George said. “Only too pleased to be of assistance.”

“I hoped you’d feel that way.” Chavasse smiled. “You can start by telling me how you came to be involved with Nagel, Steiner, and the rest of that pleasant bunch.”

Sir George’s face looked suddenly old and careworn in the sickly light of the deck lamp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then I’ll make it plainer for you,” Chavasse told him. “You’ve been sticking a knife into my back from the very beginning of this affair. I’d like to know why.”

Sir George moved forward suddenly and tried to brush past him.

Chavasse pushed him violently and struck him a heavy blow in the face.

Sir George staggered backward and slipped to one knee. For a moment he stayed there, blood on his mouth. As he rose to his feet, his right hand came out of his overcoat pocket, holding an old Webley.38 with a specially shortened barrel.

“That won’t do you any good,” Chavasse said.

Sir George carefully wiped the blood from his mouth with a handkerchief. When he spoke, his voice was cold and impersonal. “How did you find out?”

“It was something you said in the bar earlier,” Chavasse replied. “You told me not to feel too badly about things because at least I’d saved Hauptmann’s life.”

For a moment, Sir George frowned, and then a light suddenly dawned. “Of course – I wasn’t supposed to know about the plan to assassinate Hauptmann, was I?”

“It was careless of you,” Chavasse said.

Sir George sighed. “We all make mistakes.”

“There were other things,” Chavasse said. “They didn’t make sense before, but they do now. The fact that the opposition knew Muller was to meet me on the train at Osnabruck. That was something I was never really happy about. And then there was something Nagel said at Berndorf when he first met Anna. His exact words were, ‘So this is the Jewish girl?’”

“What’s so remarkable about that?” Sir George asked.

Chavasse shrugged. “At the best of times, the word race is only an abstraction. The only way Nagel knew she was Jewish was because he’d been told, and only one person other than myself knew that an Israeli underground organization was also after Bormann and the manuscript. That was you, because I’d told you.”

“I seem to have been even more careless than I imagined.” Sir George sighed again. “It’s a great pity, Chavasse, because I’d really taken a liking to you, and now I’m going to have to kill you.”

Chavasse took out a cigarette and lit it calmly. “Not without an explanation,” he said. “Surely, I’m entitled to that?”

“A quick one.” Sir George’s eyes glinted in the dark. “There was a period in my life when I was very dissatisfied with the way my country was being governed. At that time, I greatly admired what was going on in Germany. In fact, I was censured by the press for my too-warm support of Herr Hitler.”

“And just how warm was that support?” Chavasse asked.

“I agreed to become head of the provisional government when the Germans successfully invaded England,” Sir George told him calmly.

And then the whole thing began to make sense. “Bormann mentioned you in his manuscript, didn’t he?” Chavasse said.

“I should imagine he devoted at least a chapter to me. He was the only member of the Nazi hierarchy with whom I was in close contact during the years before the war. The whole arrangement was made through him and was so secret that only Bormann, Hitler, and a go-between from the political branch were in on it.”

“And who was the go-between?”

Sir George allowed himself a slight smile. “Kurt Nagel.”

“Now it is beginning to make sense,” Chavasse said. “Presumably, he’s been blackmailing you ever since.”

Sir George shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. We’ve always understood each other very well. Let me put it this way. I saw that he got his start in industry during the bad days after the war when things were very difficult. In fact, it proved quite profitable for me in the end. We’ve always been on the best of terms.”

“Did you know about his activities with the Nazi underground?”

“Not until recently. When the directors of the publishing firm approached me regarding Muller’s offer, I was trapped. I couldn’t stop their story from getting to the proper authorities, so I decided that the best thing to do was to take it to them myself.”

“That was clever of you,” Chavasse said, “and also dangerous.”

Sir George shook his head. “I’ve been lucky, Chavasse. Incredibly lucky from the beginning. I got in touch with Nagel and told him what was happening. It turned out that he already had a line on Muller from the German end and he arranged the business on the train. It seemed clever at the time. A good way of grabbing Muller and getting rid of you.”

“But you hadn’t reckoned on Mark Hardt.”

Sir George sighed heavily. “One can’t think of everything. I was as careful as I could possibly be. I always acted through Nagel so that none of the others knew that I was involved. And then last night when you told me the girl had the manuscript, I had to act fast, and that unfortunately meant meeting Steiner and taking him to her apartment.”

Chavasse said slowly, “Then it was you and Steiner who took her from the apartment?”

Sir George nodded. “I’m afraid so. Of course you do realize the predicament I was in. I had to see that manuscript destroyed. I’m sorry about the girl – she just happened to be in the way. It was Steiner who shot her – not me.”

“But you’d have killed her anyway,” Chavasse said, “because she knew your secret.”

Sir George nodded gravely. “Yes, I’m very much afraid I would. The only reason I didn’t kill Steiner was because he told me about the Hauptmann business. That made me see some of the remarks you made earlier in the evening, and the visit of that German intelligence chap, in a new light. I decided Steiner was very probably a dead man walking anyway.”

“And you got two for the price of one,” Chavasse said. “Nagel as well. Now there’s only one living person who knows you intended to be one of the dirtiest traitors in English history.”

Sir George nodded and moved round in a half circle, the revolver never wavering for an instant. “Stand with your back against the rail, please,” he said sharply.

Chavasse took his time about moving into the required position, every muscle tensed and ready for action. If he was going to die anyway, he intended to make a move of some sort.

“That’s fine,” Sir George said. “Yes, you’re quite right. You’re the only person who can ruin me. Believe me, I’m sorry about this. I rather liked you.”

He moved back a pace, raising his arm, and aimed so quickly that he caught Chavasse off guard. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the seaman whom Chavasse had noticed a little earlier moved out of the fog silently. His arm swung and the edge of his right hand thudded across the back of Sir George’s neck.

The revolver dropped from the nerveless fingers and as he started to crumple to the deck, the seaman caught the inanimate body across his shoulders. He walked two quick paces to the rail and heaved Sir George Harvey down into the fog.

The whole thing had happened with such incredible speed that Chavasse had been unable to do anything. As the seaman kicked the revolver over the side, Chavasse grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him round – and found himself looking into the pale, impassive face of Mark Hardt.