same.
Gestapo.
The Gestapo had broken an underground agent andwas on to the
Wissenschaftler.
But, typical of the SS elite, it kept its knowledge to itself, looking for bigger game than two disaffected laboratory men. Gestapo
Agenten
had given the scientists wide latitude; surveillance dismissed, laboratory patrols relaxed to the point of inefficiency, routine interrogation disregarded.
Contradictions.
The Gestapo was neither inefficient nor careless. The SS was setting a trap.
Spaulding’s instructions to the underground had been terse, simple: let the trap be sprung. With no quarry in its net.
Word was leaked that the scientists, granted a weekend leave to Stuttgart, were in reality heading due north through underground routing to Bremerhaven. There contact was being made with a high-ranking defecting German naval officer who had commandeered a small craft and would make a dramatic run to the Allies. It was common knowledge that the German navy was rife with unrest. It was a recruiting ground for the anti-Hitler factions springing up throughout the Reich.
The
word
would give everyone something to think about, reasoned Spaulding. And the Gestapo would be following two men it assumed were the
Wissenschaftler
from Kindorf, when actually they were two middle-aged Wehrmacht security patrols sent on a false surveillance.
Games and countergames.
So much, so alien. The expanded interests of the man in Lisbon.
This afternoon was a concession. Demanded by the German underground. He was to make the final contact alone. The underground claimed the man in Lisbon had created too many complications; there was too much room for error and counterinfiltration. There wasn’t, thought David, but if a solo run would calm the nervous stomachs of the anti-Reichists, it was little enough to grant them.
He had his own Valdero team a half mile away in the upper hills. Two shots and they would come to his help on the fastest horses Castilian money could buy.
It was time. He could start toward the cave for the final contact.
He slid down the hard surface, his heels digging into theearth and rocks of the steep incline until he was above the pile of branches and limbs that signified the hideout’s opening. He picked up a handful of loose dirt and threw it down into the broken foliage.
The response was as instructed: a momentary thrashing of a stick against the piled branches. The fluttering of bird’s wings, driven from the bush.
Spaulding quickly sidestepped his way to the base of the enclosure and stood by the camouflage.
“
Alles in Ordnung. Kommen Sie
,” he said quietly but firmly. “There isn’t much traveling time left.”
“
Halt!
” was the unexpected shout from the cave.
David spun around, pressed his back into the hill and raised his Colt. The voice from inside spoke again. In English.
“Are you … Lisbon?”
“For God’s sake, yes! Don’t
do
that! You’ll get your head shot off!”
Christ
, thought Spaulding, the infiltration team must have used a child, or an imbecile, or both as its runner. “Come on out.”
“I am with apologies, Lisbon,” said the voice, as the branches were separated and the pile dislodged. “We’ve had a bad time of it.”
The runner emerged. He was obviously not anyone David had trained. He was short, very muscular, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six; nervous fear was in his eyes.
“In the future,” said Spaulding, “don’t acknowledge signals, then question the signaler at the last moment. Unless you intend to kill him.
Es ist Schwarztuch-chiffre.
”
“
Was ist das?
Black …”
“Black Drape, friend. Before our time. It means … confirm and terminate. Never mind, just don’t do it again. Where are the others?”
“Inside. They are all right; very tired and very afraid, but not injured.” The runner turned and pulled off more branches. “Come out. It’s the man from Lisbon.”
The two frightened, middle-aged scientists crawled out of the cave
Gestapo.
The Gestapo had broken an underground agent andwas on to the
Wissenschaftler.
But, typical of the SS elite, it kept its knowledge to itself, looking for bigger game than two disaffected laboratory men. Gestapo
Agenten
had given the scientists wide latitude; surveillance dismissed, laboratory patrols relaxed to the point of inefficiency, routine interrogation disregarded.
Contradictions.
The Gestapo was neither inefficient nor careless. The SS was setting a trap.
Spaulding’s instructions to the underground had been terse, simple: let the trap be sprung. With no quarry in its net.
Word was leaked that the scientists, granted a weekend leave to Stuttgart, were in reality heading due north through underground routing to Bremerhaven. There contact was being made with a high-ranking defecting German naval officer who had commandeered a small craft and would make a dramatic run to the Allies. It was common knowledge that the German navy was rife with unrest. It was a recruiting ground for the anti-Hitler factions springing up throughout the Reich.
The
word
would give everyone something to think about, reasoned Spaulding. And the Gestapo would be following two men it assumed were the
Wissenschaftler
from Kindorf, when actually they were two middle-aged Wehrmacht security patrols sent on a false surveillance.
Games and countergames.
So much, so alien. The expanded interests of the man in Lisbon.
This afternoon was a concession. Demanded by the German underground. He was to make the final contact alone. The underground claimed the man in Lisbon had created too many complications; there was too much room for error and counterinfiltration. There wasn’t, thought David, but if a solo run would calm the nervous stomachs of the anti-Reichists, it was little enough to grant them.
He had his own Valdero team a half mile away in the upper hills. Two shots and they would come to his help on the fastest horses Castilian money could buy.
It was time. He could start toward the cave for the final contact.
He slid down the hard surface, his heels digging into theearth and rocks of the steep incline until he was above the pile of branches and limbs that signified the hideout’s opening. He picked up a handful of loose dirt and threw it down into the broken foliage.
The response was as instructed: a momentary thrashing of a stick against the piled branches. The fluttering of bird’s wings, driven from the bush.
Spaulding quickly sidestepped his way to the base of the enclosure and stood by the camouflage.
“
Alles in Ordnung. Kommen Sie
,” he said quietly but firmly. “There isn’t much traveling time left.”
“
Halt!
” was the unexpected shout from the cave.
David spun around, pressed his back into the hill and raised his Colt. The voice from inside spoke again. In English.
“Are you … Lisbon?”
“For God’s sake, yes! Don’t
do
that! You’ll get your head shot off!”
Christ
, thought Spaulding, the infiltration team must have used a child, or an imbecile, or both as its runner. “Come on out.”
“I am with apologies, Lisbon,” said the voice, as the branches were separated and the pile dislodged. “We’ve had a bad time of it.”
The runner emerged. He was obviously not anyone David had trained. He was short, very muscular, no more than twenty-five or twenty-six; nervous fear was in his eyes.
“In the future,” said Spaulding, “don’t acknowledge signals, then question the signaler at the last moment. Unless you intend to kill him.
Es ist Schwarztuch-chiffre.
”
“
Was ist das?
Black …”
“Black Drape, friend. Before our time. It means … confirm and terminate. Never mind, just don’t do it again. Where are the others?”
“Inside. They are all right; very tired and very afraid, but not injured.” The runner turned and pulled off more branches. “Come out. It’s the man from Lisbon.”
The two frightened, middle-aged scientists crawled out of the cave
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