14.

CHARLES FERGUSON CAME back to the real world to find himself on a bed in a period-looking bedroom. The door was locked, and when he went to the window, the fall was at least a hundred feet down. It was immediately apparent that there was nowhere he could go. He was standing at the window, looking out, when the door opened. Derry Gibson came in.

“Ah, there you are, General. You look well.”

“Well, I’ve felt better. Where’s Rossi?”

“Busy elsewhere. You’ll have to compose yourself, the grand man you are. I’ll see you get some food.”

The door closed, and Ferguson looked out the window again, suddenly more alone than he’d ever felt. God dammit, he thought. You were right, Dillon.

At the same time, Rossi found his father in the Great Hall. The Baron was sitting by the fire, a drink at his hand.

Marco said, “Father, I think we should talk.”

“I think we should, too. Have you succeeded in your endeavor?”

“If you mean have I lifted Ferguson, yes. He’s here in the Schloss.”

“And you intend your purpose?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“And Dillon?”

“Hot on the trail.”

“And that’s what you want? A face-to-face confrontation?”

“Any time he likes.”

The Baron nodded. “I’ve given things a great deal of thought. I just don’t know if I agree.”

“It’s in motion, Father. Everything. I must see it through.”

“Must you? Unless I am mistaken, this is still Schloss Adler. I am still the Baron. Let me think about this, Marco. Me, your father.” And at that moment, the young SS Sturmbahnführer was in charge again. “I’ll let you know what I want. What I want, not you. Now, please, go away for the moment.”

Hans Klein had gone in at the lowest end of the Schloss and found what he called the chamber entrance, a great grill overgrown by shrubbery. It was a legacy of German army engineering, when the Schloss had been used as a command headquarters and the whole drainage system had been modernized.

Klein lifted the grill, moved in and switched on his light. The concrete tunnel was dry, except for a steady stream of water down a center channel. Klein walked along one of the sides, reached a steel ladder and climbed up, raising the manhole cover at the top.

He emerged into a basement area that he knew well, filled with storage rooms and kitchen areas, gradually reaching up to the glories of the Great Hall. He often penetrated that far, when the Baron and Rossi were away. It always gave him a feeling of power.

Now, he hovered in the basement area, was aware of voices resonating, and withdrew and went back down the ladder. When he emerged into the wooded area, he replaced the grill, moved away, squatted down by a tree and called Kubel.

Afterward, Kubel spoke to Roper. “All systems go. His secret way into the Schloss works. When the Gulfstream landed, he saw Rossi, and four other men, one of them being supported between two others.”

“The General. Probably Newton and Cook holding him up, plus Derry Gibson.”

“That would make sense.”

“Are you going to be ready for us, Max? The right gear?”

“All here, so I won’t need help, which means security will be nice and tight. We’ll be ready, Roper, whenever your friends are.”

It was a couple of hours later that a key rattled in the door. Ferguson turned and Rossi came in, with Derry Gibson.

“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

“How kind. When do I get to see the Baron?”

“When he wants to see you. Compose yourself, your turn will come.”

He turned away. Ferguson said, “You seem to be going to a lot of trouble. I’d have thought you’d have given me a bullet in the head by now.”

Rossi smiled. “Not for you, General, you’re much too valuable.”

“What happens to me then?”

“I’ll probably sell you to the Arabs,” Rossi said, and the door closed.

At the same moment at Arnheim, they all grouped around the table in Max Kubel’s office and examined the map.

“That’s it,” Kubel said. “Neustadt.” He turned to Dillon. “It’s an old-fashioned motorcycle, the Cossack.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll manage,” Dillon said. He turned to Billy. “You get the sidecar.”

Kubel said, “Thanks to these mobiles you’ve brought, we’ll be in constant touch. You should get there in an hour at the most. Once you bring him out, I can make the meadow in twenty minutes. I’ll be sitting in the cockpit, ready to go.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Dillon said. “How about you, Billy?”

“I’m always reasonable.”

“Once you leave, I’ll call Klein. He’ll be waiting. His place is the only cottage at the back of the church. You can’t miss it.” He glanced around the table. “How does it sound?”

Lacey and Parry looked dubious. It was Hannah who said, “The whole thing seems to depend on split-second timing.”

“Absolutely, but it is possible. The distances involved are not great.”

“Well, in the circumstances,” Harry Salter said, “can they get on with it? It’s not good for my nerves.”

“Exactly,” Billy said. “Personally, I can’t wait to dress as a copper. The old lags I was at Wandsworth with will never believe it.”

“Fine, this way, then,” Kubel said.

In the hangar, the Storch waited, black, like something from another time. The old Cossack motorcycle waited, too. Everyone waited, uncertainty thick in the air. Kubel stood with Lacey and Parry and looked out, as it started to rain.

“Not good,” Lacey said.

“It never is when good is needed, Squadron Leader, haven’t you noticed that?”

A door clanged, they turned, and Dillon and Billy emerged, strange and menacing figures from the past in their steel helmets, Vopo uniforms and dispatch riders’ raincoats. Each had a Schmeisser machine pistol slung across his chest. Dillon was fastening his helmet strap.

“Have you got everything?” Kubel asked.

“Absolutely. Big pockets. Extra magazines, a Walther apiece, stick grenade in the boot. Just like the old days.”

“Christ, you look like you’re going to make a D-Day movie,” Salter said.

“Who knows?” Dillon looked out. “Nice evening for it.” He turned. “You up for this, Billy?”

“Let’s get going, for God’s sake. We’re going to get bleeding soaked.”

He settled himself in the sidecar, and Dillon mounted the Cossack and kicked it into life. Hannah ran forward and put a hand on his sleeve.

“Sean?” Her face was desperate.

“We’ll bring him back.” He smiled. “You worry too much,” and he drove away into the driving rain.

The road into the Schwarze Platz was well surfaced, but quite narrow, the forest crowding in, and already the gloom of early evening was turning toward darkness. The rain was relentless, and both Dillon and Billy wore goggles. The Cossack responded well and there was little traffic. Twice, they passed farm trucks going in the other direction, and once a sedan.

Dillon turned and shouted to Billy, “We’ll be there sooner than Kubel thought,” and in spite of the weather, he pushed the Cossack up to sixty.

At the Schloss, the Baron sat by the log fire, as Rossi came in with Ferguson. Newton and Cook stood on either side of the grand stairway on the landing, holding AK47s. Derry Gibson stood to one side of the fireplace.

“Ah, there you are, General. Join me. Perhaps you’d like a drink?”

“How very kind. A large whiskey would do it.”

“Marco.”

It was an order, and Rossi went to a sideboard, poured the whiskey, and Ferguson savored it. “Your chaps look as if they’re expecting trouble.”

“No, actually we’re expecting Dillon,” Rossi said.

“How on earth would he know where I was?” Ferguson was wary. Could they know about Omega?