Macurdy chose his target-the SS man beside Edouard- and Fairbairn in hand, moved up behind him. Quickly, smoothly, he reached around him with his left arm, clamping his forearm hard on the man's mouth, his hand gripping the submachine gun by the end of the short barrel, while the right slammed the fighting knife upward beneath the ribs, double edges slashing about, driven by a powerful wrist. Warm blood flowed down hand, wrist, forearm. He let the man down carefully, aware without seeing that Edouard stared, perhaps comprehending. He'd heard no sound-no gas or groan, no thrashing or kicking, no clatter of weapon falling. But even so, it seemed incredible that no one had reacted, that only Edouard had noticed.

He wiped his blood-slick right hand on the dead man's woolen tunic, then hissed in Edouard's ear: "Bittel Finde seine Schlussel!" Softly he stepped back and moved past Berta and Lotta. Berta still seemed unaware that anything had happened, even when Edouard, heeding Macurdy's order, knelt to find the dead guard's key ring. Macurdy transferred the guard's submachine gun from his left hand to his right, and fired a burst from it, sweeping it across the five remaining SS men at a distance of four to eight feet, right to left, then back before they'd had time to fall. Only one turned part way around, legs twisting and collapsing as he squeezed off a short burst of his own, into the ground, or perhaps a comrade.

Berta had screamed, but for an instant the sound didn't register on Macurdy. Nothing registered, except that it was finished-the Voitar and the blackbacks dead. He sank to his knees, emotionally spent.

"Montag?" The voice was Edouard's. "Yes?"

"What do we do now?"

Thank you, professor, for the good question, Macurdy thought, and hands on thighs, got slowly to his feet. Don't get weak on me now, he told himself. You're not finished. You won't be till we're all four out of Germany. "Is there anyone else alive around here?" he asked.

"Only Manfred, I think. It was he who got us caught."

"You should have killed him, as I told you."

"I could not do it. And he seemed to be asleep. I thought we could get out without waking him."

"What about Philipp?"

"He is dead. When the south wing blew up, he ran crying toward the building, and a guard shot him." He paused. "Kurt, I cannot see you. It's hard to talk with you when I cannot see you."

Macurdy dropped his cloak, telling himself it worked a lot better than he'd thought, if Edouard couldn't see him, even hearing his voice and knowing where to look. Apparently it concealed his aura, too.

"What about it, Berta? Any possibilities besides Manfred?"

"I don't think so, not even any of the blackbacks. Three of these were the guards Captain Kupfer told to take us outside. The other three ran out after the south wing blew up. No one else came out. When we left, they were running around in there like terriers chasing rats."

"How much does Manfred know?"

It was Edouard who answered. "Too much. Berta asked questions, and I told her about you. That you were American, in a uniform with many pockets. Then she told me you could make yourself invisible, and us when we were together. I was about to tie the rope under her arms. Then Manfred jumped out of bed shouting, and began to grapple with me. A guard came at once."

Macurdy scowled in consternation. "And Manfred overheard all of it."

"Yes, and made up more to go with it. He told Kupfer you were a commando, and more were in the forest, come to kidnap the Voitar." He paused. "You are right, of course. I should have killed him."

Macurdy looked into the forest, seeing nothing but darkness. With a little luck he could find Manfred, whose aura would give him away at night, but there wasn't time. The explosions would have been heard for miles. People would have called the authorities, and they'd arrive soon, even if they had to come from Kempten. "It's time to leave," he said. "We will take one of the trucks."

He picked up another submachine gun, then they hurried to the machine shed, Berta holding the silently compliant Lotta by a hand. Macurdy started a truck, backed it to the stable, then found a flashlight in the glove compartment and went inside. There he found a loading ramp and stock rack, and with Edouard's help, wrestled them into place on the truck. The colonel's horses he loaded and secured without help; Edouard's only experience with large animals had been riding rented horses on holidays.

By the time the horses were secured, Edouard had grown visibly agitated; it seemed to him the police or SS would arrive before they could possibly get away. Macurdy, on the other hand, was intent and intense. Working swiftly, he found and loaded saddles, bridles, and extra horse blankets, rough and coarse; the horses already wore large quilted blankets belted on. After everything else was loaded, he helped Berta and Lotta in back, wrapped the extra blankets around them, and had them sit against a side rack.

That done, he paused, squatting, and peered at Lotta, whose eyes avoided his not by shifting away, but by focusing inward. In the "mental" layer of her aura were several small vortices. A moment's concentration turned one into an image that clarified for him what Edouard had meant by "ugly experiences."

"Herr Schurz told me your name is Lotta, " he said quietly. "Berta and he call me Kurt Montag, but my name is really Curtis Macurdy, and I am American. You are the first person in Germany I have ever told my real name. I hope that when you know me better, you will be my friend, but that is up to you."

Then he cloaked Berta and the girl with a spell, got off the truck, and set the gate rack in place. "All right," he said to Edouard, "get in and let's go. You will drive."

"Um, Kurt-" Edouard spoke hesitantly. "I have never driven anything larger than a Volkswagen. Also I do not know how to get to Switzerland from here."

Macurdy frowned. With his bloody jumpsuit, he'd planned on sitting invisible beside Edouard, as navigator. But if anyone stopped them, they were out of luck anyway. With Berta and Lotta in back, and horses, they'd be in trouble if stop. He'd probably gotten blood on things, too. So nodding but pleased, he got behind the wheel and drove away.

Alone, Macurdy could have walked to Switzerland unnoticed, even with the Alps in his way. But with two sedentary urban adults and a child… The truck greatly increased the risk of detection, but it could also take them a long way to start with. The urgent first thing to do was get onto some other road, one that wouldn't be used by military or police vehicles headed for the schloss.

They met no one, and Macurdy turned off at the first crossroad, in the village of Wiesenbach, nine kilometers from the schloss. The relief he felt showed him how tense he'd been. The road sign said LINDENDORF 11 KM, but neither he nor Edouard knew anything about Lindendorf. This was not a route he'd studied in training.

Well outside Wiesenbach, he stopped. "Look in my pack," he said. "There is a flat canvas holder with folded silk maps. Let's see where we go next."

Edouard dug them out and handed them to him without a word. Macurdy unfolded one, and using the flashlight, plotted a course with his eyes. Lindendorf was not on a direct route to anywhere helpful, but at least this road wasn't so immediately dangerous. He thought of bringing Berta and Lotta in front with them-they would be miserably cold in back, but crowded in the front seat, whoever sat by him would get blood on their clothing, and that needed to be avoided.

The back roads they took kept them clear of anything larger than a village, and again they met no other vehicle. He wasn't surprised. Not only was it night and the country lightly populated; shortages of fuel, parts, and civilian vehicles, and stance from the war zones, dictated little traffic even by day. When dawnlight began to spill from the east, they were in higher, more rugged country than before, its farms mostly along the road, and even along the road, forest predominated. Pausing, he rechecked the map, not for the first time, then drove slowly on. After a few minutes he spotted a narrow truck trail that disappeared into the forest, and turned in on it.