I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story.
Written for the Short Story Speed Writing Challenge
Tick tock, tick tock, tick... tick... Thonk!
Major Hochstetter slammed the top of his desk with his fist, and glowered at the elegant long-case clock which stood against the wall of his office, between the two windows. "I cannot stand much more of this."
Tick... tick... tick... thuddonk!
It was a handsome enough timepiece, the purchase of which had taken a sizeable bite out of the Hammelburg Gestapo budget. Furthermore, it kept excellent time, and until recently its low-pitched, rhythmic ticking had done much to soothe and alleviate the stress which afflicted Hochstetter more and more as the war progressed. But the last few days had witnessed a change in its behaviour, and so disconcerting did the major find the sounds which now issued intermittently from the mechanism that he was beginning to suspect the infernal contraption of treason.
He gave it another scorching glare, then deliberately turned his eyes back to the dossier in front of him. He had important work to do, and he would not allow himself to be put off by such an insignificant matter.
Tick... tick-a-tick tick... tink-tink-tink...
The clock fell silent, and Hochstetter gritted his teeth, knowing what was coming. It always did this, just before –
CLUNK! ... Tick tock, tick tock...
"Enough!" He leapt up and strode to the door. "Herber!"
From his office across the hall, his aide came running. "Herr Major!"
"I believe there is a clock repair shop in the town. The owner's name is Spielman … no, Spiegler…"
"Spiegelmann," suggested the SS man posted at Hochstetter's door. "The shop is on Lindenstraße."
"That is the man. Have him brought in." And Hochstetter slammed back into his office without another word.
Within half an hour, a rap at the door heralded the return of Herber, with Spiegelmann and an armed escort. Hochstetter regarded them in silence for a few moments, just long enough to start eroding Herber's air of self-satisfaction, then beckoned the captain closer to the desk.
"Did I say he was to be placed under arrest?" he asked in the soft, reasonable tone which was more terrifying to his men than his most furious of tirades.
"You said to bring him in," said Herber. "I assumed..."
"You assumed." Hochstetter's eyes rested on the clockmaker for a moment. "Even so, Herber, your approach might be seen as a trifle excessive Considering he is in his seventies, and has only one leg, did you really need four men to help you subdue him?"
Herber blushed, and lowered his eyes. "Herr Major…"
"Bah! Dismissed, Herber. And take them with you." Hochstetter waved his hand at the men surrounding Spiegelmann; and after an uncertain pause, Herber nodded to them and took himself off, leaving Hochstetter alone with his visitor.
"You must forgive my aide, Herr Spiegelmann," said Hochstetter, donning an ill-fitting air of affability. "A good man, but sometimes over-eager in performing his duties. I trust he was not too heavy-handed when he called on you."
"Not more than I would have expected," replied Spiegelmann.
Hochstetter cleared his throat. Contrary to his reputation, of which he was well aware, he had no particular interest in terrorising the general public; at least, not more than was good for them. It made things more difficult when co-operation was required. Still, he kept his cool, and proceeded to business.
"You repair clocks, I believe."
"That is what it says on the door of my shop," said Spiegelmann. "Which your men broke down."
"A misunderstanding. I will see that they repair it. Now, the reason I asked you to come here..." With an effort, Hochstetter ignored the cynical grunt which greeted this, and went on: "... is that I want you to look at this clock."
Pivoting on one of his crutches, Spiegelmann stumped over to inspect the item. "Very nice. The case is walnut – Schwarzwald, I believe, probably made around 1820. The dial is by Hinterwalder, a particularly good maker of that period. If the movement is original, you may have a valuable piece here."
"I am not interested in the value. There is some kind of problem with the mechanism. It ticks, but it does not tock. Listen."
Both men fell silent, contemplating the clock face.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…
"Well, it is not doing it now," said Hochstetter, after several seconds.
"No. You would be surprised how often this happens," replied Spiegelmann, with a polite detachment which only served to amplify Hochstetter's mortification. He pondered a little, then went on, "I expect it just needs cleaning and a little adjustment. I will be happy to attend to it..."
"Danke, Herr…"
"...the day after tomorrow."
"Why the delay?" Hochstetter's voice took on an edge. "You are here now, can you not start at once?"
"No, I cannot, for two reasons. Firstly, when your men brought me here, they did not think to bring my tools. Secondly, they dragged me away when I was in the middle of an urgent repair, which I must finish by tomorrow evening, unless I wish to offend a very important customer."
"More important than the Gestapo?"
"Yes, a very fine pocket watch belonging to General... but perhaps I should not tell you his name. The watch was a gift from his wife, and he is anxious to have it repaired before she returns from visiting her sister in Berlin. How it came to be on the floor of his room at that hotel, and what caused him to leap out of bed in the middle of the night and step on it, is no business of mine. I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation. Nevertheless, it will take me at least another full day to put it back together."
In spite of the circumstances, Hochstetter could not completely quell the cynical smile which tugged at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly which general the clockmaker was talking about, and his mind seized on the hint of gossip as something to be looked into, when he had the time.
"Very well," he growled. "The day after tomorrow. But you must be finished no later than eleven o'clock."
"I think there will be no difficulty. The clock appears to be running perfectly, now."
Hochstetter ground his teeth. "Thank you, Herr Spiegelmann. I will have Captain Herber drive you back to your shop."
Spiegelmann held up one hand. "I think not. My neighbours have had enough excitement for one day. If you don't mind, I would rather walk. Auf Wiederschauen." With the dexterity of long practice, he pivoted on his single foot and departed, his crutches thudding against the polished floor.
With an impatient mutter, Hochstetter returned to his desk, and silence descended on his office. Not complete silence, though:
Tick tock, tick... tick... Thonk!
It was late, but a light still burned in Spiegelmann's workshop. One of the eleven clocks on the wall gave a whirr, and struck the quarter hour. Spiegelmann leaned back on his stool, stretching his back.
"Almost one in the morning," he murmured.
Cuc-koo! replied a second clock, somewhat dejectedly.
Each of the clocks was set to a different time, and none of them had hands, but he never had trouble working out the hour. Rarely did he care what time it was, but tonight he expected a visitor.
He rose, and took up one of his crutches. The front door of the shop had been temporarily repaired, sufficiently for it to be locked; he opened it, and peered outside.
Cuc-koo!
This time the sound did not come from within the workshop. Spiegelmann glanced along the empty street, then returned the call. A moment later, two figures emerged from a side street, and came to his door.
"Inside, quickly!" whispered Spiegelmann. He closed the door behind them, locked it, and checked that the blind covering the glass was secure, before turning around. "Colonel Hogan?"
"That's right," said the taller of the two men. He nodded towards his companion, a young man with a vague, harmless appearance. "This is Carter."
"Thank you for coming at such short notice."
Hogan gave him a grin. "That's what sets us apart from our competitors – round the clock service. Our contact said it was urgent."
"I would rather say, an opportunity that may not come again. As you know, for the last six weeks, every Thursday at eleven o'clock, Major Hochstetter has been visited in his office by one of his undercover agents."
"We know," said Hogan. "We've been trying to figure out a way to eavesdrop, but it's not easy getting a bug into Gestapo HQ."
"This is why I contacted you. There may be a chance, if you can come up with a plan." Quickly, Spiegelmann told his callers about the long-case clock in Hochstetter's office. Hogan frowned in thought as he listened, while Carter leaned on the worktable, fidgeting with the watch components laid out in front of him.
"It's a chance, all right," said Hogan at last. "I'm just not sure what we can do with it."
"I wondered whether it might be possible for me to plant a listening device somewhere within the case, but then…"
"Then we'd have to run a wire out of the building to pick it up," Hogan concluded. "Even if we could manage that, unless we take it out again within a few days, eventually Hochstetter's going to find it, and that'll lead him straight to you."
"Hey, what if we send LeBeau in with Spiegelmann, and as soon as Hochstetter's back is turned, he hides in the clock?" suggested Carter. "That way he can listen to whatever's going on in there."
The watchmaker stared at him in astonishment, and Hogan with exasperation. The latter spoke first: "Carter, how big do you think a grandfather clock is?"
"More to the point," Spiegelmann added, "how small is your man LeBeau?"
"Not that small. Forget it, Carter." Hogan began to walk back and forth. Suddenly he stopped. "We can't hide a man in there, but would there be any space where you could fit a box, about this big?" He indicated the size with his hands.
"Possibly. It would be a close fit, but I think it could slip into the base, below the pendulum. What do you have in mind, Colonel?"
"A wire recorder. We've got one at camp, which might do the trick. It'll run for about an hour before the wire runs out, which is plenty of time. Carter, do you think you and Kinch could convert it to run on a battery?"
"I guess so," said Carter, fiddling absently with a mainspring he'd picked up.
"Careful with that," Hogan warned him, "Break it, and a certain general's going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Carter snickered. Apparently the whole town knew about the general's escapade.
Hogan turned back to Spiegelmann. "You'll need to go back the following day to retrieve the recorder."
"I'm sure I can find an excuse," replied Spiegelmann, with a gleam in his eye.
"Okay. Carter, you'll bring the recorder here on Thursday morning," said Hogan, "and then you'll go with Spiegelmann to Gestapo HQ. I have a feeling this clock's going to need the expertise of two clockmakers."
At half past ten on Thursday morning, the clockmaker and his new apprentice were admitted to Major Hochstetter's office. The major was in no pleasant mood.
"I made it clear to you, Herr Spiegelmann," he snapped," that you were to be finished and out of this office before eleven o'clock. Who is this?"
"My nephew," replied Spiegelmann. "I need assistance to dismantle a clock of this size and value." He glanced at Carter, who looked even more innocuous than before, wearing a green-checked jacket and a pair of spectacles. So far, Spiegelmann had no great confidence in him.
Hochstetter's eyes narrowed. "He seems young to be a civilian. Why is he not in the army?"
Spiegelmann hesitated, but to his surprise Carter caught the grenade before it could detonate. "I work at the munitions factory outside Meilenheim. I help Uncle Fritz on my days off."
"I see." For a few moments, Hochstetter continued his scrutiny; then he shrugged slightly, and turned back to Spiegelmann. "You had better get to work. You have less than half an hour."
"That is all the time we will need," said Spiegelmann cheerfully. "Hans, put those things down, and help me with this."
Carter dumped the tool-bag beside the clock, together with a larger, squarer box which he pushed to the back, just as though it didn't contain anything as dangerous as a wire recorder. Spiegelmann opened the clock body and squinted at the pendulum and weights. He gave Carter a sideways glance.
"Everything appears to be in order," he observed. "Do you agree, Hans?"
"I think so," replied Carter, studying the space below the pendulum.
"Good. We will make a start."
Apparently Hochstetter had nothing better to do than to watch them work. He stood behind them as they removed the hood surrounding the movement. Perhaps it made Carter nervous, or perhaps he was just naturally clumsy; at any rate, the door of the hood, swinging open unexpectedly, hit his head with a resounding thud that even made Spiegelmann's eyes water.
"Be careful, Hans," he said drily, "do not break the glass."
From Hochstetter came a rusty chuckle, like the creaking of a long-unused striking mechanism. He had moved to the side, the better to see the works behind the dial. He tilted his head slightly, then became aware that Spiegelmann was looking at him, and flushed. "It looks very... complicated. How long will this take? Can you not do it more quickly?"
"More haste, less speed," Spiegelmann grunted, removing one of the weights and handing it to Carter.
Hochstetter seemed prepared to refute this statement, but the ringing of the telephone intervened. As he went to answer it, Carter spoke quickly under his breath: "We'll never get this done, if he keeps staring at us. You gotta distract him, while I sneak – you know what – into – well, you know where."
From his observations, Spiegelmann doubted whether Carter could manage the job without dropping the recorder and losing the microphone. Hogan trusts him, he thought. I must do so, too.
"He seems curious about the interior of the clock," he whispered. "I think such interest should be encouraged."
He raised his voice. "Now, Hans, lift the clock assembly down, and put it over there."
Carter did so, depositing the movement right in the centre of the desk. Hochstetter, who had just finished his call, jumped to his feet. "What is this? What are you doing? Do not put that there."
"There is nowhere else to put it," replied Spiegelmann. "Except the floor, of course, but then I would also have to sit on the floor in order to work on it. Do you expect a war veteran with only one leg to work under such conditions?" Sensing an imminent explosion, he took evasive action. "Besides, it will not be for long. I already know what is wrong with it. You were quite right, Major."
Hochstetter's rising choler began to evaporate. "I was?"
"Very perceptive of you. If you had not mentioned the missing tock, it would have taken me much longer to realise that the problem is with the escapement."
"The...?"
"Just here. Let me show you. You will find it very interesting. Hans, clean the inside of the case. It is very dusty. Now, Major..."
"Yes, well, I am sure it would be most enlightening," said Hochstetter, unable to hide his eagerness. "But you must finish your work, it is almost..."
"Eleven o'clock, yes. We will be out of your way in a few minutes. Do you see this little wheel? Stand here, the light is better." Spiegelmann moved around the desk, allowing Hochstetter to take his place, with his back to the windows, and the clock.
"You mean, this one?"
"Exactly. You have an excellent eye, Major. Now..." And Spiegelmann embarked on an impromptu lecture on the operation of the anchor escapement. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Carter lowering the wire recorder into position. It was disguised, rather disconcertingly, as a sewing basket; if Hochstetter spotted it, he would certainly not be fooled. Even once it was in place, the danger was not over, as Carter still had to set it going, and to hide it with the square panel of timber they had brought with them. But the major, intrigued by this new field of study, did not seem to have the slightest suspicion.
"...and that is what makes the tick and the tock," Spiegelmann finished at last. "We have the tick, and by tomorrow, you will have your tock. But the time is flying, we must be on our way. Hans, have you finished there? Then bring me that box, so we can pack the movement securely."
Gently, but quickly, the clock was placed into the box in which they had brought the recorder. Just as the lid was closed, the telephone rang again.
"Hello…" said Hochstetter. "No, have him wait, I will come down." He hung up the phone and stood up. "So, Herr Spiegelmann, you will return tomorrow, no?"
"Without fail. Until then, Major. Hans, open the door."
Carter, burdened with Spiegelmann's tools as well as the box containing the precious clock, somehow managed to jiggle the door open, and they made their escape.
"Boy, we only just made it!" Carter burst out as soon as they reached the street. "That agent must have just walked in. Gee, we're lucky we got that thing going in time."
Spiegelmann repressed his instinctive response. Reaction to the strain had left him feeling unusually testy, and his doubts about this young man's competence were riding high. It seemed all too likely that he had installed the recorder, but failed to set it going.
"Well," he murmured at last, "we will find out tomorrow."
Promptly at ten o'clock the next morning, Carter came into the shop, to find Spiegelmann making the final adjustments to Hochstetter's clock. Carter sat beside the worktable, watching with interest.
"Say, Herr Spiegelmann," he said after a while, "how'd you lose your – I mean, are you really a war veteran?"
Spiegelmann quirked an eyebrow. His temper had improved, seeing as the Gestapo had not returned to arrest him yet. "The leg? It's a long story, involving the astronomical clock in the church tower at Schlossheim, a poorly maintained ladder, and a very enterprising goat. But that is a tale for another time. For now, we have an appointment to keep."
Some fifteen minutes later, as they neared the entrance to Gestapo HQ, Spiegelmann stopped in his tracks. "There is one thing which troubles me. I was able to keep Hochstetter busy yesterday while you installed the recorder, but I do not believe he will be so easily diverted a second time."
"I guess it'll be okay," said Carter. "You know what? He might not even be there today."
The young man's optimism was touching, but misplaced. Hochstetter was at his desk, making pencil notes on a document typed on Gestapo letterhead, which he laid aside when the clockmaker and his assistant were admitted.
"Ah, the clock," he said, rising and coming forward. "I trust it is now in perfect order?"
"I believe so, Major," replied Spiegelmann.
"Running like clockwork, you might say," added Carter brightly. Spiegelmann suppressed a sigh.
"It will only take a few minutes to put it back into the case," he went on. "Please do not let us interrupt your work."
Hochstetter waved the polite utterances aside. "It is not an interruption. As a matter of fact, I was most interested in what you showed me yesterday. The complexity and detail – all those gears and wheels – it is quite fascinating."
He sat on the edge of his desk, watching with keen interest while the clock was removed from the box and placed into position. There seemed no chance he would take his eyes off them. Spiegelmann glanced at Carter, whose amiably bland features had taken on a kind of tension; but after a moment, his expression cleared.
"Uncle Fritz," he said, "can you manage without me for a minute? There's something I want to talk to Major Hochstetter about. You can take care of – of all the things, right?"
For a second, Spiegelmann's mind went blank. A single thought floated to the surface: Surely he is not going to volunteer to join the Gestapo!
Somehow he kept his voice calm: "I can manage this. But do not take up too much of the major's time. He is a busy man."
Carter gave him a half-grin, and turned to Hochstetter, who scowled. "What? What is it?" he snapped.
"Well, it's kind of private..." Carter moved closer. "See, I work at that big munitions factory, and there's something funny going on out there. Something suspicious, I mean."
"Suspicious…?" Hochstetter's attention flickered away from the clock.
"Well, I thought so, but I'd like your opinion. You being a Gestapo major and all." Carter hesitated briefly. "Can we go over there? I don't want Uncle Fritz to hear. He's sometimes a bit of a blabbermouth, especially when he's down at the Hofbrau on a Saturday night. Once he's had a few drinks, you know..."
Still talking, he moved across the room, while Spiegelmann replaced the pendulum and weights as slowly as he dared. He fully expected Hochstetter to dismiss this attempt at a diversion. But the major had taken the bait, and Carter proceeded to reel him in.
"...and there's all these strange people lurking round the place, and briefcases full of cash... and then there's the women..." Step by step, without the stream of words faltering for a moment, Carter manoeuvred until Hochstetter was facing away from the clock.
At once, Spiegelmann set to work. Letting one crutch fall to the carpet, and balancing with the other, he reached inside the clock case and drew out the recorder. A few snatches of disclosure reached him as he packed it into the box "... spilled a whole bottle of Napoleon brandy, all over the assembly line... the label on the box was in Russian, so it sure wasn't detonators... I just don't understand how that much gunpowder can get lost in the mail..." It was quite impressive; Carter was going full tilt, as though running on a fully-wound mainspring.
Spiegelmann pushed the box aside, and occupied himself with setting the hands to the right time. "Hans," he said, "you are digressing. Please pardon my nephew, Major. He's a good lad, but sometimes his tongue runs away with him."
Carter blushed. "Sorry, Uncle Fritz. Anyway, will you look into it, Major? 'Cause I've been released for military service, and I'd hate to go off to the front knowing that all that stuff is going on back at the factory."
"You were quite right to bring it to my attention." Hochstetter appeared a trifle dazed by the torrent of information. "Rest assured, the matter will be investigated. Have you finished with the clock?"
"Just the hood to be replaced. Hans, if you would..."
The hood slid into place; Spiegelmann gave the glass a final polish, and closed the door.
"All done," he said. "We will not disturb you further, Major. You may expect my bill in due course. Come, Hans."
"Wait."
Spiegelmann's heart almost stopped beating on the word. Already on his way to the door, he turned slowly. It took all his self-control to speak normally: "Is there something else, Major?"
Hochstetter held up one finger. "Listen."
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...
"Perfect!" Hochstetter beamed at them, which was a terrifying sight indeed. But for once, his attitude seemed almost benign. "Herr Spiegelmann, you have succeeded, and I promise you, your service to the Gestapo will not go unappreciated."
"I am sure it will not," replied Spiegelmann; and he left quickly, with Carter right behind him.
"Well, we did it," said Carter, as they turned the corner into Lindenstraße. "Hochstetter's clock is tocking again, and we got the recorder back. I better get straight back to camp and see whether we got anything good on it."
Spiegelmann looked sideways at him, but not critically. He was starting to revise his ideas about this man. When it came to the test, he had got the job done. "I hope it was worth the trouble."
"Oh, it will be, you bet," replied Carter.
"You took a chance, telling Hochstetter all those fictions about the munitions plant. What happens if he decides to look into it?"
"Well, at least it'll keep him out of our hair for a bit. And if he finds anything, he might close 'em down, so that'll be one less factory we'll have to blow up. So I guess it'll work out all right," said Carter in a philosophical tone. Then he giggled. "Gosh, I hope I never have to keep talking that long ever again. They always say, the Gestapo have ways of making you talk, but I never thought it'd be me doing the talking."
The clockmaker smiled. "Every day in this line of work brings new surprises. As it happens, I have also learned something today which I did not expect. It seems there is one thing I have in common with Major Hochstetter."
"There is?" Carter glanced sideways at him, sensing a joke but not yet seeing it.
"Yes." Spiegelmann's smile widened into a grin. "When it comes to clocks, I, too, have ways of making them tock!"
A couple of notes:
The wire recorder disguised as a sewing box appeared in various episodes - notably "Klink For The Defense" and "Hot Money".
The clockmaker Spiegelmann featured in a previous story of mine, "Dangerous Keepsakes".
And yes, I am ashamed of myself - but not very.