Even from a distance it was obvious that the Hotel Alte Residenz was several degrees up the scale from the Hauserhof. Newkirk may not have known his Biedermeier from his Bauhaus, but he knew a classy piece of architecture when he saw it.
He strolled into the hotel as if he owned the place. He never quite managed to look as authoritative in German uniform as Hogan, nor even as natural as Carter, but he still made a convincing Luftwaffe captain, as he passed through the foyer. At least he didn't attract attention, and that was the main thing.
He was halfway to the door leading into the restaurant when he realised that the man standing at the foot of the stairs, talking to a woman, was familiar to him. More than familiar; he knew Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo better than he cared to, and what was worse, Hochstetter knew him. Newkirk slowed his pace, casually redirecting his steps to the other side of a row of slender, delicately ornamented pillars.
If there was any chance of Hochstetter seeing him, this meeting was over before it had begun. But Hochstetter continued his conversation, so focused on his companion, who was well worth the attention, that Newkirk, keeping his face turned away and not going too close, was able to walk straight past him to reach the restaurant.
Blimey, she's a bit out of Hochstetter's league, he thought. Then again, it could be just business. Nasty business. Hochstetter didn't get involved in any other kind.
The restaurant was, if anything, more extravagant than the lobby he had just crossed. He ordered a Schnapps and sat down to wait, keeping an eye on the door in case Hochstetter followed him in, but the major didn't appear.
It was just on half past eleven. Newkirk looked casually around the room. He had no idea what his contact looked like; his instructions hadn't included any such information. There were quite a few people there, but most of them seemed to be in groups of two or three. Possibly the informant wasn't there yet.
A woman came through the door; a real stunner. Newkirk felt a chill go down his spine, as she gazed around, caught sight of him, and then, with a particularly graceful bearing, walked towards him. He looked away, waiting for her to pass by, hoping she would just keep going. But she didn't.
"Please excuse me, but I think we might be acquainted," she said. "Were you in Bayreuth in August?"
The recognition code. She was the contact. The chill down Newkirk's back turned to ice. She was the woman he'd just seen talking to Hochstetter.
If he gave the correct response, and she was with the Gestapo, then he was done for, and possibly the whole Stalag 13 operation along with him. But if he didn't pick up the cue, and she was on the level...
"No," he heard himself saying, "I went to Salzburg. For the festival."
He was committed now; no way out of it.
She took a seat opposite him. One of those pale blondes, with delicately formed features and very dark blue eyes; slender in build, and dressed in a floating cloud of silvery-grey silk chiffon. She gave no sign of the nervous tension which was usual in such situations, but Newkirk had enough for both of them.
"You've got some information for me," he said quietly.
"I have. But I can't speak here." She gave him a little friendly smile, as if they were old friends. "I don't want to be overheard. I have a suite, on the fourth floor. We can talk there."
Oh, that's just perfect. All my dreams have just come true, and it's likely to turn into a ruddy nightmare.
"Sorry. Not a chance," said Newkirk.
Her expression didn't change, but a note of irritation entered her voice as she replied. "Do you understand that anyone here might be an informer? If they hear us speaking, and realise you are English - yes, I can tell, it's not very difficult." So he'd been caught out again; Gretel had said much the same thing, once.
The woman was still talking. "There was a Gestapo officer in the foyer just now. He has been watching me since I arrived here. I don't dare risk it. Either we talk in private, or we don't talk."
"Is he still there?"
"No, but he'll be back."
Hochstetter, of course. This situation had nearly all the elements of a complete disaster. Newkirk quickly considered his options. If he was ever to make up the ground he had lost with the rest of the team, he had to get it right on this assignment, but he could just imagine Colonel Hogan's face, when he reported back. Yes, sir, I made contact, and she asked me to come upstairs with her, and... No, better not try to explain. Just get the information and get out of here.
"Fine," he said. "We'll do it your way."
He made a quick survey of the lobby as they passed through, bypassing the stairs and heading towards the ornate cage elevator. It didn't look as if Hochstetter had left anyone on surveillance; only the hotel staff were there. They obviously held his companion in high regard, and the concierge, who wouldn't have recognised Newkirk socially, gave her a gracious half-bow on sight. She seemed accustomed to it, and didn't even nod in reply.
"Pardon me for asking," murmured Newkirk, "but won't they think it's odd, you taking a strange man up to your room?"
She gave him a sideways look, with a distracting up-and down sweep of long lashes. "I imagine they'd think it odd if I didn't." This was getting dangerous, in a completely unexpected direction. Two months earlier, and he'd have been falling over himself for a few minutes alone with a woman like this, but Gretel had changed everything.
As the lift ascended she turned those blue eyes on him again. "What am I to call you?" she asked.
"Bachmann." That was the name on his papers, and the only name she was getting, until he knew how much she had to do with Hochstetter. "Captain Franz Bachmann, Luftwaffe."
"And your real name?"
"You haven't told me yours yet. Fair's fair."
She seemed to accept his logic. "My friends call me Elise."
"And mine call me Franz," replied Newkirk.
"I see. You don't trust me," she said, with a mocking smile
"In this game, it's better not to trust anyone," he murmured, and for the life of him he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
When they reached Elise's suite, Newkirk had to suppress a whistle. This had to be one of the best rooms in Hammelburg; a work of art, in olive green and dull gold, although the heavy blackout covering the windows rather spoiled the effect. It seemed almost oppressively opulent, given what he was used to.
"Please, sit down," said Elise. "There are a few things we need to discuss."
She had switched from German to English, and Newkirk followed suit. He didn't take up her suggestion, but stayed close to the door. "Look, love, tempting though it may be, I don't have time to play games. Just give me the names, and then I can be on my way."
"It's not that simple," she replied. "I have the names, but there's a price."
He cast up his eyes. "Of course there is. I might have known. Let's hear it, then."
Elise sat in one of the low chairs. "A glass of wine would help, don't you think?"
It sounded like a delaying tactic. No way was Newkirk going along with it. "No," he said, without ceremony. "Now stop messing me about. What is it you want?"
She gave him a long, calculating look. "The climate in this part of the world isn't very healthy. I think a change of scenery would be good for me."
Newkirk shook his head. "Why is it, you people always want out of Germany? It's your own fault. You're the ones that put the freak in charge of the circus."
"This is no laughing matter," said Elise. "It's getting too dangerous for me to stay here. And I really could do with that glass of wine."
Newkirk regarded her in silence for a moment, then walked over to the window, where a decanter, and a couple of crystal wine glasses, stood on a low cabinet. He poured a glass of wine, and brought it to her. "I'm going to need to know more," he told her.
"As you said, fair's fair. You don't trust me; I don't know if I can trust you. But I know you must have contacts who can get me out of the country. Once you take me to those people, I'll give you the information, but not before."
Right. As if I'm taking you anywhere near Stalag 13, sweetheart.
He couldn't quite put it so bluntly. For once in his life, he needed to be tactful. "It's doesn't work like that. First I speak to the governor, and if he okays it, then I take you there."
"Then speak to your governor," she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"You really don't have a clue, do you?" he snapped back. So much for tact. Elise's colour rose, and she gave him a sharp, hostile look, eyes very bright, lips pressed together.
"All right, I'm sorry," said Newkirk. "But in our line of work, you bring someone home before they've been thoroughly checked out, and the next thing you know the Gestapo are knocking on the door. I learned that the hard way." He broke off abruptly; he hadn't meant to say that. Holding back the rest of what he'd been about to tell her, he walked back to the window. "Look, I can't just pick up the phone and get through to him. I have to report back, in person, and if he gives the okay, then I come back for you."
"By that time I may not be here." She was looking down at the half-full glass in her hand. She didn't look frightened, but the teasing note had gone from her voice. "I told you there was a Gestapo officer. His name is Hochstetter. I knew him when he was based in Berlin."
"How well?" asked Newkirk, after a very long pause.
"Quite well," replied Elise. "I married his brother."
Newkirk exhaled so sharply that it made his ribs hurt. He turned to the window, hardly aware of what he was doing, and pushed a corner of the blackout aside, giving him a view of the street below. This was unbelievable. Every time he thought things couldn't get any worse, she proved him wrong.
"And where's your husband now?" he asked, trying to keep calm.
"Still in Berlin. He's been passing information to British intelligence for the last two years. We've just been warned by a friend in his department that he's come under suspicion. Tomorrow morning he's to set off for Copenhagen for a staff meeting, but he'll try to get to Sweden instead. That's one reason I had to make contact tonight. As soon as Stefan is known to have left the Reich, they will be looking for me."
Newkirk was still looking out of the window. The rain had cleared, at last. A military staff car, and then an army truck, pulled up in front of the hotel.
"I don't want to worry you, princess," he said, "but I think they might be looking already."
The truck had already disgorged a dozen SS men. And one of the Gestapo officers who got out of the car looked very like Major Hochstetter.