Newkirk moved back from the window as soon as he saw Hochstetter in the street below. Elise quickly stood up, spilling the wine onto the carpet, but as she started forward, he held up a hand. "Stay there."
He edged forward and looked out again. Hochstetter was no longer in sight. Presumably he had already entered the building. Two of his men were still at the entrance, and others would be securing other exit points.
"We've probably got less than a minute to get out before they have the place sealed off," said Newkirk. "So no point in trying. Nice trick, love, keeping me busy while your brother-in-law went and got himself organised. You should get a medal for it."
She looked startled, then as she grasped his meaning, colour swept across her face. "You really think I would do that?"
"I call it as I see it, princess." Newkirk went to the door, and opened it just enough to check the corridor. Nobody there yet, but they were certain to arrive within minutes. There was probably little chance of making it out of the hotel, but if he could get to another part of the building, it might gain him some time to come up with a plan. He had brought a gun with him, but he doubted it would be of much use, not against that many of them.
"You can't leave me here," said Elise. Her voice was unsteady; whether from anger or fear, Newkirk neither knew nor cared.
"Oh, yes, I can," he replied. Then he took in the expression on her face, and reconsidered. Either she was a very good actress indeed, or she was genuinely frightened.
He'd believed Gretel, too, and look where that had got him.
As he hesitated, she took a step forward. "Captain Godfrey Adgett, RAF Intelligence," she said. "I will give you the other names when you bring me to your home base." Then, as he still didn't speak, she added desperately, "Wolfgang found out what Stefan has been doing. It could destroy him, as well as us. He'll do whatever it takes to save himself."
Newkirk's thoughts were racing, trying to find some way out of this disaster, but still a tiny part of his mind fastened on the most inconsequential detail of what she had just said: Wolfgang? Hochstetter's got a first name?
He had to make a decision. They probably had no more than two minutes before Hochstetter and his men were breaking down the door. "Is there another staircase, apart from the one from the lobby?" he asked.
"There's a back stair, used by the housekeeping staff. To the right, at the far end."
He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave her to Hochstetter. It was probably another mistake, but if she was on the level, then the man would take her apart. "They may already have it covered, but we'll have to risk it." He held out his hand. "Come on."
She was already out of breath by the time they reached the service stairs; it wasn't a promising start. "Where are we going?" she panted.
He hushed her, and leaned out over the banister, listening. From far below, he heard voices, the words unclear as they echoed in the stairwell.
"Second floor," he murmured.
The second floor corridor was empty so far; probably Hochstetter would head straight for Elise's suite, two levels above. Newkirk stopped at the first door, listening for any sounds from inside, then reached into his pocket for the lockpicking kit which went everywhere with him. A few moments, and they were in.
They'd struck it lucky. The guests who had this room were out; and with the building now in the control of the SS, it was likely they wouldn't be back for some time. Newkirk pulled the curtains to, before opening the wardrobe. "This is handy," he said. "See if there's something that fits."
Elise came to inspect the clothes hanging there. "She must be the size of a small horse," she murmured. "I can't wear any of these. They won't hang right, and the colours..."
"Oh, for...We're not going to a dinner party." He grabbed a couple of garments at random, and shoved them into her hands. "Look, if we can't make a break for it, we've both had it. And we won't get far with you in that lot. Now stop being so bloody precious and put those on. And go and wash your face while you're at it." Then, as she stared blankly at him, he added. "Get rid of the make-up. You don't want anyone looking twice, do you?"
He went to the window, and twitched the curtain aside slightly. The window looked out onto a narrow alley separating the hotel from the next building. He could see two men patrolling. No chance there.
Elise returned from the bathroom, considerably less elegant in the tweedy skirt and shapeless green pullover, and with her face still pink and damp from the quick scrubbing she'd given herself. She was still pretty, but not so immediately eye-catching as before, although the fair hair, waving perfectly to just below her shoulders, was something of a giveaway. Newkirk rummaged around in a chest of drawers which stood beside the window, and found a scarf to tie over it. It was better than nothing.
"Can you walk far in those shoes?" he asked. "Because you might have to." He had left the motorcycle at the front of the hotel; getting to it would be impossible.
She looked down at her feet. "Then I will have to manage." He didn't like her chances, not with those heels. "I hate to leave that dress," she sighed. "It's by Josquin. It'll be years before I can get to Paris again."
"It may be never, if we don't get out of here" replied Newkirk.
His tone sobered her at once. "Do you have a plan?"
"Not a clue." He picked up a coat which was draped over a chair. "Put this on."
There was still no activity in the corridor. "All right," murmured Newkirk. "They're safe to have the lobby covered. We'll try the back stairs again, and see if we can get to the kitchen. Keep quiet, and stay close to me. Oh, and one more thing, princess. The first sign that you're playing me, and I'll break your neck." She blinked, as she realised he wasn't kidding.
All was quiet in the stairwell, but Newkirk took no chances; he kept close to the wall, and moved slowly, pausing on every landing in order to check whether the next flight was clear before proceeding. He could sense Elise's impatience, but she had taken his warning to heart, and tried not to make any sound. They were both aware of the tumult that had broken out on the upper floors; harsh voices, heavy running footsteps, banging on doors. The Gestapo were working their way down; another piece of good luck. The smart move would have been to start at the ground floor and work up.
The stairs gave on to a short passage leading directly to the hotel kitchen. It appeared to be unguarded. Newkirk was starting to worry; this seemed too easy. He glanced down at Elise, who was keeping close, as he'd told her to. She looked scared, but of whom - Hochstetter, or Newkirk himself - would be hard to guess.
The kitchen seemed deserted. Probably the staff had been rounded up into the main part of the building with everyone else. But that didn't mean the rest of the place was unguarded, so with every instinct urging him to make a run for the exit, Newkirk had to hold back. After a careful scrutiny, he nodded to Elise, and edged around the door frame and along the wall. He could feel her hand clutching his sleeve, as she followed him.
They were almost there. Newkirk could see the door; he came to a standstill, and waited. For ten seconds, there was nothing; then the guard came into view, as he paced slowly in front of the only way out. Newkirk shuffled back, out of the man's line of sight.
"Okay, we're going to have to work together on this," he whispered. "Just follow my lead."
Elise nodded, breathing rapidly. He took hold of her elbow, straightened up, and strolled towards the door as if there was nothing in the least irregular about wandering the kitchens after midnight.
"Halt!" snapped the guard, swinging round and raising his gun. "Where are you going? Nobody is to leave the hotel."
Newkirk tried for the sweeping contemptuous gaze he'd watched Carter demonstrate with consummate skill so many times. "Entschuldigung," he replied, in an icy voice. "Do you know who I am?" The man looked at him suspiciously. "Captain Bachmann," Newkirk went on. "Aide to General Burkhalter." If he was going to slander someone, it might as well be a man he despised. "And this lady is a close friend of the general. Very close," he added, dropping his voice to a confidential murmur.
He felt Elise twitch, and wondered if she was acquainted with Burkhalter. But she kept cool as the guard's eyes turned on her. In her borrowed clothes, she didn't look like a general's fancy piece, but she lifted her chin and gave the man a coquettish smile.
"It makes no difference. Nobody leaves, by order of the Gestapo."
Newkirk glanced at Elise. "The general's not going to like that. And his wife won't be pleased, if she finds out where he's been tonight, and who he's been with. Perhaps you'd like to speak to the general yourself? He's still in the suite. Fourth floor."
The guard wavered, weighing up the relative importance of a Luftwaffe general compared to that of the rabid hamster Hochstetter.
"Franz, Liebchen," said Elise sweetly, "are we going to be here very long? You know my darling Ochsenfrosch doesn't like me to be on the streets after midnight." So she did know Burkhalter, and she'd nailed him with one well-chosen pet name. From the smirk which crossed the guard's face, it was clear he knew the old bullfrog, too.
Newkirk soothed her in the kindly manner of an older brother, then turned back to the guard, and beckoned him closer. "Tell you what," he said, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "I know you've got your orders, but it's best if we don't embarrass the general. He can get a bit irritable. So here's what we'll do." As the guard leaned forward to hear his suggestion, Newkirk brought his pistol up to the man's ear. "You'll give me that gun, for a start."
He jerked the weapon from the man's hands, and nodded to Elise. "That door over there - that'll be the pantry. Open it."
A quick glance round confirmed the pantry had no windows; the door was sturdy and fitted with a crossbar on the outside. Newkirk shoved the guard inside, and secured the door.
"I can't believe we got away with that," he muttered. He wondered about keeping the guard's weapon, but decided against it; Luftwaffe officers out on the town didn't carry semi-automatics, and the last thing he wanted was to attract attention. Nice piece of equipment, though; it was a shame to leave it.
They still weren't out of danger. The main kitchen door opened onto a lane behind the hotel. Nobody seemed to be patrolling the laneway, but as Newkirk peered around the door frame, another SS guard came into view at the first corner to the right; probably one of the men he'd seen from the second-floor window. That way was covered. Newkirk dodged back, waiting for the guard to come past the door, but he turned and went back out of sight.
The man in the pantry had started getting noisy. They needed to move, and fast. Newkirk took a firm grip on Elise's hand, and they slipped out, heading to the left, away from the guard's beat.
If there was anyone at the other end of the building…
There wasn't. The way remained clear, to the end of the laneway, and from there across the cobbled street and into the dark shelter of another narrow alleyway on the opposite side.
"Can't stop now, princess," said Newkirk under his breath, as Elise slowed. "As soon as they find that bloke in the cupboard, they'll start searching outside. So we need to put some distance between us and them."
He could hear the catch in her breathing, and he felt a twinge of remorse. She'd done well in there, given how frightened she must be. Perhaps she was on the level, after all. Still, he couldn't take the chance. It wasn't just his own life he'd be risking, if she turned out to be another Gretel; it would be his mates as well, all of them. He tightened his grasp on her hand, and set off again.
He didn't have a plan, apart from getting as far from the Alte Residenz as possible, so he just kept going. He had a sense that they were moving more or less parallel to the river, but couldn't be sure. If he was right, they were heading roughly in the direction of a known safe house, the café run by an Underground member, code name Mistral. The difficulty would be contacting him without giving his location away to Elise. But if it could be managed, Mistral had a radio and could get a message back to Stalag 13.
They walked on in silence for some time. Before long they were out of the maze of narrow streets of the Altstadt, and since the weather had cleared, there was sufficient moonlight for Newkirk to make a fair assessment of their location. So far he heard no sounds of pursuit, and they were now a fair distance from the hotel, though not as far away as he'd hoped.
Elise hadn't complained, but her shoes had begun to pinch, and it slowed them down. Finally Newkirk had to let her rest. A small public garden, opposite a row of shops, gave them brief sanctuary, and Elise sank onto a bench with a sigh. Newkirk remained standing, looking down at her.
"We're not far from someone who can put me in touch with the governor," he said. "The problem is, I can't take you there."
She glanced up. "You really don't trust me, do you?"
"Can't afford to," replied Newkirk tersely. Then, seeing how weary she looked, he added, "I'll find somewhere safe to leave you, and I'll come back for you."
"So I'm to trust you?"
"You don't have a choice, do you?"
In the stillness which followed this, he became aware of a sound which had been audible for some time in the distance, but which was getting closer; a very familiar sound, that of approaching aircraft. His heart rate accelerated sharply as he looked towards the sky.
Lancasters? No, can't be, they'd have let us know if…
Even as the thought formed in his mind, he was scanning the buildings opposite, looking for somewhere to take cover. "On your feet," he snapped at Elise. "We have to move, now."
As she just stared at him, he grabbed her arm and yanked her upright. "Don't just sit there. Those are bombers. Our bombers."
He hustled her across the street towards the shops. It would be suicide to shelter in any of the doorways, surrounded as they were by display windows; the flying glass would kill them if the bombs didn't. He had noticed a gap between two of the buildings, probably just wide enough for them to crouch inside. No protection from a direct hit, or even a close one, and if either wall came down, they wouldn't stand a chance, but it was the best they could do. Newkirk pushed Elise into the narrow space. "Get down," he ordered. He crouched over her, put his arms over his head and prepared to shield her as best he could.
He'd heard the ungodly shriek of falling bombs before, many times, but never before had it frightened him like this. God, they'll never know what happened to me, he thought desperately; and the thought was more terrifying than the bombing.