It was simple enough. During the morning exercise period, all the men were in the yard as a matter of routine, and a soccer match between Barracks 2 and 4, with the goals defined by trash bins placed at either end of the improvised field, was a sure way to create confusion.
Newkirk was playing center, with Carter on his right wing missing three out of every four passes. Mills had never played the game before, but was holding his own in mid-field, and Kellet, whatever other faults he had, proved an effective goalkeeper.
Staller mingled with the spectators, watching as the game, played directly in front of the Kommandant's office, got progressively louder and more out of control. Soon the guards began to take notice, and their efforts to impose order added to the commotion. Klink couldn't help hearing, and before long he came striding forth from his office.
"What is the meaning of all this noise?" he demanded furiously.
"Just a little discussion of the offside rule, Kommandant," said Hogan brightly.
"Hogan, I am trying to work. Can't your men play quietly?"
"Soccer? Oh, come on, Colonel," replied Hogan, with a chuckle. "You can't play soccer and not get a little heated. You're an athletic type, you know that, right?"
"Hogan, I don't...athletic, hmmm, yes..." Klink's tone changed abruptly. "Well...well, as it happens, I did have a bit of a reputation on the sporting field, when I was at university. Not football, of course, but I made quite an impression on the running track. And as for tennis - I almost qualified for Wimbledon, you know."
"I bet he did," murmured Mills.
"Oh, that's our Klink. A legend in his own mind," Newkirk replied.
Hogan was continuing with the distraction process. "Say, I bet you could settle the argument. You've got such a clear, analytical way of looking at things, sir."
"Well, I don't know, Hogan..."
"And we all know how good you are at making decisions," Hogan added. "Isn't that right, fellas?"
"Don't know how he does it, sometimes," said Newkirk innocently. "He's a ruddy marvel, that's what he is."
Unconsciously, Klink straightened up, with the simper that always appeared when he was trying not to show too clearly how astonishing he found it to be receiving flattery. "Well...well, I suppose it's part of my duty towards your men to assist in these matters. What seems to be the problem?"
"It's to do with that last goal," explained Hogan. "We're just not sure whether it counts as offside, if the ball hit Adams by accident, bounced off Carter and went past the goalkeeper. Would you like the guys to show you how it happened...?"
Kinch, standing at the back of the crowd, glanced up at the guard tower to make sure the guard there wasn't watching, then tapped Staller's shoulder and jerked his head towards the office. As they edged away, LeBeau followed them.
They'd lucked out in one way. Fräulein Hilda, the Kommandant's secretary, had her half-day off, and had already left. LeBeau remained in the outer office, ready to delay the Kommandant's return if necessary, while Kinch and Staller went on into the office.
"Okay, you know what to say," said Kinch. "Klink's meeting is at the Hofbrau at seven. You line up your guy to be at the Hauserhof at six-thirty, so he can be clued up. You got the number?"
"Düsseldorf 252," replied Staller. He was looking round nervously. Obviously his previous experience in this line of work hadn't included the kind of risks which at Stalag 13 were considered routine. "Ask for Captain Weber."
Kinch put the call through. It took almost a minute before he got an answer. "Captain Weber?" he said. "One moment, please."
He handed the phone to Staller, and moved to the window, apparently watching in case they needed to get out fast. But his instructions from Hogan had been definite: "Whatever Staller says to his man in Düsseldorf, you're to listen, memorize and report back."
It sounded innocent enough. Even if the phone at the other end was bugged, the Gestapo wouldn't find much to interest them.
"Karl? It's Rolf - Rolf Schnabel, from Hanover...That's right...Yes, it's good to hear your voice, too. It must be...oh, five years since we last met...what's that? Seven? Where does the time go?...Fine, thank you, couldn't be better. And you?...Tell me, how is your sister...?"
Kinch couldn't make out what the voice at the other end of the line was saying, but obviously these guys had devised their codes and passwords very carefully. In spite of his own mistrust of the man, which would have rivaled Hogan's, he had to admit that Staller appeared to know his stuff.
"Listen, Karl," he went on, "I'm going to be in your area tomorrow , and I hoped we might catch up...Hammelburg, on business...well, it's closer than Hanover...yes...yes, at the Hotel Hauserhof...how does around half-past six suit you? Good. I'll see you then...Auf Wiedersehen."
He put the receiver down. "He'll be there," he told Kinch.
"Okay." Kinch surveyed the activity in the yard again. The debate over the rules looked to have gone into extra time. "Let's get out of here."
Thirty seconds later, they were back outside, having picked up LeBeau on the way.
"...but if the ball landed on the roof of the Kommandant's office, rolled along the gutter, came down where it's broken, bounced off the well and went between the trash bins - I mean, the goal posts - wouldn't that count?" The question sounded like something Carter would normally throw into the conversation, but it was Mills who was speaking. Kinch had to suppress a sudden pang of resentment. The thought had come uninvited, that Mills had no business doing Carter's job.
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Well, it might, except for two reasons. One, the well is out of bounds, and two, it's at the wrong end of the pitch for us, which would make it an own goal."
"Okay..." Mills began, but Hogan had spotted that the three absentees were back, and moved to bring the discussion to an end.
"Good point, Newkirk. What do you think, Kommandant? After all, nobody knows more about own goals than you do."
"Well, taking everything into consideration, I would say...Hogan!" Klink's measured response broke off in a frustrated growl as the meaning of Hogan's remark filtered through. "Sort it out for yourselves. But do it quietly. Any further disturbance will mean that in future no you and your men will not be allowed any recreational activity more controversial than needlepoint." He swung round and stalked back to the office.
"It's obvious you've never been to an embroidery guild meeting, sir," Hogan called after him. "Okay, men, get on with the game. Quietly."
He headed back to the barracks. Kinch and Staller followed.
"All organized, Colonel," said Kinch, as soon as they were inside. "Weber will be at the Hauserhof at six-thirty tomorrow evening."
"Good," replied Hogan. "Staller, you and I will meet him there, we'll take Newkirk along as backup. Now, last time Klink had a meeting with the Düsseldorf agent, they took roll-call before he left, and he was so anxious not to be late that he headed off an hour before he needed to. Knowing our Kommandant, he's pretty safe to do the same this time, which will give us plenty of time to get into town."
"I'll let Newkirk know," said Kinch. He glanced at Staller, then turned his eyes back to Hogan. There was more he had to say.
Hogan picked up the hint. "Staller, maybe you should go back down below. You never know when one of the guards might decide to do his job properly, and come in on an inspection." He went over to the tunnel entrance and tapped on the release mechanism.
"You guys really are something," observed Staller, pausing at the top of the ladder. "I can't believe we just walked into the Kommandant's office and used his phone."
"Yeah, we're lucky to have Klink in charge of the place," replied Hogan. "If they ever give us a real Kommandant instead of a real idiot, we're in big trouble."
Staller laughed softly, and vanished into the tunnel.
"You know something, Kinch?" Hogan said, in a quiet, even voice. "When I think what that son of a bitch did to Carter, I could happily shoot him. But every so often, I forget and start liking him."
"Yeah, he's got the gift, all right," muttered Kinch. "Colonel, I heard back from London. Lieutenant Mason is listed officially as 'missing'. But there doesn't seem any doubt. His plane was shot down over the Channel. Some of the other flight crews confirmed the plane went down in flames. Nobody could have survived."
It was more or less what Hogan had expected. "Okay, so Staller was on the level about that," he said. "What about Weber?"
"That checks out, too. He was stationed in Potsdam till six months ago, when he transferred to Düsseldorf. He's been one of the most consistently reliable agents in the entire network. Of course, that's no guarantee. But..."
Hogan sighed. "Yep. Chances are he's one of the good guys. And I almost hate to say it, but it's starting to look like maybe Staller is, too."