In the storage room off the tunnel below Stalag 13, an uneasy silence reigned. Neither the prisoner nor the man guarding him had exchanged a single word.
Mills sat awkwardly, unconsciously trying to keep his injured shoulder in a comfortable position. He was tired, but he didn't take his eyes off Weber, until a movement in the entrance to the little chamber caught his eye.
It was Dieter, the Underground agent from Düsseldorf. He was gazing at Weber with narrowed eyes, as if trying to see what he'd missed before. Abruptly he started forward, but Mills got between them.
"No," he said, his voice strained.
Dieter stopped, but his eyes remained on his former comrade. "Verräter!" he hissed.
"Du auch," Weber growled.
Dieter took another step forward, and Mills had to push him back. "I said, no. You don't get to beat up on a man when he's tied up and can't defend himself. Not here, pal."
There was just enough of an edge to his voice to cut through Dieter's anger. His face went red, and he fell back.
"He is answerable to us," he said.
"He's answerable to a whole lot of people," Mills replied. "And he'll get what's coming, you can bet on it. But he'll get a fair trial, not a summary execution. Taking it out on him like this would be a Nazi trick. We don't operate like that."
For a moment he tensed, ready to block the punch in the face he was expecting in reply. But the German, after a few seconds, turned abruptly and left. Mills relaxed, with a slow exhalation of breath, and returned to his chair.
"I guess I ought to thank you for that," murmured Weber, regarding him with a hint of mockery in his eyes.
Mills met the look deadpan. "Don't push it," he replied softly.
Silence fell again, until once again it was interrupted, this time by Wilson.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, taking in at a glance Mills's drawn look, and the angle he was sitting at.
Mills sighed, and shifted a little. "Can't say I'll be sorry when the guys get back," he replied, his voice husky with weariness. "I'm all right, Wilson." He read dissatisfaction in the medic's eye, and added hastily, "What about Staller? Is he going to make the trip okay?"
Wilson shrugged a little. "Fever's down, and his pulse has steadied. But it's going to take a lot out of him."
"Tough."
It wasn't like Mills to speak in such harsh tones, and Wilson glanced at him curiously.
"He's been rambling a bit," he added. "Got something on his mind, apparently."
From his corner, Weber gave a soft snigger. Mills's color rose, and he pressed his lips close together, and straightened up, tightening his grip on the pistol in his hand. Then he leaned back again. The words he'd said to Dieter applied just as strongly to himself.
"I'd better get back," murmured Wilson. "Take it easy, Mills, okay?"
He gave Mills a warning look, and went back to his patient, and Mills settled himself as comfortably as he could, to wait for Hogan's return.
That return wasn't far away. The news of Eisner's impending arrival shifted the whole scheme into high gear. Hogan took a few moments to assess the risk, then gave Kinch a message to be passed on to the other prisoners. A few minutes later, he strolled up to Schultz.
"All finished, Schultz," he announced.
"What do you mean, all finished?" said Schultz vaguely.
"The road's all fixed," replied Hogan, with a grin. "See? As smooth as the top of the Kommandant's head. Well, nearly."
"You mean, it's done already?" Schultz pursed up his mouth, and looked up and down the road. "It doesn't look any different."
"Which just proves how good a job we did," said Hogan. "Like my father always says, when you do a job, always leave everything just as you found it."
"You know what I think?" grumbled Schultz, after a few moments of reflection. "I think you are up to something. You want me to think the work is finished, so you can go back to Stalag 13. Well, if you think I'm going to take you back before..."
"Actually, Schultz, I've been giving that some thought," Hogan interrupted. "And you know what? We don't have to go back to camp for our writing class, we could just as easily hold it in town. The guys took a vote on the way out here, and it was unanimous in favor of going to the Hofbrau and trying some of our material out on the general public. I'm pretty sure we'd go over great with some of the men from the SS division that's passing through. They all drink there, don't they?"
Schultz uttered a wordless whining noise. "Everybody into the truck. We're going back to Stalag 13, before you get us all into trouble."
He counted off the prisoners himself as they clambered aboard. "Eins...zwei...drei...vier..."
Number nine was Newkirk. "Hey, Schultzie, what time is it?" he asked
"It is exactly twelve o'clock," replied Schultz, consulting his watch.
"I make it eleven minutes past," Kinch put in. "Your watch must be eleven minutes slow, Schultz."
"My watch was correct this morning."
"Then it's losing time. What time have you got?" Kinch turned to the next man in line.
"Eleven minutes past twelve," was the reply.
"See, Schultz. Eleven minutes slow," said Kinch. "You better get it checked out."
Schultz gave his watch a shake. "But it's always been accurate," he grumbled.
"Well..." Newkirk began, but the guard held up a hand.
"I don't want to hear it. Into the truck." He looked down at his fingers, trying to remember where he'd been up to.
"Eleven, Schultz," said Newkirk, leaning over the edge of the tailgate.
"Danke," mumbled Schultz. "Next...zwölf...dreizehn..."
Covering for the two missing men had been easy. But the next part was going to be much harder. Under cover of the general conversation in the truck, Hogan briefed his men on the plan he'd come up with to meet the emergency.
"It sounds a bit dodgy, sir," murmured Newkirk, once he'd grasped the basics.
"Maybe, but it's all we've got," replied Hogan. "We can't risk having the real Eisner turn up ahead of time. We've got one thing in our favor. Klink's bedridden, so there won't be any roll-call this afternoon. So all I have to do is convince Schultz it's in his interest to look the other way for a few hours."
"And how are you going to do that, Colonel?" asked Kinch.
Hogan glanced towards the German sergeant, sitting beside the driver. "Easy enough, Kinch. Once I tell him he's managed to lose LeBeau and Carter out here, point out exactly how the Kommandant's going to react to the news, and offer to fix it before Klink finds out, Schultz will not only look the other way, he'll be ready to do the Hokey Pokey if it keeps the rest of the Krauts from noticing what we're doing."
"Captain Weber, I wonder if I might ask you...?"
Faulmann spoke nervously, as if already hearing in his mind the rebuff he was expecting. But he received no immediate response, and while this wasn't exactly encouraging, he pressed on. "The woman we are holding in custody - I believe you worked with her, quite closely. Very closely."
Carter flushed. This was news to him. "Well?" he replied coldly.
"We have been questioning her, but she is proving a little more stubborn than we had hoped. I have warned her of the probable consequences, but she refuses to see sense. Unfortunately the other two high-level prisoners...well, they made an ill-advised escape attempt, and both were killed." Faulmann's voice dropped slightly as he made the admission.
For a moment, Carter didn't speak. Losing a man was always painful. To lose two, under such circumstances, struck hard, even though he didn't know them personally. It cost him some effort to respond with the appropriate indifference. "That was careless of you."
"I realize that, and I know Colonel Eisner will not be pleased." Faulmann hesitated, his eyes flickering towards Carter. "But if we can meet him with the news that the woman has agreed to co-operate, without having to proceed to extremes..."
"You want me to talk to her?" Carter interrupted. "Does she know...?"
"Yes. During the initial interrogation, I told her of the part you played in the investigation. I thought it might help to break her will, but she is stronger than I anticipated."
Carter was thinking fast. His first impulse was to refuse. To confront Cecilie now with no warning was to invite exposure as an imposter. Most likely she would give the game away by accident, out of sheer confusion. Even if that didn't happen, she would probably suspect some kind of Gestapo trick. She had never seen him before, and she'd have no reason to think he was one of the good guys.
But on the other hand, if only he could give her a hint, let her know there was at least a chance of rescue, she'd be ready for whatever happened. And it would give her hope, in this hopeless situation. He couldn't deny her that.
"Very well," he said at last. "But you must let me speak to her alone. She won't talk if any of you are present. You have the cell bugged, of course?"
"Not yet," admitted Faulmann. "It has not been necessary, until now. The place where we are keeping her was not built for the purpose of holding prisoners, so it lacks some of the usual facilities."
"Then you will have to trust me," said Carter in an indifferent tone, masking his relief. He still meant to check for hidden microphones before he gave anything away, but from the man's embarrassment, it seemed probable he was telling the truth.
Faulmann leaned forward to speak to the driver. "Location B," he said curtly.
Carter sent a quick glance at the rear-view mirror, but couldn't tell whether they were being tailed. However, the driver was also keeping his eyes open. "There is a car following us," he said.
"Too close?" Faulmann turned to look out of the rear window.
"I think not, Herr Kriminalinspektor. Probably just a local, on his way to Hammelburg. In any case, we are well ahead of him. We will be able to turn off without being observed."
Turn off...? Carter's stomach began to knot up. If his back-up guys lost track if him, he could find himself in a lot of trouble when the real Eisner showed up. He tried to remember if there were any side roads along here, but it was so rare for him to come to Hammelburg in daylight that all he could remember was darkness and dense woods on either side.
He had to swallow hard before he could speak, and even then his voice sounded tight in his own ears. "So, this is some kind of secret prison, Faulmann?"
"A former chemical research facility. The project was relocated some time ago, because of the high rate of sabotage in this area. The accommodation suits our purposes, however - close to town, well-hidden from sight, and perfectly secure." Faulmann's expression fell into the familiar Gestapo smirk. "I think you will be impressed, Captain."
Oh, boy, thought Carter. It was sounding worse every second. He gazed out at the trees crowding the roadside, so thickly interwoven with ivy as to seem almost impenetrable. It was unimaginable that any kind of side road could force its way through.
The car topped the final rise on the road, and began the long straight descent towards town. Deliberately, the driver accelerated, then slowed abruptly, flashing the headlights. Carter held his breath, as the vehicle swung across the road towards the trees. Then he let it go again in a startled gasp, as the barrier in front rolled aside, trees, ivy and all, exposing a gap just wide enough for the car to pass through. He was just able to glimpse the two SS men waiting to close the gate again, before the car had moved on, bumping along a rough but serviceable track through the trees.
"I see you were taken by surprise," observed Faulmann complacently. "We have been using this place for the last six months, and our enemies have not the slightest idea of its existence."
"Very impressive," murmured Carter, not knowing what else to say. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his mind was racing back and forth. There was not the slightest chance his friends would have seen the disguised gateway before it closed, they were too far behind. For all anyone would know, he would have vanished from the face of the earth.
"Is Colonel Eisner supposed to meet us here?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay steady.
"I had thought, perhaps I could arrange for him to be brought here," Faulmann replied. "He may even want to handle this interrogation himself. She is an attractive woman, and he is entitled to claim that prerogative."
Something in his tone made Carter immediately uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" he asked, after a few seconds.
Faulmann glanced at him, and laughed softly. "Oh, come now, Captain. Surely a man in your position can't be as innocent as that."
...not as innocent as you look. The words, spoken so long ago, suddenly echoed through Carter's mind, as clearly as if they'd been spoken aloud. A wave of sickness washed over him, disgust mixed with sheer terror, momentarily paralyzing his entire consciousness. He fought it down, desperately, knowing if he dropped the ball now there was nobody here to pick it up for him.
"I don't think that will be necessary," he said, his voice unusually hard. "In any case, it would be better to bring her to Gestapo headquarters in town, than to make Colonel Eisner come all the way out here."
He could tell Faulmann had sensed his revulsion, by the way the Gestapo changed tack. "We shall see. Perhaps, if you can convince her to co-operate...There, you can see it now, Captain. And I assure you, it is just as secure as it looks."
A building had come into sight between the trees, a long, low concrete structure with no visible windows, like a bunker. Carter's heart dropped even further. It looked like the kind of place nobody ever came out of alive.
Louis won't let me down. The thought came unexpectedly, a gleam of light in the darkness. Even if LeBeau had no idea where he was, he wouldn't give up, and neither would Hogan. If they had to, they'd break him and Cecilie out of this place. But getting them out of Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, as Hogan had planned, would be less complicated, and a lot less dangerous.
He was going to have to make sure he and Cecilie were there, when the rescue team arrived. To do that, he had to manage something seemingly beyond his abilities. He would have to find a way to convince Cecilie he was on her side, and get her to feign compliance. And he had to do it right under the eyes of the Gestapo.