"First rule of espionage, Hogan. Don't get close to anyone. Don't get personal. I managed to stick to it for ten years. That's not bad."
From their position in the rafters, Hogan and Morrison had a clear view down onto the stage and the stalls, without being seen themselves.
"That's why I had to let her go," Morrison went on. "I didn't want to - ten years is a long time for a man to be on his own, and she's one hell of a woman - but once you get involved, you've got a weakness. It got too risky, for both of us. So I made the break."
"Does she know you're here?" asked Hogan. He was watching Morrison closely. The man looked a lot older than the last time they'd met; unshaven, in shabby overalls, he bore little external resemblance to the well-groomed Major Teppel who had taken Hogan and his men to Berlin, eighteen months earlier. But there was no mistaking that face; Morrison's features were too strong to be overlooked.
He shook his head. "I thought she might work it out. It was an old joke we had. I fixed the door of her apartment for her, and she said even though I had no musical talent, at least I could keep time with a hammer."
He fell silent, gazing down at the stage, where the scary old lady from the Chorgemeinschaft was marshalling her forces. There was no sign of either Claudia Valensizi or her accompanist, although Baumann had returned. Langenscheidt, with Private Gluck, was standing guard in the right-hand aisle, Private Telemann was on the left. Schultz must be somewhere at the back of the hall, where Hogan couldn't see him.
"How'd she get involved in this?" said Hogan.
Morrison smiled slightly. "I had word from contacts within the Gestapo that things were happening, and it was time to get out. I couldn't risk an investigation. Had an escape plan, of course." He glanced at Hogan. "But there was this one guy - you remember Metzger, Colonel Braun's aide? He'd been watching me ever since that business at the Hotel Berlin, and as soon as he heard the Abwehr was being shut down, he jumped the gun, and came to advise me of it personally. It didn't exactly go as he'd planned. Lucky for me, I was a better shot than him. He only plugged me in the shoulder. I got him where it counted."
"That must have made things tricky for you."
"You're not kidding. I don't mind telling you, Hogan, I didn't think I was going to make it. I knew if I turned up at the hospital, I'd be arrested before they even got the bullet out. I'd lost a lot of blood, got a bit lightheaded, and next thing I knew I was at Claudia's door."
He broke off, as the combined choirs of the town of Hammelburg and Stalag 13 began to sing, under the ferocious, but apparently ineffective, direction of the old lady. Her idea of conducting seemed to consist entirely of making vigorous, wildly irregular up-and-down beats with both hands. The singers were struggling to keep together, and Hogan grinned at the pained expression on Doyle's face as he stood at the back, singing along with the baritones. Morrison shook his head, and laughed quietly, then went on.
"She didn't ask any questions, just took me in, stopped the bleeding, found a surgeon who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. She saved my life. And when they came to question her - they knew we'd been pretty close - she knew nothing. I hid out with friends until I was strong enough to make the trip here. I knew my best chance was if I could get in touch with you."
"And the signorina offered to make the approach," Hogan finished.
"Right." Morrison looked at him again. "I know what you're thinking, Hogan. Probably just the same as I'd think, if you came to me with the same story. But the thing is, I was delirious for a couple of days, and I let a lot of things slip. By the time I came out of it, there wasn't much she didn't know about me. She could have handed me over to them any time, if she'd wanted to. You can take my word for it. She can be trusted."
His keen expression didn't soften, as Claudia Valensizi came back into the hall, shadowed again by Fräulein Moller. "Not sure about her accompanist, though. Seems to me wherever Claudia goes, that little ray of sunshine follows her."
"Keeping her under observation," murmured Hogan. "Which could make things difficult. If she's Gestapo, the last thing we want is her hanging round while we're trying to get you out."
He winced at the sound coming from the stage; half the sopranos had gone flat, and the tenors had apparently gone off into a different key entirely, while the basses seemed to be making it up as they went along and the altos had given up altogether. "I don't think Doyle's going to stand for much of that," observed Hogan.
"I'm damned sure Claudia won't," said Morrison. "You better get back, before you're missed. You'll find me around the building any time."
"Keep out of sight." Hogan was gazing down towards the side aisle. "Schultz is on guard duty while we're here, he might recognise you."
"I'll be careful. And if you get a chance, Hogan, let her know I'm okay." Morrison turned back to his work. Then, at the look Hogan gave him, he shrugged, "Might as well do the job properly, while I'm here."
Hogan descended to the lobby. As he went back into the auditorium, Schultz appeared at his elbow.
"Where have you been, Colonel Hogan?" he demanded truculently. "You are not supposed to go out of my sight. Oh, you will get me into trouble. "
"Sorry, Schultz," replied Hogan breezily. "You know how it is, with these old buildings, I had to go looking in the basement to find the men's room. And then I got lost on the way back. I wouldn't go down there, if I were you," he added. "It's dark and creepy."
Schultz wasn't pacified. "At least you should let me know where you are going, so I can send Langenscheidt with you. There are rules, Colonel Hogan."
"Look, Schultz, I'm pretty darn sure there's nothing in the regulations that says a colonel has to be accompanied to the latrine. I wouldn't like it, and I can tell you now, Langenscheidt wouldn't be thrilled at the prospect, either. You know how easily embarrassed he is." Hogan grinned, and passed on into the hall.
The choirs were still not finding common ground. It wasn't just Doyle who was suffering. Kinch was wearing the same expression he developed in response to any particularly unpleasant atmospheric interference on the radio, and Carter, judging by the way he kept glancing at the nearest escape routes, was seriously contemplating making a run for it, even if it got him shot. A couple of the altos appeared truly miserable, and in the stalls, Valensizi, eyes closed, the fingers of one hand resting just above one ear, seemed to be in physical pain. Listening to the screeching coming from the soprano section, Hogan could hardly blame her.
He made a quick mental bet with himself as to who would break out first, and within seconds, he won the wager.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, woman!" Doyle, pushing his way between Walford and Davies, burst out of the ensemble. "Stop flapping your hands about, that's not going to get them onto the note."
It should have been enough to draw swift repressive action from the guards, but they were as relieved as everyone else; Telemann actually suppressed a cheer. Doyle ignored it, and took his place at the front of the stage, waving the erstwhile director away.
"Now," he said in a tone of grave displeasure, "who can tell me what a discord is?"
A few seconds of silence ensued, then Newkirk held up his hand. "I think the technical definition, sir, is bloody awful."
"Quite correct, Newkirk." Doyle swept a look of disdain across the entire ensemble. "So stop doing it, all of you. From the beginning, please."
As he took charge, Hogan settled into the seat next to Valensizi. Fräulein Moller was sitting two rows behind, not quite close enough to overhear, but too close for it to be chance. Morrison was right; she was keeping the prima donna under surveillance.
Neither Hogan nor Valensizi spoke, as they watched Doyle take charge of the rehearsal. It was still bad, but at least he knew what he was doing.
Valensizi glanced at Hogan. "Is he well?" she asked, so quietly that Hogan would have missed it, if he hadn't been waiting her to speak. Obviously she had recognised Morrison's hammering skills, but hadn't dared investigate herself.
"Looks okay," he replied softly, and just for a moment, everything she couldn't say out loud was written on her face. "But the sooner we get him out of here, the better."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Not yet. Normally I'd just sneak him back to camp with the rest of the men, and hide him there till we could get him safely to England, but..." He broke off, frowning. Morrison was too memorable. It wasn't just Schultz who might remember the Abwehr major from Berlin; Klink knew him, too. And if Fräulein Moller was a Gestapo plant as they suspected, she probably had a description of the fugitive as well. Even getting the chance to talk to Morrison again was going to be hard work.
"I'll figure something out," Hogan finished at length. It sounded lame, but his train of thought was picking up steam. He'd already formed a plan to distract the accompanist, and with a bit of luck, the next rehearsal might see the guards fully occupied, too.