There was little conversation on the way to Hammelburg. Neither Hogan nor Staller felt they had anything further to discuss, and Newkirk, perhaps unconsciously, responded to the chilly atmosphere. He had to concentrate on the driving anyway, it wasn't that easy. Just enough rain had fallen to leave the road shiny and slippery, and it was in such poor condition that even if it had been dry it would have been difficult.
"Klink must have had a right old doing, getting over this lot in that old banger," he remarked, after they'd negotiated a particularly rough section. "Tell you what, Colonel, these Krauts ought to do something about the state of their roads."
"To be fair, Newkirk, it was our side that bombed this stretch," replied Hogan, making an effort to keep it light. "And if I remember rightly, you were part of the work detail that repaired it."
"Well, yes, but I didn't know I'd have to drive on it, did I? Otherwise I'd have made a better job of it." Newkirk broke off abruptly as they hit another bump. Then he went on. "You know, I reckon Klink'll be flat on his back for a month, at least. So some good'll come of it, anyway."
"Not really," said Hogan. "If Klink's off sick for that long, Gruber takes charge. We've just gotten Klink well-trained, we don't want to have to break in a replacement, even if he is only temporary."
He looked at his watch. "Any chance we can get the lead out? I'd like to reach Hammelburg before I get too old for this line of work."
Newkirk smirked, and put his foot down.
The staff car wasn't the most inconspicuous of vehicles. To avoid the risk of Klink spotting it and recognizing it as his own, Hogan directed Newkirk to park it in a back street, not far from the hotel, and walked the short distance through a fine, misty shower of rain.
"Newkirk, you wait outside," said Hogan quietly, as they approached the entrance to the Hauserhof. "I'll go in with Staller."
"That figures," muttered Newkirk. But he did as he was ordered, standing with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the passing traffic as if waiting for someone, while Hogan and Staller went on inside.
The Hauserhof was one of Hammelburg's busiest hotels, which made it ideal for meetings of this kind. Without exactly being crowded, the foyer had just enough comings and goings to make it easy getting in and out without attracting attention.
Hogan stopped just inside the door, scanning the place, trying to pick out their contact. It was pretty easy, as there were few men in Luftwaffe uniform. Of these, only one was a captain, a fair-haired young man absorbed in reading the local newspaper.
"That your man?" murmured Hogan.
Staller nodded. "Yes, that's Karl," he replied. He hesitated, then went ahead of Hogan to approach the man, who looked up with a boyish smile, folded his newspaper and stood up to shake hands. Hogan, regarding the man critically, concluded that he must be getting old, when the Underground contacts started looking like they had scarcely reached their teens.
It wasn't much of an exaggeration. Karl Weber appeared absurdly young to be in uniform. He was shorter than Staller, not excessively, but enough so that he had to tilt his head back slightly in order to look the major in the eye. There was an engaging air of bashful candor about him, but Hogan wasn't about to let appearances shape his conclusions about the man. Since he'd been at Stalag 13 he'd met plenty of nice young men who turned out to be not so trustworthy, not even counting Staller's easy charm and hidden ruthlessness.
Nevertheless, he responded pleasantly enough, as Weber, after a few words with Staller, came forward to meet him. "Rolf has told me about you, sir," he said, with a natural shy eagerness. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance."
"The feeling is mutual, Captain," murmured Hogan. "It's always a pleasure to talk to our boys in service."
They were speaking German, of course, but Hogan could detect no hesitation in Weber's speech, nor the slightest trace of foreign accent. Either he was indeed a native speaker, or he'd had one hell of a training course.
"Perhaps we could find somewhere quieter, and catch up," Staller put in. His German was pretty good, too, though not up to the same standard. "Herr Hoganfelder, would you care to join us?"
"I'd be delighted," replied Hogan. He cast a look around the foyer, as if he was in an unfamiliar place. "Isn't that the bar over there? Allow me to buy you a drink, gentlemen."
"Oh, please, sir," Weber protested. "You must allow me..."
"No, Captain, I insist." Hogan spoke mildly, but with decision.
Business in the bar was slow, so early in the evening, and they had no trouble finding a table in the corner. Drinks were ordered, and conversation remained general until the waiter had served them. Hogan counted it another point in Weber's favor that he drank beer, as Hogan did himself. Staller took a small cognac. It was hard not to think the worse of him for it.
Once they were sure of not being overheard, Hogan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and locking his fingers together. "Weber, you've got a problem in your organization," he said quietly.
Weber's expression didn't change, but to a keen observer his sudden tension was obvious. "What kind of problem?"
"The worst. Someone on the inside is feeding information to the Gestapo." Hogan noted the flush of color rising in Weber's face. "So far we've managed to intercept it. Never mind how. But the leak needs to be stopped."
"I understand," replied Weber. "Do you know who...?"
"Not yet. But we're hoping to get that information tonight." Hogan paused for a moment, debating with himself how much he should tell Weber. He decided to take no chances. "The man passes his information through the Kommandant of the local Luftstalag, a Colonel Klunk - no, sorry, I mean Klink."
Staller gave him a quick sharp glance, and bit his lower lip. But Hogan pressed on. "According to our sources, Klink is meeting the guy tonight, at a local tavern. What we'd like to do is have you there as well, and see if you recognize him. Then we can either deal with him from here, or your people at Düsseldorf can do the job."
There was a long silence while Weber thought about it. Then he looked up, with a slight crease in his forehead. "I have already seen someone here," he said, in a low voice. "One of our people. But I can't believe it of him."
"Who was it?" asked Hogan.
"His name is Josef Pitz. He is a delivery driver, he does a lot of work out of town." Weber's frown deepened. "It's very useful for us. But..."
"But useful for them, too," Staller put in, dropping into English. Both Hogan and Weber looked at him, and he flushed.
"Did he see you?" Hogan asked.
"He may have. And he would know me on sight." Weber folded his hands together on the table top. "It is possible that he's here by chance. His work takes him all over this part of Germany."
"Which would be handy for him, if he's a double agent," observed Hogan, considering the problem. "Let's play it safe. You'll wait outside the Hofbrau with me, and see if this guy Pitz turns up. Staller, you and Newkirk will be inside, keeping watch on Klink."
Staller looked as if he didn't care for the assignment, but he didn't argue. "If it is Pitz, what then? If he recognizes Karl..."
"What if he does?" Weber interrupted. "He would have no reason to think anything of it. My work also requires a certain amount of travel, it might well bring me to Hammelburg."
"Maybe. But it might also make him nervous." Hogan pinched his bottom lip. "In which case he may decide to bypass Klink and go straight to his Gestapo handlers."
"If that's likely, Karl, you'll be at risk. You better not go back to Düsseldorf," Staller added.
Weber shook his head. "No. I will go back tonight. If there is any threat to our people there, I have a duty to warn them."
"You also have a duty not to get caught," observed Hogan, regarding Weber with a more approving eye than he had before. The young man's determination struck a chord with him, it was exactly how Hogan himself would respond to a similar danger.
"I will not get caught," said Weber. "I have been doing this for a long time, sir. But if there is any difficulty, I may need to contact you. How can I reach you?"
"Do you have a short-wave radio? I'll give you our emergency frequency, and a recognition code." Hogan didn't say any more. He might be more favorably impressed with Staller's man in Düsseldorf than he had expected, but that didn't mean he was letting his guard down just yet.
He checked his watch again. "It's almost time. We'd better make a move."
As they headed for the street, Staller caught Hogan's arm for a moment, allowing Weber to draw ahead a little. "You're playing some funny kind of game here, Hogan. Seems to me like you don't really trust me or Weber. What's the deal?"
"The deal is, in this business we don't take too many people on trust," replied Hogan, with one eye on Weber. "Don't get me wrong, I'm prepared to give any man a chance to prove himself, but Weber's starting with a big handicap - you, Staller."
Staller went red. "I guess I don't get given any chances, right?"
"Wrong. You already had yours," said Hogan. He remained outwardly calm, but his voice was cold. "You had it a year ago, at 182 Squadron. And you blew it, Major."