After Carter returned from his impromptu extermination assignment, he headed straight for the darkroom to develop the photos LeBeau had taken of the plans for Holtzmann's diamond manufacturing process. Hogan waited, more or less patiently, in the radio room, along with Kinch. Marya, still lamenting the loss of perfectly good borscht to such a turn of bad luck, stood nearby eating cold beans straight out of the can with a bent spoon, which Hogan had informed her was one of two specials on the menu that day… the other special being "nothing", and he had invited her to take her choice. She had exchanged the bath towel and fur coat she had arrived in for some rumpled and outsized fatigues, and that didn't really suit her either. But, for the moment, she bided her time. There was always a chance her luck would change for the better. It usually did, and it seldom took very long. She had learned not to concern herself too much with minor setbacks.

"I will admit," she ventured, "this visit is not quite as amusing as I had hoped it would be."

"Good," Hogan replied. "Don't get too comfortable. Maybe next time you'll think twice before you go getting yourself… and us… into a mess like this."

"There is problem?"

"I should have figured Holtzmann might get the Gestapo involved. With Hochstetter prowling around our hands are tied; we can't run the escape route and we'll be lucky to be able to communicate with London at all."

"You got that right," Kinch nodded. "We saw that radio detection truck he always drags along behind him roll in right after his goons tossed the barracks this morning. And they also brought in a portable unit for Klink's office, just to cover all their bases. Any messages will have to be short and sweet… emphasis on short."

"She was right about one thing; Holtzmann's real serious about getting that ring back, and his work is important enough for the Gestapo to come help him look for it. About the only thing that's gone right so far is the strike on his factory. It was a direct hit."

Marya brightened. "You see? Together we are invincible!" When Hogan failed to respond with complete agreement, or any other kind of agreement for that matter, she shrugged and scraped her spoon against the bottom of the nearly-empty can to reach the last of her no-frills lunch. "Hochstetter will find nothing. And Gussie is a weak man… morally, ethically, and in any other way you could possibly name. He is ripe for the picking, Hogan darling. He will not require much convincing to come over to our side."

"You keep saying that. What makes you so sure?"

"What choice does he have? He has no more factory. He would have to start over."

"What if he wants to?"

"That would require financing, no? Hitler may not be quite so quick to sign him a blank check this time. Although his research is quite valuable Gussie is not, how you say, 'politically popular'. He is not a favorite, and it would take him some time to acquire the backing he would need to begin again. He knows this. He is no gyeniy, you understand, but that much he knows. A generous offer from the Allies to fund his research in England… that will appeal to him."

Again, Hogan was forced to agree that she might well be entirely right about that. Holtzmann was between a rock and a hard place. His factory and his life's work were a still-smoldering pile of bricks and timber thanks to the RAF. And as important as his work obviously was to the Third Reich, as evidenced by Hochstetter's arrival, it was only one of a whole lot of expensive problems the Reich had to deal with at the moment… so unless he had an influential friend high up in the order, there was no guarantee he would go to the front of the line for funding. But there was still the chance that he would want to try. This was pretty high-level stuff he was working on, and the Nazis were sometimes annoyingly unpredictable when it came to such things. "You sure he doesn't have any important pals in Berlin?"

"Peh. He has personality of wet sock. Even his wife could not care less what happens to him."

Carter emerged from behind the black drape over the entrance to the darkroom, carrying a pine plank that had three strips of damp negatives clipped to it with mousetraps. "Here you go, Colonel. Fresh out of the fixer."

He held them up to the glow from a kerosene lantern as Hogan picked up a magnifying glass. "These look pretty good," he nodded as he moved the glass down the first strip of negatives. "Clear enough." He ran down the second strip. "Should make good prints."

"That's what I thought."

At the end of the third strip, Hogan paused. "What's this?"

Carter looked suddenly guilty. "Uh… what's what?"

"It's a picture of Marya and LeBeau!"

"Oh… um… there was just the one exposure at the end of the roll, and well, I didn't want to waste it… and LeBeau asked… so I just kinda…" He awkwardly mimed snapping a photo. "Y'know…"

"A souvenir of my visit to your wonderful tunnel," Marya smiled. "I'll take a copy for my wallet. And make another for my delicious small one."

Carter tipped his cap reflexively. "Yes, ma'am."

"What do you think this is, a corner drugstore?" Hogan demanded.

Before Carter could reply… and he was pretty sure his answer should be "no sir"… Newkirk appeared at the top of the ladder leading to the barracks. "We got trouble up 'ere."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The Gestapo kind."

Setting the strips of negatives aside, Hogan headed for the ladder. If there were any breaks to be had, it was a sure thing that none of them were coming his way.

oo 0 oo

Upstairs in Hogan's office, LeBeau had remained to listen to the coffeepot while Newkirk went to get the colonel. From the look on his face, Hogan was already sure the news was going to be of one type only: exceedingly bad. "What's up?"

In answer, LeBeau gestured to the speaker, from which Major Hochstetter's voice emanated. "Klink, I am warning you for the last time…"

"All I said was that I told you that you would not find that Russian woman in my camp… and you didn't… so…"

"Klink!"

"I don't even understand why it is that you think she's been kidnapped. That woman is likely to do anything. She could have simply taken it into her head to go somewhere without telling Holtzmann."

"In the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a diamond ring, a bath towel and a fur coat? Those are the only items missing from the room, according to Holtzmann! You think a woman dressed like that would not draw attention in Hammelburg?"

"I've told you how eccentric she can be…"

"She has no shoes, no papers and no money, Klink! Even an intellect as blunted as yours must be able to grasp that she did not leave that hotel room willingly! Holtzmann is a very important man to the Third Reich, that Russian has something of great importance to his work in her possession, someone who realizes its value has taken her, and I will find her if it is the last thing I do!"

"Sounds like he means it," Newkirk remarked.

"All we wanted to do was stall Holtzmann long enough to keep him from going back to his factory so he wouldn't be blown to bits in the air raid," Hogan grumbled. "Who knew anybody else would care; especially Hochstetter? We've gotta get to Holtzmann and hit him up with the idea of going to England, and fast, before Hochstetter decides to start taking this place apart again… next time he might find something. I'm going back to the hotel."

"Don't bother," LeBeau shook his head. "Before you got here we heard Hochstetter tell Klink that he's bringing Holtzmann back here for safekeeping. He's already sent a car for him."

That put a whole new level on the challenge. With Hochstetter's eye squarely on Holtzmann after he returned to Stalag 13, how were they going to manage to contact him in secret and try to talk him into defecting? "What car did he send?"

"Klink's."

"Who's the driver?"

"Schultz."

Hogan folded his arms thoughtfully. "I think Holtzmann is just about to meet somebody important. Really important."

Maybe… just maybe… they were about to catch a break after all.

oo 0 oo

As assignments went, Schultz mused as he drove along the Hammelburg Road towards Stalag 13, the ones he had been drawing recently were pretty dull… just exactly the way he liked them. As long as they wanted to keep ordering him to drive back and forth between the camp and town, either with or without anyone riding in the back, that was perfectly all right with him. It beat walking a post outside the wire. Just about anything beat walking a post, in the dark and the cold. When he was driving, he was sitting down… that in itself was an improvement. There was a heater in the car… sehr gut. Herr Holtzmann was completely silent in the back seat, making no demands for polite conversation or requiring his driver to expend any additional effort whatsoever… auch sehr gut. He had even managed to get himself a snack in town before stopping at the hotel to pick up his passenger. It was turning out to be a perfect evening.

Until the four heavily-armed masked commandos stepped out into the middle of the road in front of the car.

Schultz stomped on the brake, sending Holtzmann bouncing off the back of the front seat and then halfway onto the floor. "What are you doing, you imbecile?" he barked.

Schultz wasn't one to take offense; it didn't matter to him one bit what Holtzmann chose to call him… Holtzmann didn't have a gun, and those four men all did, so it was their opinions of him that mattered. "Stopping!" he stammered.

"Why?" Before Schultz could go into any further detail, Holtzmann saw for himself what the problem was. Instinctively he clutched his briefcase closely against his chest. "Drive around them, Schultz!"

The Luger pointed at him through the driver's window quickly convinced Schultz to disregard that suggestion. "I wouldn't," the gruff voice of the masked man holding the gun advised him.

"I wouldn't either…" Schultz agreed, managing to release his vise-grip on the steering wheel only so he was able to raise his trembling hands slowly into the air.

A second black-garbed man opened the rear door and gestured to Holtzmann. "You're coming with us!" he demanded.

"And if I refuse?" Holtzmann countered.

"Then the Russian woman dies!"

Holtzmann kept his seat and didn't even appear to be momentarily conflicted about his decision. Fortunately, his back was to the shortest of the four commandos, who took a step towards the car and raised his rifle as if he intended to smack the scientist in the back of the head with it, until one of his companions held him back.

"Let me put it another way," the one holding his pistol on Schultz began. "First the Russian dies, then you die. The Führer is accustomed to having his orders carried out immediately!"

That did get Holtzmann's full attention. "The Führer?"

"The Führer…" Schultz echoed with a faint groan. What had happened to his pleasant evening? One minute everything had been going fine; now there were masked men with guns talking about the Führer… and the chances that his own name would come up later on in front of people that he would rather never even realized he existed were getting better and better. "Ach du Lieber…"

"He desires to meet with you immediately!" the lead commando continued. "Are you sure you wish to keep him waiting, Herr Holtzmann?"

Schultz by now was more than halfway to a full-blown nervous breakdown as he scanned the dark forest surrounding the staff car, fearful that at any moment Adolf Hitler himself might descend from the hillside and order a double execution right there in the middle of the road. "The Führer is here?"

"Coming with us, Herr Holtzmann?" the masked leader demanded once again.

Now Schultz wasn't the only one with nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. "My factory…" Holtzmann murmured, beginning to think he understood what was really going on here. "Surely he will understand… the air raid… that wasn't my fault… what could I have done to prevent it…?"

"I'm quite sure he'll tell you."

Yes… that was very likely. Well, at least if he had an audience with the Führer he might stand a chance of trying to explain… if he stayed here, it was certain he would eventually be found with a bullet in a critical part of his anatomy and a rubber stamp of 'suicide' would be put on the cover of his personnel file. Resignedly he nodded his head, still squeezing the briefcase. "This stays with me."

Why not, Hogan thought… they already had photographs of everything inside, but if it suited him to take it along, that was fine with him. "All right," he nodded. "But hurry up."

"Excuse me, Herr…" Schultz paused. "I… I hope you will please excuse me, but I do not know your name… and let me be completely clear, I do not want to know your name… I want to know nothing… no-thing… but… I would like to ask you... what would you like me to do?"

"Stay here for one hour and do not move!" Hogan snapped.

Finally, a job that perfectly suited his capabilities. Even under the dire circumstances, Schultz almost managed a smile. "Jawohl!"

Holtzmann began to climb out of the back seat, but Hogan shook his head. "No, you stay there!" Then he turned to Schultz. "You! Out of the car!"

In short order Schultz found himself standing in the middle of the Hammelburg Road all by himself, on a moonless night, facing the prospect of a long walk back to camp as soon as his mandated waiting period was up, the sound of the staff car's engine getting fainter and fainter as it disappeared around the bend, now driven by the commandos, with Holtzmann still in the back. In spite of his basic dislike of activity, Schultz was almost looking forward to the walk. It was what would come after the walk, when he would have to figure out a way to explain to the Kommandant and to Major Hochstetter what had just happened, that he was really not looking forward to.

It would give them more than an hour without Hochstetter's interference, Hogan calculated as the four of them plus Holtzmann drove into the night. That should be just about long enough to cook up an audience with the Führer… their own home-made version, at least… to convince Holtzmann that his prospects for continuing his work for the Reich had been officially discontinued. Then it would be time to bring Marya back into the picture to dangle the carrot of a fully-funded research facility in England in front of him, and hope he would bite.

In the back seat, Newkirk was tying a blindfold over the scientist's eyes, to keep him from realizing that he was going right straight back into Stalag 13 for his meeting. It had at least a fifty percent chance of succeeding, and Hogan had played longer odds in his day. "Where is the Führer?" Holtzmann inquired.

"Closer than you might think."