‘Across the street are officers of the Florida State Police. I daresay, that it will not be long, before the FBI start knocking on the door as well. Looks like you and Fraulein Holz, have become quite a couple of celebrities.’
Fleischer smirked. ‘Ach so. But I am still a bit puzzled, as to why you are in here, alone. Perhaps you think, you can just talk me down, make me give myself to the American authorities.’
Swan waved smoke away from his face. ‘Actually, that was exactly what I was hoping to do. But, something tells me, that’s the last thing, you would do.’
‘And you would be right. I have sworn an oath, Mr Swan, and intend to see it through to the bitter end.’ He rose from his seat and walked over to a cabinet. Curious of this sudden move, Swan also left his chair to follow him. The German turned, leaning his back on the cabinet, and Swan stopped a short distance in front of him. Fleischer stared at him. ‘So, how are the police to know when I am ready to come out?’
Swan turned his head to the window. ‘The idea was that we have our little chat, you tell me what it is exactly that has been done to the Eagle lunar lander, to make it fall. Then, we march out of here, and I alert NASA to delay the launch, while we unfix your little problem, Weisemann has done. Oh, and you give me the name of your other bird, Cormorant.’
Fleischer’s eyes widened at the name, but what Swan failed to notice, is he had opened a small drawer behind him; his body had kept it from the Englishman’s view.
Swan continued. ‘Yes, that’s right. Your useful little map in your secret room at home, revealed quite a bit. One thing we also found, was a wooden box, disguised as a book.’
Fleischer felt a rage welling within him. ‘What do you mean?’
Swan detected that the German was agitated by this. ‘I mean, the red box containing your old Reichsmarshall, Herman Goering’s specially made, onyx cross.’
Fleischer gasped, his anger increasing. ‘That is my cross, Mr Swan. The Reichsmarshall gave it to me for safe keeping, should something have happened to him. The other one, he gave to Kemmler. I want it back, Mr Swan. I suppose the BND have it now.’
Swan was surprised, but hid his reaction welclass="underline" If he didn’t have it, then where the hell is it?
The German’s expression had changed. A few minutes ago, he was calm. Now knowing that his prize possession had been found, he started to feel the pure hatred he had acquired for this man.
Swan decided to play a game with him. ‘When I found it, I held it up for us all to see,’ he lied. ‘Then it was safely put back in its box, and we took it back to the Hamburg office with us. The last I heard from Bruno Weitz, was that it went somewhere for authentication. Can’t be too hasty these days, lots of fake war artefacts have cropped up. The specialist said, that if it did turn out to be the genuine article, it will be one of the most valuable finds since the hoard of gold and stolen art found in the mine at Merkers-Kieselbach.’
Fleischer was now boiling over. As Swan had explained this to him, he had carefully gripped hold of the barrel of the pistol in the drawer, and slowly lifted it. Both hands were behind him, as if supporting his back, and the gun, although not loaded, was now in the palms of those hands.
As Swan continued talking, Fleischer checked him, taking in the distance. All he needed now was a distraction. He pretended to shrug. ‘So, my cross is now gone. Yes, it is the ‘genuine article’ as you say, Mr Swan. One, that I have treasured for a long time.’
Swan upped the pretence, mocking his opponent. ‘Well, look on the bright side, if you ever get out of prison, you will always be able to go and view it, in a museum.’
Fleischer looked towards the window. ‘One thing, Mr Swan? I did not see any police cars. I checked the street before returning to the house. You know, it is funny, but I somehow had a feeling that we would meet soon, you and me. I am now wondering, if you have really brought other officers with you, or perhaps you have decided to try and take your prize, by yourself. A bit of a cliché from your English spy novels, isn’t it, Mr Swan? The British agent, finally confronts his nemesis, and the final conflict commences. Who, will outsmart who?’
Swan chuckled. ‘No, I am sorry to disappoint you there Gunther, I’m not like 007 or Harry Palmer. When I’m offered help, I take it.’ He moved to his side, gesturing to the window, thinking of what Derby and his men were doing right now, in the house across the street.
Fleischer, seeing how distracted the Englishman was, made his move. Still holding the barrel of the pistol, he swung the gun through the air, connecting with the back of Swan’s Head. Swan fell forward, off balance, gripping the chair, the German had been sitting in.
Fleischer came up behind him, hitting him again. The SID man slumped over the seat, disorientated by the blow. Fleischer returned to the cabinet and putting his hand in the open drawer, retrieved the box of ammunition for the gun. As thoughts of quickly loading the gun to shoot this man, filled his head, he turned in dismay seeing Swan was recovering, raising himself from the floor. Fleischer realised that there was no time to load it. He held the box, making for the back door.
Swan moved quickly, pulling on the curtain to signal Derby, then looked around to see his man running down the path in the backyard.
Derby rushed in and saw Swan holding the back of his head. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘Fleischer escaped, and he’s armed.’
Derby looked at Swan with concern. ‘Jesus! You hurt?’
Swan righted himself, but he didn’t answer the sheriff. Instead, he turned and ran in the same direction.
About fifty yards in front of him, Swan saw his man, striding across the gardens. Fleischer stopped to decide where to go, then he heard footsteps behind him and turned his head. For a few moments, their eyes met and they stared transfixed at each other, across the chasm of properties between them. Angrily, Fleischer turned and ran, stooping under washing lines and hurdling over small wire boundaries. At the end of the row, he hopped over a small wooden fence, almost catching his leg, as he tried to clear the top of the rails. Slightly unbalanced, he used his arms to stabilise his momentum, then ran down a path, alongside some more houses.
Swan shouted to the policemen, who were gaining behind him, then gave pursuit. Coming to that small fence, he also hoisted himself over, clearing it a lot better than Fleischer, had.
Fleischer continued through a small park, bringing him into another street. The police had lost the trail, and had disappeared, but Swan was not far behind him, spying him through the steel railings, as he contemplated his next move. Then, the German turned to his right. By the time Swan had reached the park entrance, he was just in time to see the man disappear behind an apartment block.
Swan ran down the side alley between the two blocks. Suddenly, he heard a gunshot, and stopped as a bullet flew into a concrete post beside him. He rushed for cover, dropping down over a low wall. It was now to be gun battle. Swan shielded himself behind a big dustbin, as he retrieved Wenham’s Colt from the shoulder holster. Another shot rang out, bouncing off the big dustbin’s lid. Swan had to get better cover, as Fleischer was not running anymore. He knew that the German was close. He raised his head to check, to be met with another shot, one that missed his head by inches. Fleischer now had him pinned down. Suddenly, he heard his opponent cry out to him. ‘One thing that you probably do not know about me, Mr Swan, is that I am an expert marksman. At Peenemunde, I won the Echersheim Medal for my marksmanship. I can see you, Mr Swan, and I have a good sight on your hiding place. All you have to do is raise your head a little more, and it will be all over for you.’