The smile embraced him. “Not that he did—he’s a terrible driver—
he crashes the gears on his Cavalier something awful, I’d never let him ride one of my horses—” the smile edited itself“—but where is he?”
“He’s gone home.” He fabricated slight embarrassment. “He spoke with his wife upon the telephone, from—from the museum of Panzers, Fräulein.”
“Faith?”
“Faith?”
“His wife—Faith.”
“Ach so—Faith—his wife.” He was conscious of serving up another inadequate explanation which needed more substance.
“There was some pressing family matter, I believe. But he said for you to telephone him at his home—the number I have for you.” He felt in his pocket. “And he said that he would return very soon, perhaps by nightfall.”
“Oh.” Audley’s absence had worried her, but now she was at least partially reassured. “He said to phone him?”
“Yes. At his home.” As he handed over the slip of paper he remembered his duty. “And Mr Kelly? I am to speak with him, if you please.”
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“Yes—of course . . .” More and more she was over-matched by the deadly game she had allowed herself to play, he could see that very clearly. But she was a long way from giving in to her fear even now. “He’s in the West Tower. Peter Bradley and Blackie are up there with him at the moment, running over our plans for this evening.”
“Our plans?”
“Didn’t David tell you?” She thought for a moment. “It was Michael’s idea . . . now that we’ve got the radios—to have two practice runs this evening, just after dark.” She smiled again.
“When you . . . arrived last night there was a certain amount of . . .
confusion. We don’t want that next time, so Michael’s arranged two intrusions for this evening—one will be coming over the top, by Caesar’s Camp, and the other will come down the stream, from the ford.”
That was interesting—interesting that Gunner Kelly had marked the stream as an approach route into the heart of the village . . . and interesting also that he had chosen to test the defences at two points which single intruders might favour. Whereas the KGB ...
the Special Bureau would send in a three man squad for this sort of operation: one man to make the hit, one backing him up, and a driver to get them in close and out quickly. For though they might expect the target to be on his guard after the Old General’s death, they would not— could not—imagine a community-in-arms waiting for them.
But then, equally, what did Michael Kelly expect? Or ... if Audley had warned him of KGB practices . . . why was he practising for a dummy1
single intruder? Why—unless Audley was right, and he already knew that it would be just that—just Aloysius Kelly—
“Captain?”
Benedikt blinked quickly, aware too late that he had been staring the poor girl out of countenance. “Forgive me, Fräulein! I was thinking . . . you are being very careful. And that is good: you are right to be very careful.” He smiled.
“Yes.” She did not find his smile reassuring, but she bore up bravely. “David said not to relax for a moment. And not to trust anyone we don’t know.”
“Including me?” Mother would not approve of her—of what she was doing. But Papa’s attitude would be more relaxed.
“Oh no! David said . . .” She trailed off. “Is what we are doing so very wrong, Captain Schneider?”
“Wrong?” He played for time.
“We’re not going to kill anyone. If we can help it.”
“You were going to kill someone—at first—weren’t you?” He watched her. “Or Mr Kelly was, anyway.”
She bit her lip. “Yes. That would have been wrong—David made us see that. But . . . these people . . . who do things like this—
killing Grandfather . . .”
“It was Mr Kelly they were after, though—yes?”
“That makes it worse. Killing Grandfather—or it might have been anyone passing by—just as though he didn’t matter one way or the other ... as though he was nothing—and ordinary people are dummy1
nothing.” Suddenly she was defiant. “Well, we’re going to show them that people aren’t nothing. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Them?” The phenomenon of the worm turning—and turning into a cobra as it turned—was an old and interesting one. But he had no time for it today. “And who is ‘them’, Fräulein?”
“Whoever comes. It doesn’t matter.”
“But only Mr Kelly knows. Because only Mr Kelly can summon them. Does that not worry you?”
“Why should it worry us?”
“For two reasons, Fräulein. Do you not want to know why they want him dead? Suppose Mr Kelly is a bad man . . . ?”
Her chin came up. “Michael served with Grandfather. If he was good enough for Grandfather, he’s good enough for us.” She looked at him proudly. “You never met Grandfather, so you can’t understand. But that’s the way it is.”
Amazing! But also wonderful in its ancient meaning: full of wonder
—the faith out of which great good and great evil came, according to its inspiration, from Jesus Christ to Karl Marx and Adolf Hitler.
“So—”
“Michael would have died for Grandfather.” She cut him off. “You should have seen him after . . . after the bomb. He could never have pretended that—the way he was . . . And he could have run away afterwards. But he didn’t, Captain Schneider.”
“No. He didn’t.” She was beautiful, thought Benedikt. God grant me another time, another place!
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“And he may still die for him, Captain Schneider. Because he’s the target here—no one else is in danger.”
He nodded. “Yes. But he is also an old soldier. So are you sure he will not prefer to kill for your Grandfather still?”
She smiled suddenly. “Because he has Grandfather’s old gun?
Captain ... he doesn’t know it, but that gun has no firing pin. It wouldn’t hurt a baby.” The smile became almost tender. “We know Michael. . . That was the only part of him we didn’t trust—
that’s why I gave him the gun, you see. Just in case.”
God in heaven! thought Benedikt. And that was a complication if things went wrong, too.
“But don’t you dare tell him that, though,” she admonished him.
“The moment he sends off for them, to let them know he’s here, we shalln’t let him out of our sight for a moment—David’s got it all worked out—that was why David was so angry when he went out to see you last night.... But. . . you go and talk to him—ask him about Grandfather ... I must go and see about supper—”
The rooms passed him by, dreamlike . . . Gunner Kelly— Michael Kelly—up against Aloysius, if not the KGB . . . with a useless weapon in his hand— God in heaven!
At the foot of the spiral staircase in the West Tower he met Blackie Nabb coming down, with a bearded young man at his back.
“Evenin‘, sir,” Blackie acknowledged him with an air of armed neutrality, his shot-gun safely broken open under his arm, while the bearded young man studied him in silence, frankly curious, as dummy1
he squeezed past up the narrow stair.
Duntisbury Chase was going on the alert between the two of them, guessed Benedikt: old and new skills, they had . . . but would that alliance be enough against Aloysius Kelly, whose own experience went back to General Franco’s war?
“Ahhh—Mr David’s German gentleman—Captain!” Kelly chose his Irish voice with which to greet him. But then he peered past him, towards the empty landing. “An‘ the Great Man himself—?”
“Dr Audley is at home. His wife summoned him.” The thin excuse again.