He started for it.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Several men came running from behind the leaning wall, across the big, empty stage.
Two SS officers and two SS men. All armed. Dirk had the Luger in his hand. Halfway across the stage the Germans spotted him and the others. They came abruptly to a halt at the brief command of the senior officer. An SS Standartenführer.
The two SS men immediately trained their unwavering Schmeisser machine pistols on the three fugitives standing dumbly at the pinrail; the officers held their Lugers ready.
Dirk threw a quick glance toward the break in the rear wall. It was the only way out. The only avenue of escape.
They had no chance whatsoever of reaching it.
Backs to the pinrail, they stared at the SS men.
The senior officer took a single step toward them. He stopped. He stared at his trapped quarry. The look of triumph blazing in his eyes rivaled the brightest flame of the hell raging below.
Dirk stood motionless. For a brief eternity the two men stood stock still, staring at one another.
The SS colonel would be Werner Harbicht, Dirk thought. The officer Himmelmann had warned them against. Their nemesis, he'd said. He'd called the shots….
Harbicht had not missed Dirk's glance toward the ragged break in the wall. Without taking his eyes from his cornered prey, he barked a short command. One of the SS men ran to the break and took up position, still covering the three captives with his Schmeisser. Rauner and the other SS man closed up on either side of Harbicht.
Dirk's mind was in turmoil. But one fact stood out with glacial clarity. They were alive! Harbicht and his men had not gunned them down. As they could have done…. He fought to bring order to his whirling thoughts. To reason clearly. Why? He, too, was armed. Why would the SS officer take the chance of being killed? There was only one answer. He wanted them alive. Needed them alive. Why? Information. With lightning lucidity he knew.
Oskar!
The big man had not talked. If he had, Harbicht would have shot them down the moment they were trapped. He had to take them alive. Make them talk….
He shivered.
There was a way to cheat Harbicht. One single, certain way.
The Luger suddenly felt heavy in his hand. All it would take would be three rounds. One for Sig. One for Gisela. One for himself. Had that been Oskar's way out?… His hand twisted on the gun. He'd have to act fast — before the Schmeissers could disable him and leave him or either of the others alive….
All at once he felt completely calm. He had made his decision. He would carry it out as fast as he could. Gisela first. She must not suspect for an instant. Then Sig. He would understand. They would be the victors after all….
He felt himself tensing.
He did not look at his friends. He dared not meet their eyes. He cast one last glance around him. A final gaze at the place that would be the last his eyes would ever see….
The gutted theater auditorium. The raging fire below. The scarred and ravaged structure itself Ruins…
His eyes swept the dismal vastness of the stage, once the setting for the brightest make-believe. Now marred and dead, tiny curls of smoke rising from the cracks and rifts in the flooring. And above — high above — the flourishes of play-making, the colorful set pieces once bathed in brilliant stage lights.
His eyes suddenly focused. There — high above — suspended from the gridiron by a single, heavy rope — hung a large section of a hanging catwalk, several floodlights still clamped to its iron railing….
His heart pounded. He needed time. Just a little time, please God…
The seconds raced by.
He was suddenly aware of movement out on the stage. Harbicht was motioning his men to fan out. At once Dirk called to him, at the top of his voice.
“Colonel Harbicht!”
The Germans froze. Harbicht stared at Dirk.
“You are Colonel Harbicht?” Dirk shouted.
Harbicht nodded curtly. He contemplated the enemy saboteur. American? Certainly not British. No Engländer ever lost his accent that thoroughly. He was vastly intrigued The terrorists were cut off. They were his. He could afford a little cat-and-mouse game. He could afford to let himself be amused. And he did need them alive. He would listen to what the man had to say. For a while. Whatever it was, it could be put to use. Later…
Without turning, Dirk spoke urgently to Sig, standing behind him with Gisela. “Don't look up now,” he said. “Wait. There is a heavy section of a catwalk hanging above. Trace the rope that is holding it. Find the pin it's fastened to. Got it?”
He heard Sig's constricted voice from behind him. “Yes.”
“Tell me as soon as you've found it.”
Harbicht was calling to him.
“I am Standartenführer Harbicht!” he responded.
“Can we make a deal, Colonel?” Dirk cried. “Let the others go, and I'll tell you anything you want to know!”
Harbicht smiled coldly. “I fear that is not possible,” he called. “You — or one of you — will tell me anyway!”
“How about the girl?” Dirk shouted. “She can be of no use to you”
Harbicht gloated. Interesting. His tolerance had paid off. Useful. An attachment between the girl and the obvious terrorist leader. Very useful… The girl. Harbicht was suddenly filled with cold hate. The girl. A German. Ein Verräter! — a traitor! Without her help, and the help of other contemptible scum like her, the saboteurs could not have succeeded. Could not have shown him up the way they had. The girl… She least of all would be let go.
Dirk heard Sig hiss from behind him.
“Got it!”
“Work the rope loose,” he growled. “Hurry! Gisela! Stand in front of him. Cover him!”
He heard her voice, husky with tension. “Yes, Dirk.”
Harbicht was smiling again. A derisive grimace.
“Throw your gun away,” he cried. “Come over here. Slowly. With your hands on your heads. All three of you.” His voice was mocking them. “Then we will talk deal!”
Dirk's thoughts were racing. Time A few minutes. Seconds, perhaps. He had to stall. How? Oh, God, how?…
Sig was working feverishly. The first few turns came off easily. He was down to the last belaying loop. It was caught and wedged so tightly by the enormous weight of the catwalk that he could not budge it. Desperately he ripped and clawed at the jammed rope, splitting his fingernails. He made no headway….
Dirk riveted his eyes upon the Gestapo colonel. The man was the only thing in the world that existed for him. He stood like a menacing SS Mephisto clad in his black Nazi uniform, feet firmly planted on the stage floor, oblivious to the spirals of smoke rising around him. He seemed to have stood there in the middle of the empty stage for hours….
Stall!
“Colonel Harbicht!” he yelled. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you can get us to talk. But — it will take time. Do you have that time?”
He strained to make out what was happening behind him. It was impossible…. What was Sig doing, dammit? What was holding him up. He fought down the urge to turn around. Hurry…!
“If you will let the others go,” he continued, “I will talk now! Answer any questions you may have!”
Harbicht made a small gesture of dismissal with his hand. Somehow it was a gesture infinitely sinister. “Only one question is of interest to me,” he cried. “Answer that for me. Now! And I may be inclined to discuss letting the girl go free!”