Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kranz glance at the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, the ring embossed with the swastika. It seemed the right psychological moment to rush Kranz into a fresh decision which would delay discovery of his identity.
'When we get there give me a decent room where I can clean up and prepare myself before I see the Fuhrer. And it must have a safe where I can store secret papers..
`But the Fuhrer is at the Wolfsschanze; Kranz replied.
Lindsay swore inwardly as he sensed the twist of Kranz's head and heard the note of suspicion in his voice. First blunder – unavoidable but an unguarded remark which could betray him now. He responded instantly, still staring ahead, growling his reply.
'Kranz! Security – there is a driver with us in case you have overlooked that little fact..'
'I don't understand..'
Suspicion was giving way to bewilderment and Lindsay pressed his advantage home. He dropped his voice, without a glance towards Kranz, his expression bleak.
'He is expected,' he whispered. 'You know he never gives out advance warning of his intended movements – to foil any assassination attempt. Really, Kranz, I hardly like to hazard his reaction if I reported this conversation to him..'
'You have my full cooperation..'
Lindsay was unyielding. 'You are between the devil and the Lord none of us believes in. Russia or promotion stares you in the face. Don't forget that private room I asked for. Not a word to the Commandant concerning my arrival. And, preferably, not another word from you until I have rested.'
They could see the famous and vast picture window behind the terrace which had so impressed pre-war visitors to the Berghof. It was misted over with condensation which pleased Lindsay. Inside the place there would be terrible danger – but there would, also, thank God, be warmth. He was chilled to the bone – with the fatigue from the flight, lack of sleep, and, he admitted to himself, the most appalling drain on his nerves from the situation he had faced since landing in enemy territory.
Lindsay opened the door leading from his room inside the Berghof quietly after first checking the door frame. No alarm system to warn when the door opened. He peered out into an empty corridor. No guard outside. He had – by force of personality – frightened Kranz into accepting his presence.
How long that state of affairs would last was anyone's guess and he needed to explore the layout of the place before the inevitable unmasking of his true identity. Closing the door behind him, he padded silently along the polished woodblock floor. At the end a staircase led down to the next floor. He paused.
The whole place seemed deserted – not at all what he had anticipated. Then he heard the faint sound of a voice, a familiar voice. He moved down the carpeted staircase a step at a time. In the hall below a heavy wooden door was almost closed. The voice came from inside the room beyond.
As he approached the hall the voice became more distinct. Lindsay, puzzled, paused again. Kranz had quite positively told him the Fuhrer was at the Wolfsschanze and the Englishman was certain he had spoken the truth. So what – who – was behind that door?
The lower hallway was equally deserted, the heavy door open only a few inches – as though someone had omitted to close it properly. He recognized the voice now – there was only one man in the world who ranted and thundered in German in that fashion.
Cautiously, he gripped the handle and very slowly opened it a few more inches. He froze, stupefied at the spectacle inside. An assortment of large cheval mirrors stood arranged in a large circle. Inside the circle Adolf Hitler stood gesticulating, his forelock of hair drooped as he went on practising his speech and staring into the mirrors.
Lindsay watched, fascinated, then a wrinkle of doubt appeared on his ample forehead. His memory for people was encyclopaedic and highly visual, a memory finely honed by his experience as an actor. There was something horrific and yet unreal about the six Hitlers he could see from various angles.
Not daring to risk a second movement of the door he left it at the point he had pushed it open and, light-footed, skipped back up the staircase. The girl appeared as he was re-entering his room.
'I'm Eva Braun. And who might you be?'
The girl patted her fair hair and studied Lindsay frankly. It occurred to him that she was a bit of a flirt. He had performed another stage trick – swivelling on his heel in the doorway to his room as though just leaving rather than re-entering it. Not too intelligent, he summed her up, but possessed of a certain native shrewdness where men were concerned.
'I'm the Magic Man,' he responded humorously. 'I've just flown in to see the Fuhrer..'
'He's away at that awful place, the Wolf's Lair. Come and keep me company.' She led the way down the corridor in the opposite direction from the staircase and into a comfortably furnished living room, chattering all the time. 'I get so bored here while he's at Rastenburg – sit down on this sofa with me. I've just made some coffee – it's the real thing..'
Rastenburg? That was in East Prussia. Had he found the location of Hitler's secret headquarters? And there was something strange going on. Kranz might just have been unaware of the Fuhrer's presence at the Berghof – but Eva Braun, rumoured to be the Fuhrer's mistress, was bound to know his whereabouts. So who was the man pirouetting downstairs surrounded by mirrors? Lindsay was confused as Eva brought two cups, placed them on a low table and joined him on the sofa.
'I haven't seen" you before, Magic Man, she remarked, enjoying his little game. Intuitively he had sensed this rather childish approach would appeal to her. She was a girl who liked constant amusement. 'Does your crystal ball tell you the Fuhrer is coming here soon…?'
Lindsay never replied. The door was flung open and slammed back against the wall. The room was filled with SS armed with Schmeisser machine-pistols. Seven of them led by a Colonel in ordinary army uniform. Kranz hovered in the doorway.
'Excuse us, Fraulein,' the army Colonel said deferentially, 'I think this man is suspect.' His tone changed as he addressed Lindsay. 'Now who are you and where have you come from? I'm Muller, Commandant of the Berghof. We received no signals about you…'
Muller was a far more dangerous man than Kranz. Lindsay stood up slowly and studied the erect, stern- faced German from head to foot. His tone was quiet, almost offhand when he replied.
'I cannot see you remaining Commandant much longer – I am here on a special mission which concerns the Fuhrer and no one else..'
Muller took three quick paces forward, grabbed Lindsay's SS uniform by the collar and ripped it open. The RAF uniform beneath was exposed. The Commandant placed his hands on his hips.
'I thought there was something wrong about you.
A session in the cellars should prove rewarding. 'Hardly for you – once the Fuhrer arrives..' Outraged at this insolence, an SS man hefted his machine-pistol and lunged with the -butt, striking Lindsay on the jaw. The Englishman fell backwards and hit the wall and slithered to a sitting position as Eva ran from the room. He wiped blood from his mouth. At the last second he had moved; the butt had only grazed his jaw. hope the wound is still visible when the Fuhrer sees me,' he commented:
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Muller's eyes. His prisoner's calm reaction worried him. Behind the Commandant, Kranz took a few tentative steps into the room, speaking hesitantly.
'There is a safe in his room. I gave him the key – he spoke of secret papers..
'I am Wing Commander Ian Lindsay,' the Englishman said quickly. 'Nephew of the Duke of Dunkeith. I knew the Fuhrer before the war. Those documents are for his eyes only – I stole a plane and flew here from Algiers. You think I wanted to commit suicide? I was a member of the Anglo-German Fellowship. And that's all I'm going to tell you until I see the Fuhrer. If you value your cushy job here you'd better signal the Wolf's Lair informing them of my arrival. Meantime, I'd like to go back to my room..'