'So Alexander…'
'Is only too pleased to cooperate with us. That's how we got his go-ahead. Pretty neat, eh?'
'It would appear so.'
'To recap,' Browne concluded. 'Find out where Adolf is holed up, check on whether he's running the show himself – and if not, who is his pet commander. Also the peace mission business. Then use the underground, who'll be waiting, and dash for Switzerland.'
'A piece of cake: Lindsay repeated drily.
The Englishman jerked himself into the present as he felt the machine change angle into a gentle descent. They were coming in to land at Rangsdorf, the airfield closest to the Wolf's Lair. Where, he wondered, peering down, the hell was it? Below was a sea of dense pine forest, the branches encrusted with snow, a forest dimly seen beneath a lake of white mist and nowhere was there a sign of human habitation. Bauer's voice spoke in his earphones.
'Five minutes and we'll be down.'
'Not in that lot, I trust?' Lindsay responded with a touch of grim humour, holding the headset microphone close to his mouth.
He heard the pilot's amused chuckle followed by his response. 'The radio works – none of those damned Bavarian Alps round here. I've contacted the airstrip and we're cleared to land. Watch my smoke!'
The airstrip appeared suddenly in a large clearing which seemed bereft of buildings, which struck Lindsay as strange. Where was the f-ff'ing control tower? It was a beautiful landing – Lindsay's professional expertise gave the German ten out of ten. The landing wheels kissed the earth and they glided along the runway.
Only at ground level did the buildings become visible. Their rooftops were camouflaged with netting entwined with creeper. Several even had plants growing on top. It was little wonder no one had so far spotted the Wolf's Lair from the air. Lindsay climbed out as soon as the plane was stationary – he had felt glued to his seat, petrified. First night nerves.
He thanked Bauer, shaking his hand warmly and genuinely as he congratulated him on his performance. The German made a self-deprecatory gesture but Lindsay could tell he was pleased.
'See you around.' Bauer grinned. 'How about a trip over the Russian front some time?'
' Some time..'
Lindsay turned his attention to the large Mercedes which had driven almost alongside the aircraft. A tall, good-looking man in army uniform greeted him, shooting out his right arm. 'Wing Commander Lindsay? I am Guensche, the Fuhrer's Adjutant. I am instructed to escort you immediately to meet the Fuhrer who has just arrived from the Eastern front. Heil Hitler! '
The news of his coming had preceded him, Lindsay realized at once. He noticed that all round the hidden airstrip men had stopped their work to stare at him. A Luftwaffe officer checking a Condor – the plane which had flown in the Fuhrer from the Eastern Front? The twin of the machine Bauer had described as taking off earlier from the airstrip near the Berghof? A mechanic holding a cloth also paused to stare at him and inside the small control tower someone was using binoculars to study him. He was the star turn!
'Thank you, Guensche. Do you mind if I ride in front. Sitting alone in the back I'd feel like the King!'
'But certainly, Wing Commander!' Guensche closed the rear door he had opened and led him to the front passenger seat. 'You know,' he continued after getting in behind the wheel and starting up the motor, 'whenever the Fuhrer is driven anywhere he, too, always insists on sitting next to the driver. He is truly a man of the people. Like yourself, sir, if I may say so..'
Lindsay reflected it was all so different from what he had feared. He was making friends hand over fist, a feat a certain Colonel Dick Browne of Ryder Street, London, would have found difficult to emulate. The Adjutant drove with skill along tracks between walls of gloomy pines as he continued to talk, providing interesting information.
'At the moment there is much activity, comings and goings, alarms and excursions..'
'Nothing serious, I hope?' Lindsay enquired.
'In the end, no! I am thinking of yesterday – there was a loud explosion. Like a bomb dropping. Then we realized it was the usual thing – a fox setting off a mine. Although this must have been several of them setting off two or three mines – the detonation was so loud. Wing Commander, you must not wander about without a guide. The Wolf's Lair is heavily guarded by minefields. I see the first checkpoint coming up. Don't worry – there are two more before we are inside the Wolf's Lair…' Ian Lindsay was not worried. He was petrified.
Chapter Nine
Adjutant Guensche had escorted Lindsay through three different checkpoints. Before getting into the Mercedes the Englishman had stripped off his flying jacket and was wearing his RAF uniform. He was intrigued that there were no signs of hostility from the various guards who stared at him with curiosity. He also noted that even Guensche, who must be known to all of them, had to show his pass which carried his photograph.
'The security is very good,' he commented as the German switched off his engine after the third vetting.
'Even Keitel and Jodl have to show their special passes before they're allowed through,' Guensche told him. 'The only exception is the Fuhrer himself…'
The journey from the airstrip had been depressing – everywhere the pine forest dripping with moisture, indicating a rise in temperature, had closed round them. The coils of drifting mist slipping between the trees like a ghost army added to the atmosphere of oppressive desolation. Now that they had arrived at the Wolf's Lair Lindsay was even more surprised at his primitive surroundings.
Beyond the wire they passed through was a jumbled collection of single-storey buildings which gave the impression they had been thrown up overnight. It reminded Lindsay of an army transit camp. The greatest attention seemed to have been paid to concealment.
As at Rangsdorf airstrip, the rooftops were covered skilfully with camouflage netting overlaid with creeper. The walls were painted in brown and green. Guensche turned and indicated a building they were approaching.
'The Lagebaracke – all military conferences are held either in there or in the Fuhrer's bunker. That building over there belongs to Field Marshal Keitel, that one is Jodl's. Martin Bormann's is outside. Speak of the devil..'
A short, overweight man in Nazi uniform had emerged through the doorway and stood respectfully to one side. Another man appeared, also in uniform. Lindsay could not prevent a brief stiffening of his muscles, then he forced himself to relax. The short man took up a position alongside his master and Lindsay was surprised to observe Bormann barely came up to Hitler's shoulder.
Bormann had seen Lindsay and said something to the Fuhrer, indicating the Englishman as the couple came closer to Guensche and his companion. He's telling him who I am, which is curious, Lindsay was thinking. Then, like the Adjutant, he shot out his right arm and held it at a motionless angle. His greeting coincided with Guensche's.
' Heil Hitler! '
The Fuhrer acknowledged the salute, his expression grim. Then the expression underwent a remarkable transformation. Lindsay – with his experience as an actor – was particularly well-equipped to appreciate the phenomenon.
The forbidding personality melted as Hitler held out his hand and shook Lindsay's. His smile was engaging, there was not a hint of affectation or condescension and he spoke as though addressing an old friend he was especially fond of.
'Welcome to my simple headquarters, Wing Commander. I look forward to our enjoying a long talk together. Before the war you were one of the few Englishmen who really understood what I was trying to do. Will you excuse me? I have had a tiring time and must rest…'
Then he was gone and two more men, both in military uniform, followed their leader out of the Lagebaracke. Guensche hardly moved his lips.