The Valhalla Exchange

'Who from, Willi?'

'I don't know, Reichsleiter. I found it on my desk marked Priority Seven.'

Which was a code reference for communications of the most secret sort, intended for Bormann's eyes alone.

Bormann opened the envelope, then looked up, no expression in his eyes. 'Willi, the Fieseler Storch in which Feldmarschall Greim and Hannah Reitsch flew in to Berlin has been destroyed. Get on to Gatow at once. Tell them they must send another plane by morning, one capable of flying directly out of the city.'

'Very well, Reichsleiter.'

Bormann held up the envelope. 'Know what's in here, Willi? Some very interesting news. It would appear that our beloved Reichsfuhrer, dear Uncle Heini, has offered to surrender to the British and Americans.'

'My God,' Rattenhuber exclaimed.

'But what will the Fuhrer say, Willi, that's the most interesting thing.' Bormann pushed back his chair and stood up. 'Let's go and find out, shall we?'

5

From his window, Hesser could see out across the courtyard and outer walls to the road winding steeply down the valley to the river below. Beyond the trees was the tiny village of Arlberg, looking rather like something out of a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm, the pine trees on the lower slopes of the mountain behind it green against the snow. In fact it was snowing again now, only slightly, but for a moment, it seemed to make the world a cleaner, more shining place. Some throwback to childhood probably.

The door opened behind him and Schenck entered. Hesser said, 'Snowing again. It's hanging on this year.'

'True, Herr Oberst,' Schenck said. 'When I passed through the village early this morning I noticed the woodcutters' children from the outlying districts skiing to school.'

Hesser moved to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy. Schenck tried to stay suitably impassive and Hesser said, 'I know, the road to ruin, but it's bad this morning. Worse than usual and this helps a damn sight more than those pills.'

He could feel his left arm in every detail within the empty sleeve, every wire inside his broken body, and the glass eye was sheer torture.

'What does it matter anyway? The same roads all lead to hell in the end. But never mind that now. Did you try Berlin again this morning?'

'Yes, Herr Oberst, but we're just not succeeding in getting through.'

'And the radio?'

'Kaput, Herr Oberst. Stern found a couple of valves gone.'

'Can't he replace them?'

'When he opened the box of spares they had all suffered damage in transit from the look of things.'

'Are you trying to tell me we've no kind of communication at all with anyone?'

'For the moment I am afraid that is true, Herr Oberst, but with luck we should still get through to Berlin if we keep trying and Stern is out in a field car now, touring the district to see if he can find the spares he needs.'

'Very well. Is there anything else?'

'General Canning and Colonel Birr are here.'

'All right, show them in. And Schenck,' he added as the old lieutenant moved to the door.

'Herr Oberst.'

'You stay, too.'

Canning wore a sidecap and olive drab officer's trenchcoat. Birr was in a reversible camouflage and white winter uniform smock with a hood, of a type issued generally in the German Army on the Eastern Front.

Hesser said, 'Ready for exercise, I see, gentlemen.'

'Never mind that,' Canning said brusquely. 'What have you decided?'

Hesser raised a hand defensively. 'You go too fast, General. There is a great deal to consider here.'

'For Christ's sake,' Canning said. 'Here we go again. Are you going to do something positive or aren't you?'

'We've been trying to get through to Prisoner of War Administration Headquarters in Berlin since last night without success.'

'Berlin?' Canning said. 'You must be joking. The Russians are walking all over it.'

'Not quite,' Hesser said evenly. 'The Fuhrer, you may be dismayed to know, still lives and there are considerable German forces in the capital.'

'Four hundred and fifty miles away,' Canning said urgently. 'This is here, Max. What are you going to do here, that's what I want to know.'

'Or to put it another way,' Birr said, 'have you thought any more about sending Lieutenant Schenck to look for a British or American unit, perhaps in company with one of us.'

'No.' Hesser slammed his good hand against the desk. 'That I will not permit. That would be going too far. I am a German officer, gentlemen, you must not forget that. I serve my country the best way I can.'

'So what in hell is that supposed to mean?' Canning demanded.

Hesser frowned, thinking for a moment, then nodded. 'For today I will still keep trying to reach Berlin. I must know what their definite orders are in this matter.' Canning started to protest, but Hesser cut him short. 'No, this is the way I intend to handle things. You must make up your mind to it. First, to use a phrase you are fond of, we try channels.'

'And then?' Birr asked.

'If we are no further forward by this time tomorrow, I shall consider sending Oberleutnant Schenck out into the wide world to see what he can find. Always supposing he is willing to take his chances.' He turned to Schenck. 'I will not make this an order, you understand?'

Schenck smiled bleakly. 'I shall be happy to do as the Herr Oberst sees fit.'

'Why waste another day?' Canning began, but Hesser simply stood up.

'That is all I have to say, gentlemen. Good morning.' He nodded to Schenck. 'You will take the general and Colonel Birr to exercise now.'

* * *

It was cold in the water garden, snow flying every which way in the wind. The guards on each gate wore parkas and Schneider trailed along at the rear of Canning and Birr with Magda. Canning turned at one point and snapped his fingers. The Alsatian strained at her lead and whined.

'Oh, let her go, man,' he snapped at Schneider in German.

Schneider slipped her chain reluctantly and the bitch ran to Canning and licked his hand. He knelt and fondled her ears and said, 'Well, what do you think?'

'More than I'd hoped for. Hesser's a Prussian, remember. A professional soldier of the old school, God and the Fatherland branded on his backbone. You're asking him to throw in his hand. Not only to string up the white flag, but to go running around trying to attract somebody's attention with it. That's expecting a hell of a lot. I'd settle for what you've got if I were you.'

'Yes, maybe you're right.' Canning stood up as Paul Gaillard and Madame Chevalier appeared from the lower water garden, walking briskly. She wore a German military greatcoat and a headscarf and Gaillard had on a black beret and overcoat.

'How did you get on?' the Frenchman demanded as they approached.

'Oh, you tell them, Justin,' Canning said. 'I've had enough for one day.'

He moved away, Magda at his knee, went down the steps past the lily pond and entered the conservatory. Schneider followed, but stayed in the porch.

It was warm and humid in there, plants everywhere, palms and vines, heavy with grapes. He followed the black and white mosaic of the path and came to the centre fountain where he found Claire de Beauville tending the scarlet winter roses that were her special pride.

Canning paused for a moment, watching her. She was really beautiful, the dark hair pulled back to the nape of the neck, exposing the oval triangle of the face. The high cheekbones, the wide, quiet eyes, the generous mouth. He was conscious of the old, familiar stirring and the slight feeling of anger that went with it.

Orphaned at an early age and supported by an uncle in the shipping business in Shanghai, whom he never saw, he had spent most of his youth at boarding schools of one kind or another before he finally entered West Point. From that moment, he had given his all to the army; sacrificed everything to the demands of military life with single-minded devotion. He had never felt the need for wife or family. There had been women, of course, but only in the most basic way. Now, everything had changed. For the first time in his life, another human being could touch him and that was not a concept that fitted comfortably into his scheme of things.