The Valhalla Exchange

Ritter turned to look at him. 'She is not well, as you can see.'

'This is not your department, so kindly keep out of it,' Strasser told him coldly.

Ritter hesitated then got to his feet and moved a few paces away. Strasser said, 'You were discovered?'

'Yes.'

'Then how do you come to be here?'

'General Canning threw me out.'

Strasser stood there, confronting her, hands clasped behind his back, a slight frown on his face. He nodded slowly. 'Exactly the sort of stupidity he would indulge in.'

'What happens now?'

'To you? A matter of supreme indifference to me, Madame.'

He started to turn away and she caught his sleeve, shaking again now, tears in her eyes. 'Please, Herr Bormann, Etienne — my husband. You promised.'

'Strasser,' he said. 'The name is Strasser, Madame, and in regard to your husband, I promised nothing. I said I would do what I could.'

'But Colonel Rattenhuber — '

'- is dead,' Strasser said. 'And I can't be responsible for the empty promises of a dead man.'

There was horror and incredulity on her face now. 'But I did everything I was asked to do. Betrayed my friends — my country. Don't you understand?'

From the doorway Gaillard said, in shocked tones, 'For God's sake, Claire, what are you saying?'

She turned on him feverishly. 'Oh, yes, it's true. I was the puppet — he pulled the strings. Meet my master, Paul. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann.'

'I really am growing rather weary of that bit,' Strasser said.

'Would you like to know why I did it, Paul? Shall I tell you? It's really very simple. Etienne wasn't killed escaping from SD Headquarters in Paris as we thought. He's alive. A prisoner at Mauthausen concentration camp.'

There was agony on Paul Gaillard's face — an overwhelming pity. He took her hands in his. 'I know, Claire, that Etienne wasn't shot trying to escape from Avenue Foche. I've known for a long time. I also know they took him to Mauthausen.'

'You knew?' she whispered. 'But I don't understand.'

'Mauthausen is an extermination camp. You only go in, you never come out. Etienne died there in the stone quarry two years ago along with forty-seven American, British and French fliers. There seemed no point in causing you needless distress when you already believed him dead.'

'How did they die?'

Gaillard hesitated.

'Please, Paul, I must know.'

'Very well. At one point in the quarry there was a flight of steps, 127 of them. Etienne and the others were made to climb them carrying heavy stones. Seventy, eighty, ninety, even one hundred pounds in weight. If they fell down they were clubbed and kicked until they got up again. By the evening of the first day half of them were dead. The rest died the following morning.'

* * *

Canning and Justin Birr had a plan of the castle open across the top of the piano. Claudine Chevalier sat opposite them, playing softly. The door opened and Hesser and Howard entered, the German brushing snowflakes from the fur collar of his greatcoat.

Canning said briskly, 'I've called you together for a final briefing on what the plan must be in case of an all-out assault.'

'You think that's still possible, sir?' Howard asked.

'I've no reason to believe otherwise. One thing is absolutely certain. If it comes at all, it must come soon. I'd say no later than dawn because the one thing Strasser or Bormann or whoever he is doesn't have is time. An Allied column could cross this place. However' — he pulled the plan forward — 'let's say they do attack and force the drawbridge. How long can you hold them before they blast that gate. Howard?'

'Not long enough, General. All we have are rifles, Schmeissers and grenades and one machine gun up there. They still have two half-tracks with heavy machine guns and a lot more manpower.'

'Okay — so they force the gates and you have to fall back. What about Big Bertha, Max?'

'She is in position thirty yards from the mouth of the tunnel and overflowing with scrap metal. However, I can't guarantee that she won't blow up in the face of whoever puts light to her.'

'That's my department,' Canning told him. 'I said it, I meant it. If it works, we dispose of the first half-track out of the tunnel and probably every man in it. That should even things up a little.'

'Then what?' Howard demanded.

'We retreat into the north tower, get the door shut and stand them off for as long as we can.'

Justin Birr said mildly, 'I hate to mention it, Hamilton, but it really isn't much of a barrier, that door. Not if somebody starts chucking grenades at it.'

'Then we retreat up the stairs,' Canning said. 'Fight them floor by floor, or has anybody got a better suggestion?' There was only silence. 'All right, gentlemen, let's get moving. I'll see you on the wall in five minutes.'

They went out. He stood there looking at the plan for a while, then picked up a German-issue parka and pulled it over his head.

'A long wait until dawn, Hamilton,' Claudine Chevalier said. 'You really think they'll come?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'And Paul and Claire? I wonder what will happen to them?'

'I don't know.'

'Or care?'

'About Gaillard — yes.' Canning buckled on his holstered pistol.

'How strange,' she said, still playing, 'that love can turn to hate so quickly — or can it? Perhaps we only delude ourselves.'

'Why don't you go to hell?' Canning suggested bitterly and he walked out, slamming the door.

* * *

When Sorsa went into the bar at the Golden Eagle he found Ritter sitting by the fire, a glass in one hand. Sorsa beat the snow from his parka. Ritter didn't say a word, simply stared into the fire. The door from the kitchen opened and Erich Hoffer entered with coffee on a tray. He put it down on the side-table without a word. Ritter ignored him also.

Sorsa glanced at the sergeant-major, then coughed. Ritter's head turned very slowly. He glanced up, a brooding expression in his eyes.

'Yes, what is it?'

'You sent for me, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

Ritter stared up at him for a moment longer, then said, 'How many did you lose up there?'

'Four dead — two seriously wounded. We brought them back here for the doctor to deal with. Three others scratched about a bit. One of the half-tracks is a complete writeoff. What happens now?'

'We attack at dawn. Seven o'clock precisely. You and your men are still mine until nine, remember.'

'Yes, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'I'll take command personally. Full assault. We'll use Panzerfausts on the drawbridge. Hoffer, here, was the best gunner in the battalion. He'll blow those chains for us, won't you, Erich?'

It was delivered as an order, and Hoffer reacted accordingly, springing to attention, heels clicking together. 'Zw befehl, Sturtnbannfuhrer.'

Ritter looked up at Sorsa. 'Any questions?'

'Would it make any difference if I had?' Sorsa asked.

'Not really. The same roads lead to hell in the end for all of us.'

'A saying we have in Finland also.'

Ritter nodded. 'Better leave Sergeant-Major Gestrin and four of your best men down here to hold the fort while we're away. You get back to your camp now. I'll be up in a little while.'

'And Herr Strasser?'

'I shouldn't imagine so, not for a moment. Herr Strasser is too important to be risked. You understand me?'

'I think so, Sturmbannfuhrer.'

'Good, because I'm damned if I do.' Ritter got to his feet, walked to the bar and reached for the schnapps bottle. 'I've known a lot of good men during the past five or six years who are no longer with us, and for the first time I'm beginning to wonder why.' There was a kind of desperation on his face. 'Why did they die, Sorsa? What for? Can you tell me?'

'I'm afraid not,' Sorsa said gently. 'You see, I fight for wages. We belong to a different club, you and me. Was there anything else?' Ritter shook his head. 'Then I'll get back to my boys.'