Hoffer emerged from the smoke, a Walther in his good hand, and crouched beside him. Finebaum dropped to one knee by Howard. There was a pause, then the American's M1 came up.
It was Claudine Chevalier who finished it, her voice high on the morning air. 'No!' She screamed. 'Enough! Do you hear me? Enough!'
Finebaum turned to look at her, then back to Hoffer. The German threw down his Walther and sat back on his heels, a hand on Ritter's shoulder. Finebaum, without a word, tossed his Mi out over the parapet to fall through clear air to the courtyard below.
It was on the steps outside the main entrance that Canning met Henri Dubois for the first time. The Frenchman, a pistol in one hand, saluted. 'My respects, mon General. My one regret is that we couldn't get here sooner.'
'That you got here at all is one small miracle, son.'
'We must thank Monsieur Gaillard for that.'
'Paul?' Canning caught him by the arm. 'You've seen him?'
'He escaped from the village this morning and skied across the mountains, hotly pursued by some of these Finnish gentlemen. It was only by the mercy of God that he came across us when he did. He is in the ambulance now, at the rear of the column.'
'Thanks.' Canning started down the steps and paused. 'There was a man called Strasser in the village. He was in charge of this whole damn business. He had Madame Claire de Beauville with him. Did you get them?'
'We came straight through without stopping, mon General. Naturally Schloss Arlberg was our main objective, but if this man Strasser is there, we'll find him.'
'I wouldn't count on it.'
He found Gaillard on a stretcher in the ambulance at the rear of the column as Dubois had indicated. The little Frenchman lay there, a grey army blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes closed, apparently sleeping. A medical orderly sat beside him.
'How is he?' Canning demanded in French.
'He is fine, Hamilton. Never better.' Gaillard's eyes fluttered open. He smiled.
'You did a great job.'
'And the others — they are safe?'
'Claudine is fine. Justin got knocked about a bit, but he'll be all right. I'm afraid the rest makes quite a casualty report. Max is dead and Captain Howard — most of the Finns. Ritter himself. It was quite a shooting match up there.'
'And Strasser?'
'We'll get him — and Claire. Only a question of time now.'
Gaillard's face was twisted with pain, and yet concern showed through. 'Don't leave it, Hamilton. He is capable of anything that one. What he did to that girl was a terrible thing.'
'I know,' Canning said soothingly. 'You get some sleep now. I'll see you later.'
He jumped down from the ambulance and stood there, thinking of Strasser, wanting only to get his hands on his throat. And then there was Claire. Suddenly, he knew that she was by far the most important consideration now.
There was an empty jeep standing nearby. Without the slightest hesitation, he jumped behind the wheel, gunned the motor and drove out through the tunnel and across the drawbridge.
When he braked to a halt outside the Golden Eagle, the square was silent and deserted, everyone staying out of the way. There was an M1 in the rear seat of the jeep. He checked that it was loaded, then jumped out and kicked open the front door.
'Strasser, where are you, you bastard?'
It was very quiet in the bar — too quiet. He saw the bullet holes in the wall, the blood on the floor and the hair lifted on the back of his head. A stair creaked behind him. He turned and found Meyer standing there.
'Where is he?'
'Gone, Herr General. After the Finns left to hunt Herr Gaillard, he moved their field car to the rear courtyard where it was out of sight. When the French soldiers with the tanks came half an hour ago, they passed straight through without stopping. Herr Strasser drove away shortly afterwards in the field car.
'And Madame de Beauville — he took her with him?'
Meyer's face was grey, his voice the merest whisper, when he said, 'No, Herr General. She is still here.'
He stumbled along the hall, opened his office door and stood back. She lay on the floor, covered by a blanket. Canning stood there, staring down, disbelief on his face. He dropped to one knee and pulled back the cover. Her face was unmarked and so pale as to be almost transparent, wiped clean of all pain, all deceit. A child asleep at last.
He covered her again very gently and when he turned to Meyer, his face was terrible to see. 'Do you know where he went?'
'I overheard them speak of it several times, Herr General. There is an abandoned airstrip at Arnheim about ten miles from here. I understand there is an aeroplane waiting.'
'How do I get there?'
'Follow the main road to the top of the hill east of the village. A quarter of a mile on there is a turning to the left which will take you all the way to Arnheim.'
The door banged. A moment later, the engine of the jeep roared into life. Meyer stood there in the quiet, listening to the sound dwindle into the distance.
At Arnheim it was snowing again as the Dakota taxied out of the hangar. Strasser, standing behind Berger in the cockpit, said, 'Any problems with the weather?'
'Nothing to worry about. Dirty enough to be entirely to our advantage, that's all.'
'Good. I'll get out now and see to the Storch. I don't want to leave that kind of evidence lying around. You turn into position for takeoff and I'll join you in a few moments.'
Berger grinned. 'Spain next stop, Reichsleiter.'
Strasser dropped out of the hatch, skirted the port wing and ran towards the entrance to the hangar as the Dakota moved away. He took a stick grenade from his pocket and tossed it through the entrance, ducking to one side. It exploded beneath the Storch, which started to burn fiercely.
He turned away, aware of the Dakota turning in a circle out there at the end of the runway, and then a jeep swung through the entrance from the road and braked to a halt about thirty yards away.
Canning was aware of the Dakota turning into the wind out there, thought for one dreadful moment that he was too late, and then the shock of the Storch's tank exploding turned his eyes to the hangar. He saw Strasser in front, crouching as he pulled a Walther from his pocket.
Canning grabbed for the M1, fired three or four shots, then it jammed. He threw it away from him and ducked as Strasser stood up, firing at him coolly, two rounds punching holes through the windshield.
Canning slammed the stick into gear, revving so furiously that his wheels spun in the snow and the jeep shot forward. Strasser continued to fire, dodging to one side only at the very last minute, and Canning slammed his boot on the brake, sending the jeep into a broadside skid.
He jumped for the German while the vehicle was still in motion and they went over in a tangle of arms and legs. For a moment, Canning had his hands on his throat and started to squeeze, and then Strasser swung the Walther with all his force, slamming it against the side of the general's head.
Canning rolled over in agony, almost losing consciousness, aware of Strasser scrambling to his feet, backing away, the Walther pointing. Canning got to his knees and Strasser took careful aim.
'Goodbye, General,' he said and pulled the trigger.
There was an empty click. He threw the Walther at Canning's head, turned and ran along the runway towards the Dakota.
Canning went after him, forcing himself into a shambling trot, but it was hopeless, of course. Things kept fading, going out of focus, then back again. The one thing he did see clearly, and it was all that mattered, was Strasser scrambling up through the hatch. The Dakota's engine note deepened, and then it was roaring along the runway.