As Michael started toward her, his eyes followed the gaze of her wide, horror-filled eyes and he suddenly saw what had attracted her frightened, fascinated stare.
In the gloom of the corridor, not a foot from her face, a heavy black gun was visible, menacing her with its grim blue-holed muzzle.
The gun was suspended in the air, five feet from the floor, a chilling, unnatural spectacle that apparently defied the laws of gravity.
Then Michael saw the shadowy hand that held the gun, and against the uncertain gloom of the hall he made out a vague spectral shape crouched before the girl’s terrified figure.
A flood of relief washed over him.
“Paul!” he cried. He broke into £ run. “Don’t shoot; it’s all right.”
He saw the shadowy suggestion of a head turn toward him, then the gun lowered slowly. The girl leaned weakly against the wall. There was pathetic relief in her eyes as she saw Michael, but a wordless horror still lingered on her white features.
“Michael,” she gasped. “What is it? Am I losing my mind?”
Michael put his arm about her slim bare shoulders and drew her close to him. She laid her head against his breast, sobbing.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he murmured. “This is Paul Cheval, the man who eliminated Heydrich.”
“But—”
“I know. You can’t see him. But neither can the Gestapo, which is quite an advantage.”
A faint humming sounded, grew louder, finally fading away to an indistinct murmur. Gradually the shadowy shape of Paul Cheval materialized. He stood before them, the gun still held in a hand at his side, his dark face grimly anxious. The invisibility head-piece was still strapped to his forehead.
Michael introduced him to the girl and rapidly explained to her how he had come into possession of the headpiece at the destruction of Lidice.
Paul glanced nervously down the darkened corridors.
“There is not much time for talk,” he said. “The Storm Troopers of Captain Mueller are outside, waiting for a signal from him to enter. They will not wait much longer.”
“I am leaving for Berlin immediately,” Michael said. “You’ve got to hold the Troopers for a few minutes, Paul, while Marie and I slip out the back door. I have just received information from London that the second front will soon be opened on the continent. My orders are to contact every underground worker I possibly can with this news. We’ve got to strike at the Nazis with everything we’ve got. Rumors, assassinations, sabotage — all of these must be increased a hundredfold. We’ve got to give the Storm Troopers and Gestapo so much to do inside Europe that they’ll take their eyes off the outside. Our job is to turn the continent of Europe into a cauldron of boiling trouble for the Nazis. Heydrich’s death is only the start. From now on nothing must stop us.”
Paul nodded. “Nothing shall stop us. The people of this region are ready for open revolt. Already fifteen hundred innocent hostages have been killed for the assassination of Heydrich. And more will be killed every day. The people have reached the breaking point.”
“Good!” Michael snapped. “The Nazis are choking themselves to death with their own blood lust.” He reached out suddenly and gripped Paul’s shoulder. “When I finish my assignment in Berlin I am going back to London. Those are my orders. A camouflaged R.A.F. plane will pick me up when my work is done. But the fight here must go on. You must not falter, Paul. The second front is coming, but the dominated peoples inside Europe must prepare for it as carefully as our Allies outside Europe.”
He broke off suddenly. Through the dark building came the echoing tread of swiftly striding booted feet.
“The Storm Troopers of Captain Mueller!” Marie cried.
“We must go!” Michael said softly. “This is goodbye, Paul. Hold them for a few seconds, at least. That will give us a start.”
Paul’s hand flicked up to the dial on his head-piece. The humming noise sounded and then his body faded slowly, almost imperceptibly, into the dark gloom of the corridor. His eyes were visible for a last instant, cold and gleaming in the blackness.
“I will hold them,” he whispered. “Now go!” His formless, invisible hand touched Michael’s arm for an instant. “Until we meet again.” Then he faded away toward the sound of advancing troopers.
Michael took Marie’s hand and ted her swiftly through the blackened corridors, toward a rear door, which he knew would be unguarded.
A shot suddenly echoed through the building, followed by hoarse, confused shouts. Another shot rang out. And the sound of booted feet scrambling for cover could be heard.
Michael’s hand gripped Marie’s tightly as they slipped from the building into the narrow alley-way that flanked it. His thin face was set in hard lines; his yellow-green eyes flashed in the darkness.
The sound of another shot was heard; three more followed in quick succession.
“Michael!” Marie whispered tensely. “Has Paul a chance of escaping?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But if he doesn’t, he’ll send a number of Nazis to hell before they get him. Come, we have to hurry.”
Chapter VI
The sleek light bomber settled gracefully to a sprawling landing field on the outskirts of Berlin. The pilot cut the throbbing roar of the engines as the plane taxied to a stop facing the administration buildings of the field.
An attendant ran to the plane and adjusted a portable stairway to the gleaming side of the ship. Then he swung open the door.
“Thank you,” Michael Faber said, smiling. “I see that you received my radio message. Is the car waiting?”
“Yes, Herr Faber,” the attendant said, “everything is in readiness. Do you wish to leave immediately?”
“Yes. Speed is essential.”
“I will take you to your car.” Michael strode down the sloping walk to the field. Marie Kahn followed him, walking carefully on her high-heeled evening shoes. She wore Michael’s suit coat over her bare shoulders.
Michael held her hand tightly as they hurried across the field to where a low-slung, powerful car awaited them.
“Our luck is still holding,” he whispered. “Obviously Mueller’s body hasn’t been discovered yet.”
The slanting rays of false dawn were coloring the blackness of the eastern horizon and, despite the season, there was a noticeable chill in the air.
The landing-field attendant opened the door of the waiting car with a flourish and stepped aside.
“You will be at your destination in twenty minutes, Herr Faber,” he said. He smiled brightly. “I trust I have handled everything to your satisfaction, Herr Faber.”
“Absolutely,” Michael said. “And I shall see that word of your good work is passed on to your superiors.”
“Oh, thank you, Herr Faber.” Michael helped Marie into the car and stepped in after her.
“Central Intelligence,” he said to the driver, a stocky, blonde man wearing, a corporal’s uniform. “And hurry!” The driver nodded without turning. The gears of the car meshed smoothly and it shot away from the field, rapidly gathering speed.
Michael looked down at the red-haired girl at his side and he smiled softly.
“So far, so good,” he murmured.
“We have been lucky,” the girl said. “Let us pray our luck holds.”
“It must hold,” Michael said grimly. Nothing more was said until they reached the blacked-out Unter den Linden and turned off on a deserted side street that led to the Central Intelligence offices.
“Do you know any of the staff at Central?” Michael asked quietly.
“No. Why?”