“It might have helped if you did. The problem of getting in at this hour of the morning might be difficult. But we’ll manage.”
“The office is in charge of Marshal von Umbreit,” the girl said, “but I know nothing of him.”
The car rolled to a smooth stop a few moments later in front of a modern, white-fronted building. The building was completely dark and sandbags were piled high against the walls.
The driver got out and opened the door.
“Will that be all, sir?” he asked.
Michael noticed that a half dozen guards were on patrol in front of the building and that two of them had halted and were watching the car.
“Yes,” Michael said, “that will be all.”
He stepped out into the dark street and gave his hand to Marie. When she stood beside him on the sidewalk the driver saluted jerkily, got back into the car and drove off.
Michael took the girl’s arm.
“Follow my lead,” he whispered. In a louder voice, he said, “Come, Fraulein, there is not a minute to lose.”
The words carried clearly in the dead silence of the night.
Michael saw the two guards moving slowly toward them, their booted feet sounding ominously on the hard sidewalk, but he pretended to be unaware of their presence.
With his hand on Marie’s arm he strode briskly toward the main entrance of the Central Intelligence building. The booted feet broke into a run and a guttural voice cried, “Halt!”
With his foot on the first step leading up to the building’s main door, Michael paused. He turned as the two guards approached at a lumbering run, rifles held in readiness.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Just the men I wanted to see. Where the devil were you hiding yourselves?
Napping on post, I dare say.” He turned to Marie. “Make a note of that, Fraulein. It’s time steps were taken about such carelessness.”
The two guards came to a stop, their mouths dropping in amazement. The larger of the two, a florid-faced, cold-eyed example of the Prussian type, stuttered speechlessly.
“What is the meaning of this?” he finally managed to bellow. “Who are you? What do you want here at this time of night? Where are your papers?”
“You want a lot of information, don’t you?” Michael murmured. “Has it ever occurred to you that the British, too, want precisely that same type of information? No, of course it hasn’t. My good fellow, we are here to see Marshal von Umbreit. If you can take us to him, please do so. If not, find us someone capable of performing that task. We have no time to waste.”
The guard’s beefy face reddened.
“Marshal von Umbreit,” he fumed, “will not be here for another five hours. I demand to see your papers.”
Michael studied the man with cold, deliberate eyes.
“Would you be good enough,” he said, “to tell me when you had your last discussion with the marshal about his plans for this morning?”
“I have had no discussion with the marshal,” the guard said, flustered, “but it is his custom—”
“Bah!” Michael said in disgust. “How can we win a war handicapped by clods like you?” He whipped out his wallet and held his identification under the guard’s nose. “I am a special agent from Marshal von Bock. “Tell me, have you heard of Marshal von Bock?”
“But, of course,” the guard mumbled. “I—”
“This is Fraulein Marie Kahn,” Michael snapped, “from the office of Heinrich Himmler. Have you heard of him?”
“Yes—”
“We are here to see Marshal von Umbreit in regard to the assassination of Upper Group Leader Heydrich. Is that name familiar to you, Herr Dumpkoff?”
“Certainly,” the guard cried, his voice breaking slightly. “I—”
“You’re progressing,” Michael said gently. “Now,” he said, his voice hardening, “will you take us to Marshal von Umbreit’s office, or shall I call Himmler?”
“This is against my instructions,” the guard moaned. “If anything happens—”
Michael turned to the red-haired girl.
“What is Himmler’s private number?” he asked.
“No!” the guard almost shrieked. “Do not call him. It will not be necessary. I–I will take you to the marshal’s office. Come with me.” Michael’s hand closed tightly over the girl’s as they followed the guard up the steps of the building to the main entrance.
The guard swung wide the heavy brass doors and preceded them into the darkened interior of the building. He drew a torch from his pocket and shot a beam of light down a wide, heavily carpeted hallway.
“Because of the blackout,” he said, “we can have no lights.”
“Oh, is that why?” Michael said. “I thought for a minute you were just being economical.”
“Oh, no,” the guard chuckled. “It is the blackout orders. It is silly, but it is an order.”
“Silly?” Michael said. “You don’t think the R.A.F. will come this way?”
“Of course not,” the guard said. He led them down the wide corridor, past imposingly lettered doors, toward a heavy double door at the end of the hall.
“You seem confident about not being bombed,” Michael said, “but how about Cologne? They tell me there was a raid over that city.”
“British lies,” the guard scoffed. “The German radio said no damage was done. One report said that only a few cows were hit by bombs.”
“That’s right,” Michael said, “but those cows burned for five days.”
“That’s right,” the guard smiled. “They burned for five—”
He stopped smiling and looked sharply at Michael. He scratched his head slowly and a peculiar look of bewilderment spread over his blunt features.
“Five days,” he mumbled. “That’s a long time for cows to burn, no?”
“An ordinary cow might not burn that long,” Michael said, “but naturally the superior breed of German cow would be a different matter.”
They stopped in front of the double doors at the end of the corridor and the guard stepped aside.
“This is Marshal von Umbreit’s office. You can wait for him here. Will you need my light?”
“Possibly,” Michael said. “I’d better take it just in case. Thank you very much. I shall see that your superiors hear of your good work.”
The guard’s face beamed.
“Thank you, Herr Faber.”
He started away and then turned back, his forehead wrinkled in perplexity.
“I do not mean to be disloyal,” he said, “but five days is still a long time for cows to burn.” With an embarrassed frown he wheeled and marched back down the corridor.
Michael watched until he opened the building’s brass doors and disappeared into the street, before drawing Marie into Marshal von Umbreit’s office and closing and locking the door.
Marie leaned weakly against the wall and laughed hysterically.
Michael took her by the shoulders and shook her roughly.
“Stop it!” he said tensely. “The big job is still ahead of us. Get hold of yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Marie said, pressing her hands to her face. “I’m all right now. But sometimes I have the feeling that something inside of me is ready to snap. I’ve had that feeling many times in the last two years.”
“I know,” Michael said softly. He lifted her chin with his finger and smiled into her deep gray eyes. “I’ve felt that myself. It’s not pleasant. But then neither is the thing we’re fighting against pleasant.”
“I’m ashamed of myself,” the girl said.
“You haven’t any reason for being.” Michael said quietly. “You’ve been magnificent. But you can’t fold now. We still have a job ahead of us.”
He flashed the torch about the large, luxuriously appointed office. Under the inevitable swastika there was a huge mahogany desk in immaculate order.