Where Eagles Dare

Jones sipped some more brandy and eyed Kramer thoughtfully. "The Colonel doesn't seem very happy about it either.'

'I'm not,' Kramer said. 'But the matter is out of my hands, too. ,1 also have my orders. Anne-Marie will attend to the rest of it.'

'This charming young lady?' Jones was politely incredulous. 'A maestro of the thumb-screw?'

'Of the hypodermic syringe,' Kramer said shortly. 'She used to be a trained nurse.' A bell rang and Kramer picked up a phone by his side. 'Yes? Ah! They have, of course, been searched? Very good. Now.' He looked across at Jones. 'Well, well, well. Some interesting company coming up, General.

Very interesting indeed. Parachutists. A rescue team -- for you. I'm sure you'll be delighted to meet one another.'

'I really can't imagine what you're talking about,' Jones said idly.

'The rescue team we've seen before,' Smith murmured to Schaffer. 'And no doubt we'll be renewing old acquaintances before long. Come on.'

'Out of your social depth, Lieutenant,' Smith whispered. 'They're civilised. First, they finish the brandy. Then the works.'

'It's like I said,' Schaffer said mournfully. "I'm from Montana.'

The two men left as quietly as they had come and as quietly closed the door behind them. Against the loom of light at either end of the corridor, they could see that the passage-way was clear. Smith switched on the light. They walked briskly along the passage, dropped down a flight of stairs, turned left and halted outside a doorway which bore above it the legend

TELEFON ZENTRALE.

'Telephone exchange,' Schaffer said.

Smith shook his head in admiration, put his ear to the door, dropped to one knee, peered through the keyhole and, while still in that position, softly tried the handle. Whatever slight sound he made was masked by the muffled sound of a voice speaking over a telephone. The door was locked. Smith slowly released the handle, straightened and shook his head.

'Suspicious bunch of devils,' Schaffer said sourly. The skeletons.'

'The operator would hear us. Next door.'

Next door wasn't locked. The door gave before Smith's pressure on the handle. The room beyond was in total darkness and appeared to be empty.

Quickly, but not too quickly, Smith and Schaffer turned round. A few feet away stood a soldier, levelled carbine in his hand, his eyes moving in active suspicion from the two men to the kit-bag in Smith's hands. Smith glared at the man, raised an imperative forefinger to his lips.

'Dammkopf' Smith's voice was a low furious whisper through clenched teeth. 'Silenz Englander!'

He turned away impatiently and peered tensely through the partly-opened doorway. Again he held up an imperious hand that commanded silence. After a few more seconds he straightened, lips compressed, looked significantly at Schaffer and moved slightly to one side. Schaffer took his position and started peering in turn. Curiosity, Smith could see, was replacing suspicion in the soldier's face. Schaffer straightened and said softly: 'What in God's name do we do?'

'I don't know,' Smith said in a worried whisper. 'Colonel Kramer told me he wanted them alive. But -- '

'What is it?' the soldier demanded in a voice as low as their own. With the mention of Colonel Kramer the last of his suspicions had gone. 'Who is it?'

'You still here,' Smith said irritably. 'All right, go on. Have a look. But be quick!'

The soldier, his face and eyes now alight with intense curiosity and what might have been dreams of rapid promotion, moved forward on tiptoe as Schaffer courteously stepped to one side to let him see. A pair of Lugers grinding simultaneously into both temples effectively put an end to any idea of rapid military advancement that he might briefly have entertained. He was propelled, stumbling, into the room and, by the time he'd picked himself up and turned round, the door was closed, the light on and both pistols lined at his head.

'Those are silencers you see on our guns,' Smith said quietly. 'No heroics, no shooting. Dying for the Fatherland is one thing, dying uselessly for no reason at all is another and very stupid thing. Don't you agree?'

The room, Smith saw, was small and lined with metal shelves and filing cabinets. Some sort of storage room for office records. The chances of anyone coming along weren't high and it was, anyway, a chance they had to take. He waited till Schaffer had bound and gagged the prisoner, put his Luger away, helped Schaffer to bind the man to two of the metal poles supporting the shelves, turned to the window, slid up the lower sash and peered out.

The valley to the north stretched out before him, the lights of the village and the smouldering embers of the railway station visible through very gently falling snow. Smith looked to his right. The lighted window of the telephone exchange was only a few feet away. From the window a heavy lead-sheathed cable attached to a wire almost equally as heavy stretched down the castle wall into the darkness.

"That the one?' Schaffer was by his side now.