Where Eagles Dare

“Your health, gentlemen,” Jones said bitterly. He sat forward in his chair and hurled his glass into the fire. The glass shattered and there was a momentary tongue of flame as the brandy ignited. “That's how I drink the health of double agents.”

Schaffer leaned across the passage-way and whispered: “I thought you said he couldn't act?”

“Nobody's ever paid him twenty-five thousand bucks a night before,” Smith said sardonically.

“Tut, tut, General. Best Venetian glass.” Kramer shook his head deprecatingly then smiled. “But an understandable fit of pique. When your heroic rescuers turn out to be, well, birds of a different feather—”

“Double agents!” In his contempt, Jones almost spat out the words.

Kramer smiled again, tolerantly, and turned to the three men on the couch.

“And the return trip, gentlemen? As well organised as your outward journey?”

“That's about the one thing the close-mouthed so-and-so told us,” Carraciola said with some bitterness. “A Mosquito bomber is to come to pick us up. Salen, a little village north of Frauenfeld in Switzerland. There's a little civilian airfield just to the north of Salen.”

Schaffer bent across the passage again and said in an admiring whisper: “You really are a fearful liar.”

“So Salen it is,” Kramer was saying. “We know all about it. The Swiss are very good at looking the wrong way when it suits them: but for reasons of our own we find it convenient not to protest too much. Odd things happen at Salen ... However. A little message to London. Arrange pick-up times and so forth. Then a helicopter to the border—so much easier than walking, gentlemen—a rubber dinghy for the Rhine and then a short walk. You'll be back in Whitehall, reporting General Carnaby's transfer to Berlin, before you know it.”

“Back in London?” Thomas shook his head in slow emphasis. “Not on your nelly, Colonel. With Smith and that Yank still at large? What happens if they find out what's really happening? What happens if they remain at large? What happens if they get a message through to London—”

“What do you take us for?” Kramer said tiredly. “You will also, of course, be reporting the unfortunate demise of your leader. As soon as we located that still-warm radio set in the left luggage office we put on bloodhounds from the barracks. Your precious Major Smith was the last man to handle that set and he left a pretty clear trail. The hounds traced him along the east side of the village as far as a garage and then up to the lower station of the Luftseilbahn.”

“The cable-car?” Thomas was frankly disbelieving.

“The cable-car. Our Major Smith is either a very foolhardy or a very dangerous man—I must confess I know nothing of him. And there, at the lower station, the hounds completely lost the scent. The handlers circled the station with the hounds and then brought them into the cable-car itself. But the trail was cold. Our quarry appeared to have vanished into thin air.”

“It was then that one of the searchers had the original idea of examining the thin air, so to speak. He climbed up and examined the roof of the lower station. Surprise, surprise, unmistakable signs in the snow and ice that two men had been up there before him. From that it was only a logical step to examine the roof of the cable-car itself, and sure enough—”

“They're inside!” Christiansen exclaimed.

“And won't get out again.” Colonel Kramer leaned back comfortably in his chair. “Have no fear, gentlemen. Every exit is blocked—including the header station. We've doubled the guards outside and the rest have just begun to carry out a floor to floor search.”

In the gloom of the minstrels' gallery Smith and Schaffer exchanged thoughtful glances.

“I don't know,” Thomas said uneasily. “He's a resourceful devil—”

Kramer held up a hand.

“Fifteen minutes. I guarantee it.” He shifted his glance to Jones. “I don't pretend to look forward to this, General, but shall we get on with your—ah—medication?”

Jones glared at Carraciola, Christiansen and Thomas and said, very slowly and distinctly: “You—bloody—swine!”

“Against all my principles, General Carnaby,” Rosemeyer said uncomfortably. “But if we could only dispense with force—”

“Principles? You make me sick!” Jones stood up and made a strangled noise in his throat. “The hell with you all! The Hague Conventions! Principles! Officers and gentlemen of the Third Woody Reich!” He stripped off his uniform jacket, rolled up a sleeve and sat down again.

There was a brief and uncomfortable silence, then Kramer nodded to Anne-Marie who put down her glass and moved off to a side door leading off the gold drawing-room. It was obvious to everyone that Anne-Marie wasn't feeling in the least uncomfortable: the half-smile on her face was as near to that of pleasurable anticipation as she could permit herself in the presence of Rosemeyer and Kramer.