Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [42]
He wore the grey-green uniform of a private in the German Army, his face a dark shadow under the peak of the combat cap. The sight was so unreal, so unexpected, that Chavasse momentarily closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the man had gone.
He pushed open the door a little further and crawled inside on his stomach, peering cautiously over the edge of the landing. The room below was large, iron, military-style beds ranged around the stone walls. Max Donner leaned over the table in the centre, Murdoch at his side, a map spread out before them and the men who crowded round him all wore German Army uniform, except for two who were in British Army battledress.
The voices were a low murmur and then one of the men spoke as if asking a question. Donner laughed harshly and when he replied, Chavasse could hear him clearly.
'It's all taken care of. Nothing can possibly go wrong. Now let's have a drink and then we'll go over it again.'
Chavasse backed out slowly, closing the door behind him and stood up. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the half-light he could see that above his head, the spiral stone staircase halted at a wooden door. Remembering the light from the room above, he went up the stairs quickly and tried the handle, but it was locked.
But someone was up there, so much was evident. Someone who had to be kept under lock and key, which was interesting. He let himself out into the courtyard, crossed to the steps and went up on to the battlements quickly.
When he reached the rampart beneath the tower, the chink of light still showed clearly from the window above his head and he started to climb the buttress, taking care where he placed his weight on the crumbling surface.
The window was barred and a glass casement had been fitted inside. He crouched down, hanging on to the bars and peered through a narrow gap where the drawn curtain had failed to join.
At first he could see little of interest. Stone walls, the end of a bed and then he changed his angle and excitement surged through him. The man who sat at the table in the centre of the room reading by the light of an oil lamp was Boris Souvorin. There was no doubt about it, Chavasse had been shown too many photographs of the man to be mistaken.
He reached through the bars and tapped on the window. Souvorin sat up at once, a startled expression on his face. Chavasse tapped again and the Russian glanced towards the window. He put down his book and crossed the room slowly.
When he pulled the curtain and found Chavasse peering in at him, he recoiled, fear on his face. Chavasse made an urgent gesture. The Russian hesitated, then he opened the casement.
'Who are you? What do you want?' he said in a whisper.
'My name is Chavasse. I'm a NATO Intelligence agent. You're Boris Souvorin.'
'You're here to help me?' Souvorin gripped the bars tightly. 'Thank God. The past few days have been a waking nightmare. Can you get me out?'
'Not right now. Your host, Max Donner, is down below holding some kind of briefing with a group of men, dressed in the main as soldiers of the Federal Republic of West Germany. Have you any idea what he's up to?'
'None at all.' Souvorin shook his head. 'They brought me here three days ago and I haven't been out of this room since. Where is this place?'
'Moidart--the North-West coast of Scotland. One of the loneliest spots in the British Isles. Has he told you what he intends to do with you?'
'I am to be taken to Russia and soon. He was very certain of that when he spoke to me.'
'Right,' Chavasse said. 'I'll have to go now, but don't worry. I'll be back. They're not going to take you anywhere you don't want to go.'
Souvorin closed the window and as the curtains were pulled across, Chavasse went back down the buttress. He hurried along the battlements, went down the steps and crossed to the gap in the wall.
It was raining quite hard now, falling through the darkness with a violent rush