The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [44]
And she saw Ritter first, her eyes widening in amazement, and the Hauptsturmfuhrer, becoming aware of her stillness, turned to see what she was looking at.
Ritter stood, hands on hips, legs slightly apart, and it was as if a chill wind had swept into the room, Death himself come to join them. The Hauptsturmfuhrer took in that magnificent black uniform, the decorations, the dark eyes under the peak of the service cap, the silver death's-head gleaming.
'You are in charge here, I presume?' Ritter inquired softly.
The captain shoved the girl off his knee and stood up. The room had gone absolutely quiet. 'That's right,' he said. 'Grushetsky.'
'Ukranian?' Ritter said, his distaste plain. 'I thought so.'
Grushetsky turned red with anger. 'And who in the hell might you be?'
'Your superior officer,' Ritter told him calmly. 'You're aware that there are Russians out there in the dark who might have a more than passing interest in getting their hands on you, and yet you don't even post a guard.'
'No need,' Grushetsky said. 'They won't come in before dawn, I know how they work. We'll be driving out of here long before then. In the meantime ...' He put an arm around the girl and pulled her close.
'Sorry,' Ritter said. 'But you won't be driving anywhere, I'm afraid. We need your petrol for our aircraft.'
'You what?' Grushetsky cried.
'Show him your orders,' Ritter said casually to Strasser. He glanced at the girl again, ignoring Grushetsky, then walked to the end of the room and looked at the others.
Strasser said, 'I'll read it to you. From the Leader and Chancellor of the State. Most secret. You recognize the name at the bottom of the page, I trust. Adolf Hitler.'
'Yes, well, he's in Berlin and this is here,' Grushetsky said. 'And you take that petrol from those tanks over my dead body.'
'That can be arranged.' Ritter raised his right arm casually and clicked his fingers. A window was smashed as a Schmeisser poked through, Berger's smiling face behind it. The door crashed open and Hoffer came in holding another Schmeisser.
'You see,' Ritter said to the girl whom Grushetsky had released now. 'It is still possible for the best to happen in this worst of all possible worlds. What's your name?'
'Bernstein,' she said. 'Clara Bernstein.'
He recognized her accent instantly. 'French?'
'That's what it says on my birth certificate, but to you bastards, I'm just another dirty Jew.'
In a strange way it was as if they were alone. 'What do you want me to do - say I'm sorry?' Ritter asked her in French. 'Would that help?'
'Not in the slightest.'
'Positive action then, Clara Bernstein. You and your friends go now. Out there in the darkness beyond the perimeter wire there are Russian soldiers. I suggest you turn towards them, hands high in the air, yelling like hell. I think you will find they will take you in.'
'Here, what in the hell is going on here?' Grushetsky demanded in his bad German.
Ritter rounded on him. 'Shut your mouth, damn you. Feet together when you speak to me, you understand? Attention, all of you.'
And they responded, all of them, even those far gone in drink trying to draw themselves together. The girl called to the others in German. They hesitated. She cried, 'All right, stay and die here if you want, but I'm getting out of it.'
She ran outside and the rest of the girls broke instantly and went after her. Their voices could be heard clearly as they ran across the runway to the perimeter wire.
Ritter paced up and down between the tables. 'You believe yourselves to be soldiers of the German Reich, a natural assumption in view of the uniforms you wear, but you are mistaken. Now, let me tell you what you are, in simple terms, so that you can understand.'
Grushetsky gave a roar of rage and pulled out his Luger,