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'I worked for ten years in the City of London, not far from St Paul's - for an export agency.'

'I see.'

There was a pause, then Schenck said, 'Have you had a chance to consider General Canning's letter?'

Mullholland sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly very tired.

'I'm in something of a difficulty here. This isn't a combat unit. We're medical people. I've been thinking that perhaps the best thing I can do is get on to brigade headquarters and see if they can manage anything.'

'Are they nearby?'

'Last I heard, about twenty miles west of here, but the situation, of course, is very fluid.'

Schenck tried to push himself up. 'Forgive me, Herr Oberst, but time is of the essence in this matter. I must stress that to our certain knowledge, orders from Berlin have gone out authorizing the execution of all prominenti. If the SS reach Arlberg first, then General Canning, your own Colonel Birr and the rest, are certain to die. Colonel Hesser wishes to avoid this situation at all costs and is willing formally to surrender his command immediately.'

'But the area between here and Arlberg is in a very confused state, no one knows that better than you yourself. It would require a fighting unit to get through. They could run into trouble.'

'A small patrol, that's all I ask. A couple of jeeps, perhaps. An officer and a few men. If I go with them to show the best route, we could be there in four hours with any kind of luck at all. They could return at once with the prisoners. General Canning and the others could be here by this evening.'

'And just as much chance that they might run into units of your forces on the way back. They could be taking a hell of a chance, especially the ladies.'

'So, what do you suggest, Herr Major? That they wait for the SS?'

Mullholland sighed wearily. 'No, you're right, of course. Give me half an hour. I'll see what I can work out.'

He went straight to his command tent and sat behind the desk. 'It's a mess, isn't it, but he's right. We've got to do something.'

'I've been thinking, sir,' Grant said. 'What about the three Americans? Captain Howard the Ranger officer and his men?'

Mullholland paused in the act of taking a bottle of Scotch from his drawer. 'The survivors of that mess on the Salzburg road last week? By God, you might have something there. What shape is Howard in?'

'It took about fifty stitches to sew him up, sir, if you remember. Shrapnel wounds, but he was on his feet when I last saw him yesterday and his sergeant and the other bloke weren't wounded.'

'See if you can dig him up and bring him to me.'

Grant went out. Mullholland looked at the whisky bottle for a long moment, then he sighed, replaced the cork and put the bottle back into the drawer, closing it firmly. He lit a cigarette and started on some paperwork. A few moments later, Grant entered.

'Captain Howard, sir.'

Mullholland looked up. 'Fine, Sergeant-Major. Show him in and see if you can rustle up some tea.'

Grant went out and Howard ducked under the flap a moment later. He wasn't wearing a helmet and a red, angry-looking scar bisected his forehead, stopping short of the left eye, the stitches still clearly visible. His left hand was heavily bandaged. He was very pale, the eyes sunken, an expression of ineffable weariness on his face.

My God, Mullholland thought, this boy's had about all he can take and no mistake. He smiled. 'Come in, Captain, sit down. With any luck we might get some tea in a few minutes. Cigarette?'

'Thank you, sir.'

Mullholland gave him a light. 'How are you feeling?'

'Fine.'

Which was as fair a lie as Mullholland had heard in many a day, but he carried on. 'I've got a problem I thought you might be able to help me with.'

Howard showed no emotion at all. 'I see, sir.'

'We carted a German officer in here yesterday with a couple of bullets in him. The unfortunate thing was that he'd been looking for an Allied unit anyway. Had a letter on him from an American general called Canning. Have you heard of him?'

'Hamilton Canning?'

'That's him. He's being held prisoner along with four other