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There was a pause, then Schneider's torch flashed, the beam picking Earl Jackson out of the darkness instantly. He was in the middle of the moat, swimming strongly, only his head and the sheepskin collar of his flying jacket showing above the water.

'Kamerad!' he called, gasping for breath. 'American officer. I'm looking for General Hamilton Canning.'

It was Finebaum, crouched in the shadow of the wall above the main gate, who spotted the momentary spot of light on his left. Below him, Howard and Hoover crouched against the wall, smoking cigarettes.

'Hey, Captain, there was a light down there below the east watchtower in the moat.'

They were on their feet instantly. 'You certain?' Howard leaned out of the embrasure. 'I can't see a thing.'

'There was a light. Just for a minute.'

'Okay, let's move it,' Howard said and started along the wall.

When they entered the water-gate tunnel, Jackson was on the other side from Hesser and his men, clutching the grille, knee-deep in water. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake. I've got to see General Canning.'

'What is it?' Howard demanded. 'What's going?'

Hesser switched on the torch without a word. Jackson blinked in the sudden light. He was soaked to the skin, water dripping from his uniform, teeth chattering. He tried to peer into the darkness at Howard.

'You American, buddy? For Christ's sakes, make these crazy bastards let me in. Another five minutes of this and I'll die of exposure.'

'Hey, he's right, Captain,' Finebaum said. 'He don't look too good.'

'Who are you?' Howard demanded.

'Harry Bannerman's the name. Crash-landed this morning about ten miles from here in a P47. Got picked up by an SS unit. They had me down in the village here until an hour ago. In an inn called the Golden Eagle.'

'How did you get away?'

'The landlord helped me - a guy called Meyer. There was another prisoner there. He put him up to it. A Frenchman named Gaillard. He told me to get up here fast and see General Canning. I've got information about when the krauts intend to hit this place.' He rattled the grille ineffectively, his voice breaking. 'Let me in, for Christ's sake - if you don't want to die, that is.'

'Okay,' Howard said to Hesser. 'Open the gate and drag him in - but fast. And you, Finebaum, I make personally responsible for blowing his backbone in half if he makes a wrong move.'

In the darkness among the trees on the far side of the moat, Strasser, Ritter and Hoffer listened to the clang of the grille shutting.

'So, he's in,' Ritter said. 'Let's hope they buy his story.'

'I don't see why not,' Strasser said. 'Jackson's strength, as I said before, lies in the fact that he's a genuine American, not the ersatz variety that let Skorzeny down so badly in the Ardennes.'

'So now we wait,' Ritter said.

'Until it's time for my part in this rather interesting drama.' Strasser smiled through the darkness. 'You know, I'm really rather looking forward to it.'

General Canning, Birr, Madame Chevalier and Claire were having a late supper of sandwiches and coffee when Hesser and Howard entered, followed by Jackson, an army blanket draped around his shoulders. Finebaum was right behind him, the muzzle of his M1 no more than an inch away from Jackson's backbone.

'What have we here?' Canning demanded, rising to his feet.

'Swam across the moat to the water gate, General,' Howard said. 'Claims to be an Army Air Corps officer. No papers - no identification on him whatsoever. Not even his dog tags.'

'They took them off me,' Jackson said. 'Those damned SS stripped me of everything. I mean, how many times do I have to tell you?'

'What outfit?' Canning demanded.

'Five hundred and tenth squadron, 405th group, sir. Operating out of what was a Luftwaffe base at Hellenbach until we took it four days ago.'

'What's your story?'

'My squadron was ordered to hit a Panzer column on the other side of Salzburg from here. This morning it was, General. We dropped our bombs dead on target, no problem, there being