• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Jackson turned in the same moment, the Schmeisset coming up, and Finebaum shot him through the right arm just above the elbow. Jackson was knocked back against the table, dropping the Schmeisser. He forced himself up, clutching his arm, blood spurting between his fingers.

'What are you bucking for, a coffin?' Finebaum demanded, and he nodded to Voss. 'Search him.'

Voss emptied Jackson's pockets of the plastic explosive and the detonators. He held them up without a word and the door was flung open and Howard and Hoover rushed in.

'What goes on here?' Howard demanded.

Finebaum took one of the packets of plastic explosive from Voss and threw it across. 'Just like I said, Captain. The Ardennes all over again.'

Claire de Beauville, waiting in the darkness of her room, heard the shot. Her window looked out over the water garden, not the courtyard, so she couldn't see anything, yet the shot was trouble, whatever the cause. It meant that Jackson had failed. She lit a cigarette and sat on the bed in the dark, smoking nervously, but that wasn't any good. She had to know what had happened, there was no avoiding that fact. She opened the washstand door, took out another Walther automatic pistol, slipped it into her jacket pocket and went out.

When she went into the dining hall, Claudine Chevalier was already there with Canning, Birr and Hesser.

'What's happened?' Claire said. 'I heard a shot.'

'Nothing to be alarmed about.' Canning put an arm about her shoulders. 'Everything's under control. I've just had Howard on the field telephone from the gate. It seems friend Jackson wasn't all he pretended to be. They're bringing him up now.'

She turned away and moved to join Madame Chevalier by the fire. The door opened and Howard entered, followed by Jackson and Finebaum. Jackson was no longer wearing the greatcoat. A scarf was tied about his right arm, blood soaking through.

'Okay, what happened?' Canning demanded.

Howard held up the packets of plastic explosive. 'He was going to blow up the drawbridge winding gear with this. Lucky for all of us Finebaum was on the ball.'

Canning turned to Jackson. 'All right, Bannerman, or whatever your name is. Who are you? What are you?'

'Sorry, General,' Jackson said. 'I've been trying to work that one out for myself for the past thirty years with a total lack of success.'

Before Canning could reply, the door opened and Hoover looked in, 'General, sir?'

'What is it?'

'The German sentry who was on duty in the winding gear room, Private Voss, is out here asking to see you or Colonel Hesser. He says he has information about this man.'

'Let's have him in then.'

Hoover snapped his fingers and Voss stepped into the room. His army greatcoat and the helmet were too big for him and he looked faintly ridiculous.

'He doesn't speak English,' Hesser said. 'I'll deal with this. You've got something to say, Voss?' he carried on in German.

It poured out of Voss like a dam bursting, the words seeming to spill over themselves, and several times he gestured towards Jackson. He finally stopped and Hesser turned, a frown on his face.

'What is it?' Canning demanded. 'Good news or bad?'

Hesser looked at Jackson gravely. 'He says he's seen this man before, yesterday, at Arlberg sitting in a field car with Strasser and Ritter when they first drove into the square.'

'Is that so?'

'He was at that time wearing the uniform of a Hauptsturmfuhrer in the SS.'

'Now that,' Canning said, 'really is interesting. Where did you learn your American, Bannerman? I must congratulate you. They did a first-class job.'

'I think you'll find he was raised to it,' Hesser said. 'You see, Voss noticed that the armshield on this - this gentleman's uniform was a Stars and Stripes.'

There was a heavy silence. Canning glanced at Jackson, then turned back to Hesser incredulously, 'Are you saying this man is a genuine American?'

'In the Waffen-SS, Herr General, there are what are known as the foreign legions.