The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [76]
'And you're trying to tell me there are Americans who would sell out their country like that?'
'Not many,' Hesser said gently. 'A handful only. They are called the George Washington Legion.'
Canning turned, his arm swinging, and struck Jackson back-handed across the face. 'You dirty yellow bastard,' he shouted.
Jackson staggered back, cannoning into Madame Chevalier. In a second he had an arm around her throat and produced the Walther from the waistband at his back.
'Okay, just stand clear, all of you.'
Claire de Beauville remained where she was on his left, apparently frozen, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her jacket.
Jackson said, 'It's a funny old world, General. Not too long ago I was one of the gallant American boys flying for the Finns against the Russians. Remember that one? Then all of a sudden, the Finns are allies of the Nazis and back fighting the Russians again. Now that kind of thing can be just a little confusing.'
'You should have got out,' Canning said hoarsely.
'Maybe you're right. All I know is I was flying with the same guys against the same enemy. Hurricanes, by the way, with swastikas on them. Can you beat that?'
'Just let her go,' Canning said. 'She's an old woman.'
'I'm sorry, General. I can't do that. She's going to walk me right out of that front gate, aren't you, liebling?'
Claire stepped in close, her right hand came out of her pocket, clutching the Walther. She rammed the muzzle into his side and pulled the trigger.
The sound seemed very loud, sending shock-waves round the room. Jackson bucked, crying out in agony, and staggered back. She swung the Walther up, clutching it in both hands now, and pulled the trigger again and again until the gun was empty, driving him back against the wall beside the fireplace.
As his body slumped to the floor she threw the Walther away from her and turned to Canning, her face contorted. 'Hamilton?'
He opened his arms and she ran into them.
She lay on her bed in the dark, as Jackson had lain no more than an hour ago, waiting, afraid to move in case they came back. And then, finally, when all seemed quiet, she got up, went to the door and shot the bolt.
She lifted the washbasin out of its mahogany stand and took out the small compact radio which was secreted inside. An S-phone, they had told her. A British invention, far in advance of any German counterpart, obtained when an OSS agent in France had been picked up by the Gestapo.
She pressed the electronic buzzer that processed the call sign automatically and waited. Strasser's voice sounded in her ear almost instantly, clear and distinct.
'Valhalla here.'
'Exchange. It didn't work. He was caught in the act.'
'Dead?'
She hesitated, but only for a moment. 'Yes.'
'Very well. You'll have to do it yourself. You have sufficient materials left?'
'Yes.' She hesitated again. 'I'm not sure that I can.'
'No choice. You know the consequences if you fail. You should stand a good chance. The Jackson affair will have taken the edge off things. They won't be expecting a similar move from inside. Why should they?' He paused then said, 'I repeat: You know the consequences if you fail.'
'All right.' Her voice was barely a whisper, a dying fall.
'Good. Valhalla out.'
She sat there for a long, long moment, then got up slowly and took the S-phone back to the washstand. Then she got down on her knees, removed the bottom drawer and took out the two packets of plastic explosive and detonators that remained from what she had stolen from the armoury earlier.
Strasser, seated at the desk in Meyer's office, closed the lid of the case containing the radio and locked it. He sat there thinking for a moment, his face grave, then stood up and went out.
Ritter was seated by the fire in the bar enjoying a late supper. Cheese, black bread and beer. Hotter lurked in the background as usual in case of need.
As Ritter looked up, Strasser said, 'Total