Operation White-Water 2

Unto the Hills

‘Easy as anything, capitaine! Easy as anything!’ Rene Lupin sat down in a chair and looked pleased with himself.

‘Sorry to make you fellows do it,’ said Holbourn, indulging himself with some strong coffee.

‘Nothing to it,’ said Lupin. ‘Just so long as you are safe, sir, and Mr. Scott, of course. We are satisfied.’

‘I would contract that, Loop,’ said Scott, philosophically fixing his eyes on the ceiling. ‘We’re satisfied. Got to have you speak English right, haven’t we?’

‘I speak English perfectly,’ said the Frenchman.

‘Why didn’t you have me dress as a medical corps man?’ asked Maddux, pleased also from his day’s success and more talkative than usual. ‘If I’m to do all the medical work.’

‘Not bad, is it, doc?’ asked Holbourn, standing over him to survey the work he was doing on Scott’s wrist.

‘Nothing at all,’ said Maddux.

‘Just blood, that’s all,’ said Scott. ‘And not much at that.’

The tall South African Emerson was wiping off the Mauser. ‘What were you, a vivisectionist before the war?’ he asked, gazing at the stained cloth he was using.

‘Is everyone all right?’ asked Holbourn. His reasons were purely practical. Any serious wounds meant a great deal of replanning.

‘Yes,’ said Maddux, shortly.

‘This is exactly the kind of excitement I needed to pick up my pulse,’ said Emerson. ‘Nice little skirmish, eh, Lupin?’

‘Nice enough,’ said Lupin. ‘I’ve been through worse.’

Scott had risen and was standing at the table, pouring himself coffee. He was glad to find his hand, once bound, was still usable, if sore.

‘So.’ Holbourn swung around and faced them all, placing the knuckles of both hands on the table. ‘We’ve seen just who we have to deal with. What do we know of him? He’s one of the best secret service agents in Rumania. He’s been a spy, too, in his time. It’s he that’s got onto us and won’t let go. I want to know how, but I don’t think we’ll be able to figure that out. He’ll follow us. . . anywhere we go he’ll follow us. This puts us in an awkward position, of course. You understand, gentlemen, that we can’t get back on the train.’

‘No,’ said Scott. ‘He saw you once, he won’t ever forget you. And those men planted in our carriage — they have our faces memorised too.’

‘There were men planted in your car?’ Emerson looked doubtful.

‘And in yours, too, I’m sure,’ said Holbourn. ‘In every car, probably. They’ll know if they see any of us again.’

Emerson whistled low.

‘To-night,’ went on Holbourn, ‘We take to the hills.’

‘The mountains? Heavens, captain!’ Lupin waved his arms in disbelief. ‘We’ll never get over them.’ Maddux leaped into the air, more in reaction to the hot coffee which had spilt on him from Lupin’s exalted cup than because he objected to the proposition.

‘Emerson, what do you think?’ Holbourn wheeled and faced the skier.

‘I hadn’t expected it would come to this,’ said Emerson thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know if we can do it. Lupin may be right. We haven’t any kit — have any of you climbed mountains before?’

‘Sure,’ said Scott, offhandedly. ‘Climbed up and down the Alps seems like a thousand times. Had to.’

‘The rest of us aren’t so lucky,’ said Maddux. ‘I’ve never been on a mountain in my life.’

‘I’m no Alpine hiker like Scott here,’ said Lupin.

‘Nor am I,’ said Holbourn. ‘But we’re all going to have to do it. Sorry to make you drag us along, Emerson,’ he said. ‘But you were picked with this possibility in mind.’

‘I can’t help but think it will be easier to go alone,’ said Emerson, with a wry smile.

‘It won’t be when you get into Braşov  and have to drag off an unwilling official with a gun to his temple. Want to do that alone? No. So we’re all going together. Scott will help you out. And I’m not too out of shape.’

‘This is crazy,’ said Emerson.

Exactly what I’ve been thinking for twenty-four hours, thought Holbourn. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you’ve heard the order. We can’t give up now — 80 km away things are going on that we’ve got to stop. Only 80 km. Think about it.’

‘Eighty kilometres,’ admitted Emerson. ‘But up and down over thousands of feet.’

‘You know the mountains here,’ said Holbourn. ‘Isn’t there a pass — something?’

‘There’s a way to get through, of course,’ said Emerson. ‘But I don’t know how fast, and  still, captain.’

‘No arguing, Mik,’ said Holbourn. ‘Not that I like to do this to any of you, but we’ve got to.’

‘I’m with you, cap,’ said Scott, lighting a cigarette.

‘I’m with you too,’ said Emerson. ‘I just don’t want us to all end up with our necks broken at the bottom of a ravine.’

‘I knew you would be,’ said Holbourn. ‘Fetch the map out of my knapsack, will you, Maddux?’

‘Climbing mountains can’t be harder than a lot of other things I’ve done,’ said Lupin,  resignedly.

‘A breeze,’ said Scott, ‘If those other things are the ones I know.’

‘Let’s have less talking,’ said Holbourn. ‘Remember we aren’t safe here.’

They gathered around the table as Holbourn spread out the map.

‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Braşov is there. Show us the best way to get through, Emerson.’

‘There’s one thing I believe you’ve overlooked, captain.’

‘What is it?’

‘If Korzha knows what we’re doing, how are we possibly going to hike 50 miles and get to Braşov  before he gets word to Albescu?’

‘I haven’t overlooked that,’ said Holbourn.

‘Explain,’ urged Lupin.

‘I can’t possibly know that Korzha doesn’t know exactly what we’re after. But I don’t think he does. Is it insane, Emerson? I think so too. The thing is, if Korzha knew, why did he stop us here?’

‘Why not?’ asked Scott. ‘Before we had a chance to do anything?’

‘He could have been waiting at Braşov , just waiting for us to step off the train. Would have been much easier, wouldn’t it have?’

‘Not much easier than he thought it would be here,’ said Scott.

‘Try to think from his perspective,’ said Holbourn. ‘He obviously had some guess which of the hundreds of passengers we were. Why, then, did he not arrest us all at once, if he didn’t want us going on? Because maybe he didn’t know what we were up to. Maybe he wanted us because he thought he could question us. He picked the wrong man, but that’s beside the point. Maybe he was unsure, that’s what I say. Maybe he didn’t know if he was right about us and he didn’t know what we were doing. Maybe he didn’t want all five of us because he suspected that once he knew what we were doing he could pick us up later. I can’t pretend to read his mind. But I don’t think he knows, that’s all. I don’t think he knows.’

‘I sure hope he doesn’t,’ said Scott, with conviction.

‘Lupin,’ said Holbourn, ‘Take over the radio and send in a call to HQ. Tell them where we are and where we’re going. And be sure to use full code. I’m sure Korzha will be just delighted to pick up alien radio signals.’

‘Korzha isn’t the head of the communications department, I hope!’ protested Emerson.

‘No, but he’ll have his thumb on it anyway. Go on, Loop. Are all those delicate instruments you tripped over this afternoon all right, Maddux?’

Yes,’ said the Canadian.  ‘All fine.’

‘Good. Emerson, fetch all of our weapons and put them on the table here. I want to see what we’ve got.’

‘Think we’ll be in for a lot of trouble?’ Scott was still smoking. His question was rhetorical. He knew they would be.

Emerson laid out the weapons. There were seven handguns, three machine guns, and knives for everyone.

‘Nothing to worry about, sef,’ said Emerson. ‘Plenty for all.’

‘I see,’ said Holbourn. ‘Where’d you fellows get those two jollies?’

‘What, the MGs?’ asked Emerson ‘Same place Scott got his. Off a soldier.’

‘Knocked them out and took them right away,’ said Maddux. ‘For being such a softy for shooting people, Emerson has a heavy swing. And he doesn’t obey the eighth commandment.’

‘Why didn’t you remind him of his dear old mum?’ asked Scott.  ‘At least my soldier wasn’t going to be needing his for a little while.’

‘The one I shot in the arm?’ asked Holbourn, beckoning to Scott to pour him some coffee.

‘Probably. I asked nicely first of course.’

‘And probably called him “old chap” and said “desperately sorry,” as they all do,’ muttered Emerson.

Lupin rose from the radio. ‘Three times, captain. Three times and nothing.’

‘We’ll try again when we get into the mountains,’ said Holbourn. ‘Or tomorrow morning.’

‘Do we stay here tonight then?’ asked Emerson.

‘Yes. But somehow we’re going to have to get kit.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Holbourn. ‘Except from our agent in Campina. If we can get that far without tents and ropes — do you think, Emerson?’

‘If we have to. The north side is the steepest. It’s there we’ll need the ropes. But tell me, don’t we have an agent here? Who got us this hideout?’

‘Yes, we have one here. But I think it’s too dangerous to go to him. Korzha’s already on to us — he’ll be on to him next.’

‘Maybe we can do entirely without the stuff,’ said Maddux. ‘Getting it in Campina doesn’t sound the easiest.

‘No, but however nice sleeping under the stars may be, I prefer tents to rain any night.’

‘And snow,’ said Emerson.

‘What, Mik?’

‘And snow.’

‘You think so?’

‘In August?’ asked Scott.

‘Why not?’ asked Emerson. ‘It gets cold up there. I’ll bet there’ll be snow at the top. You’ll find out.’

‘Pity you forgot your skis,’ said Scottie, calmly.

‘We want to leave before dawn,’ said Holbourn.  ‘That gives us eight hours. We’ll need it all.’

‘Right-ho,’ said Scott. ‘Guard shifts — You, me, then Emerson, then Maddux, then Loop.’

‘I’m glad you’re taking control, Scott,’ said Holbourn, giving him a bit of a dirty look.

Scott smiled without apology and dropped to the floor. ‘Company dismissed,’ he said. ‘Lights out, Mik.’

Emerson snapped off his torch and pulled a blanket out of his knapsack. The last thing he saw of the room was Holbourn’s form against the dim glow of the window, his Mauser in his hand.

Scott was awakened the next morning by the sound of Holbourn’s familiar Scotch accent calling into the buzz of the radio. He raised himself and saw Lupin crouched near the captain, Emerson dividing ammunition into the knapsacks, and Maddux apparently fixing what breakfast he could out of their rations.

‘Coffee, captain,’ he said shortly, seeing Scott awake.

Scott rose and drank the cup Maddux handed him. The window was still dark, and to avoid attention, torches were used as little as possible. But Maddux had made pretty good coffee even for all that. Scott thanked him and knelt near the captain.

‘Take care, Highlander,’ he heard a familiar voice saying. ‘I depend on your judgement.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Holbourn. ‘Over and out.’

‘Did you think the Chief sounded anxious?’ asked Scott. Lupin turned his eyes sharply to him, but Holbourn was already rising and turning away.

‘Interference,’ he theorised. ‘You’re still asleep, captain.’

‘Breakfast, sef,’ said Maddux.

‘“Sir” is already out, what?’ said Holbourn. ‘We’d better hurry. We want to get out of here before the light breaks.’

‘We have about half an hour,’ said Emerson, looking at his watch.

‘We can walk in the dark,’ said Holbourn. ‘If you can find the way.’

‘Of course I can,’ said Emerson. ‘I think.’

Holbourn laid out the map again over breakfast. ‘Campina is 30 km north,’ he said, ‘Along the main roads. Getting in and out of it isn’t necessarily going to be easy, especially since our agent there is a double agent — and we can’t do anything to lay suspicion on him. Can we get there today, Emerson?’

There was a moment of silence as Emerson studied the map.

‘Like I said,’ he began, ‘The south side is less steep than the north side. But it’s still uphill all the way. If we push, we can do it today, I think. But I can’t say. I don’t know how you fellows climb.’

‘All right, man,’ said Holbourn. ‘We’ll have to try, anyway.’

The darkness of the morning was mellowing into greyness as the five men left the town behind them and disappeared into the woods at the foot of the mountains. The five of them were in relative straight file, with Emerson in the front and Scott in the back. Holbourn looked behind him and saw Maddux and Lupin hauling themselves up by the tree trunks. The pine needles were slippery beneath their feet, and it was easy to fall down the steep incline.

There was a curse from the end of the line, and Scott came scrambling up the hill. His voice was muffled, but the urgency in it carried all the way to Emerson in the front, who whirled around.

Scott lifted his face to the four men looking down at him. ‘Take cover!’ he said. ‘And look behind you.’

The orders were obeyed in sequence. Scott seized Lupin’s collar and thrust him into the underbrush as Maddux threw himself face-down beside them. Holbourn treated Emerson, who reacted slowly, in the same way. He rolled to his back and looked down the hill he had come up. Scott was crouching low, his machine-gun slipped off his shoulder, but past him through the trees Holbourn could see the cause for alarm. Spreading out along the edge of the forest were some thirty soldiers, all armed.

‘Scott,’ he whispered.

‘What do we do, captain?’ Emerson’s hand was on Holbourn’s shoulder.

‘Scott,’ the captain repeated. ‘Not yet.’

Scott shook his head.

Maddux curled up from his position on his stomach and unslung his MG. Lupin was cursing in fluent English for Scott’s benefit.

‘Well, sef?’

Holbourn finally payed attention to Emerson, who was at his elbow and obviously restless to be moving. ‘Well, lieutenant?’

‘Do we sit here and wait it out?’

‘No,’ said Holbourn. ‘Captain Scott! Come here.’

Scott came, doubled over and clutching his gun firmly. He threw himself on his knees by the sef.

‘We’ll move on,’ said Holbourn to his second-in-command. ‘I’ll take the rear and hold off anyone who comes. We can’t stay — they’ll have us surrounded, and they might have dogs.’

‘That’s the last thing in the world we want.’

‘Yes, man,’ said Holbourn, with conviction.

‘Maddux, Lupin!’ Scott’s voice alerted them immediately. They came scrambling up the hill.

‘All right,’ said Holbourn. ‘Let’s get going — up above the tree line there may be better places to hide in the rocks. Lead on, Emerson.’

The five scrambled up the steep hill, slipping in the needles, following Emerson. Scott paused to look behind them. Far back in the forest vague uniformed figures moved back and forth in anything but inconspicuousness. The shadows beneath the trees and the undergrowth soon shut out all view of the pursuers, but the imminence of discovery still hung over the little group as it wound its way quickly up the mountain.

‘Why don’t we just shoot them all?’ asked Lupin. ‘They don’t know where we are.’

‘Exactly,’ said Scott, crouched behind the rock beside him. ‘And we don’t want them to know, either.’ In the forest below they could see faint movements, but more clear than sight came the sound of the soldiers’ voices and the tramp of their boots in the pine needles.

Had the situation not been so tense, Scott might have actually enjoyed the view. Above the trees the Prahova valley stretched out, green and gold, cut through the middle by the Prahova river. Behind them, on the grey, mossy slope of the mountain, the peak vanished into a low-lying cloud. Emerson had said that there were many more mountains after this one — ridge upon ridge. Scott was more exhilarated by the thought than daunted. He had not enjoyed mountain climbing when he was forced of necessity to do it, but now he was beginning to feel as if the mission was really beginning. They were getting into the real work.

His thoughts were hauled up by the hair and he came awake to the sound all five of them dreaded to hear more than anything — the barking of dogs. Scott glanced over at Holbourn. The leader’s teeth were firmly clenched, and his machine gun was ready.

‘Shoot them,’ he said. ‘Shoot them all.’

They waited. The noise was growing louder and louder quite steadily. The dogs were on their scent, and wasting no time.

They emerged from the woods followed by three or four soldiers, guns at the ready, but Scott had only a second to see that the dogs were some kind of hound before the mechanical clatter of the machine guns broke out all around him. The dogs fell to the bullets as the soldiers sprang to cover. In a moment, the rattle of their guns answered the impertinence of the Allied crew.

Though he could see little, Scott could hear the approach of the rest of the search party. The next moment not three machine guns but ten or fifteen broke out.

‘They can’t get us, anyway,’ said Lupin, smiling at Scott. Scott looked up to his left. There was a low ridge above them sloping steeply away. He felt apprehensive about it. Three men positioned up there, and the enemy had them. The group would be like sitting ducks. He got Holbourn’s attention and signalled his intentions. Holbourn looked up, looked at Scott again, and nodded.

Scott, stooping till his chest nearly touched his knees, scrambled up the side of the ridge, trying his best to take cover from the scattered boulders along it. He was in plain view more than once, but the bullets only hit the rocks and ricocheted off. He neared the top of the ridge, stretched out his arms, and hauled himself up flat on his stomach.

A foot from his face was the helmet of a soldier ascending the other side.

He looked up and the look in his face was one of profound surprise. He began to lift his gun, but Scott flung out his arm and struck him heavily against the chest.  For a moment the man struggled to keep his balance, but his feet slipped on the loose rocks and moss and he fell, dropping his gun with a thud, and rolled down the hill.

Scott did not have time to see him fall. There were three soldiers ascending. One raised his MG towards Scott’s head, but with a spring like a cat, Scott ducked and dove at the same time. The bullets streamed over his head as he landed against the soldier’s legs. They both fell together and rolled a few feet. The soldier’s head hit a rock, and Scott felt him go limp beneath him. He raised his head in time to see the other soldier raising a blackjack. For a split second it hung in air, threatening to descend and spell the captain’s imminent demise. Scott sprang up and seized the soldier’s wrist with his left hand, swinging a good uppercut with the other. The soldier reeled backwards, caught hold of Scott’s belt, and pulled him down with him as he fell. Scott brought up his knee with a jerk, heard the crack of the soldier’s teeth coming together, and  gave him a gentle kick down the incline.

He dove to cover just as another pair of machine guns at the bottom of the hill struck up the common tune. He seized his own gun and fired a few rounds towards the intruders. For a moment all was silent on the mountains. It was sudden and surprising. Scott waited and listened.

‘Scott!’ the voice came from below him. He turned and looked down the hill. Lupin beckoned him to come down. With another round at the hiding soldiers, Scott turned and wriggled back the way he had come. The descent  was much easier than the ascent. He nearly landed on Lupin’s head.

‘This isn’t going to work,’ said Holbourn. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’

‘Where to?’ Emerson was leaning his back against the boulder, his pistol in his hand, and looking at Holbourn with slightly apathetic curiosity. Maddux’s fingers shifted on his gun and Lupin restlessly raised himself from his position on his left side to one knee. They all looked at Holbourn.

‘Further up the pass,’ he said, pointing up the steep incline lined with rocks. ‘We’ll get up as far as we can while it’s quiet. The farther away we get the more chance of escaping them. If they pursue us I’ll stay and hold them off.’

‘But sir!’ Emerson objected. ‘Who will lead this crew if you get killed? You’re not staying.’

‘Are you in command here?’ Holbourn’s voice was cool. ‘No arguments, if you please. It only makes things complicated.’

‘Do as he says,’ said Scott. As if he needed to say anything!

‘I’m not arguing,’ said Emerson. ‘Duty calls! Come on, you fellows.’ He gave Maddux a nudge up the hill.

‘How far does the captain think we can stay ahead?’ Lupin rubbed the back of his head and looked up at Scott as they climbed the hill, nearly flattened against it.

‘Hurry,’ came Holbourn’s voice behind them. Scott caught the Frenchman by the shoulder as he stumbled. A rock skittered down the mountain. Behind them a machine gun suddenly broke out.

‘Getting suspicious,’ said Holbourn. ‘They’ll soon know we’re gone. Emerson, isn’t there any way--’

‘Sorry, captain.’ The voice came back in apologetic tones. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it. No place to hide where they won’t trap us. We can stay ahead of them, or we can get them in the open and mow them down.’

‘They can’t sneak up on us, anyway,’ Lupin was saying. The echo of machine guns had died away, but from behind them came the distant sounds of speedy ascent.

‘We can stay ahead of them,’ said Holbourn. ‘But only so long — until they get helicopters after us, and whatever else. We’ve got to do something else. Emerson, stop!’

Emerson stopped. Maddux stopped. Scott and Lupin stopped. They all looked back at Holbourn. With a hasty, all-encompassing glance around, Holbourn tucked his gun under his arm and scrambled to the right up the steep ridge that lined one side of the pass. For a moment they could see his form silhouetted, crouched, against the sky. The next he was beckoning them to follow him.

‘What is it, captain? Where are you going?’

Emerson slid up next to Holbourn and looked him with wonder in the eye.

‘We’re going the hard way,’ said Holbourn. ‘The farther we are from the pass the more they’ll have to spread out to look for us. It will take us time — which we don’t have much of. But we have to evade them.’

All four of the other men looked at the proposed route--around the mountain on a steep rock face with few footholds.

‘It doesn’t look possible to me,’ said Lupin.

‘It’s crazy,’ said Emerson. ‘We can’t do that with these chaps.’

‘We can’t go the way we’ve been going,’ said Holbourn. ‘I know you’re the guide, Mik, but I’m in command. We’re going this way.’

‘I don’t like to argue with you, captain, but —’

‘Good, I know you don’t. We’ve no time to waste dallying. Quick, Emerson!’

‘I’m a skier, not a rock-climber,’ Emerson obediently set out, feeling with his foot for a secure place in the rocks. ‘Why was I picked for this job?’ Maddux and Scott followed him.

‘They’re getting closer,’ said Holbourn. ‘Get a move-on, Loop.’

The Frenchman had hardly gotten on his way before Holbourn’s gun suddenly let loose its fire. He was answered by several more guns. The soldiers had caught up to them.

‘Where the dickens is he going?’ Scott saw Holbourn’s figure slip down and disappear below the line of sight towards the pass.

‘Capitaine, hurry,’ said Lupin, patiently. ‘I can’t hold on to this cliff face forever.’

Scott steadied Lupin with one hand and found a hold with the other. The sef knew what he was doing — he hoped.

Holbourn ejected another cartridge from his MG and replaced it with a fresh one. He peered down the narrow pass towards the rocks where the Rumanian soldiers had taken cover, then shifted his gaze towards the high mountains on either side of him. They were going to try to get around behind him. The important thing was that they not find out it was only him. He made another rabbit-dash up the path and crouched again behind the rocks. For a long time everything was silent. Holbourn strained his ears, his eyes jumping from one spot to another. But there was no noise and no soldiers to be seen. He was struck by the uncanny notion that they might have figured out his trick and followed the others. He glanced at his watch. It was already nearing noon. He wished he could judge how far they had come. Without ceasing to move his eyes from the pass to the rocks and from the rocks to the pass, he pulled the map out of his pocket. His ears almost seemed to twitch as he listened alertly, moving his eyes at last to the paper in his hand. He knew that no group of soldiers could climb those paths in utter silence.

From the best he could judge they had gone about four kilometres. Four kilometres in five hours! It was an epic waste of time. By this time they ought to have covered at least fifteen, possibly more. He folded up the map and dashed to a high vantage point on his right. Laying down on his stomach, he wriggled forward and gazed down the pass. There was no sign of anything or anyone. All was utterly silent and still. He took the risk and fired a volley of shots.

There was no response. He waited, not willing to be easily deceived. When still no answer or movement came, he fired again. Still there was no reply. He wriggled backwards, and ventured to raise himself to his knees. No shots came. He ran back to the pass. It was not like Korzha to give up easily. But Holbourn understood that for a band of soldiers to chase a band of secret agents through the mountains would be a difficult task indeed. Korzha had some better plan up his sleeve.

With the danger now so greatly diminished, Holbourn’s active mind had more time to think of the question which had been throbbing in the back of his head since they first sighted the soldiers. How had they known?

Had it been imprudent to use the radio? No, for even if Korzha’s gang had intercepted the communication, they could not have deciphered the code — not, at any rate, that fast.

Holbourn pulled the hand-held radio out of its place of concealment in his sack and rang up Scott.

‘Scottie!’ he said. ‘Come in, Scott.’ There was a long minute of silence. Above the mountains, a pair of birds were gliding in wide, smooth circles.

‘Holbourn calling Scott,’ he said again. ‘Come in, Scott.’

He was answered by a loud buzz of static and then a voice, cheerful but somehow with undertones of strain, answered him.

‘Here, sir!’

‘Are you receiving me?’

‘Loud and clear.’

‘Have you got everyone? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, we’re all still alive.’

‘The enemy has retreated,’ Holbourn said. ‘I’m coming to join you. Stand by.’

There was an agreeable response from the other end, and Holbourn signed off.

Scott replaced his wireless in his bag and looked up at Emerson, who was sprawled against the mountain, bracing himself with his feet, and trying to give Maddux a hand up.

‘He fought them off single-handedly,’ he said, nonchalantly. ‘You heard? He’s coming to find us.’

‘Won’t be long before they’re back,’ said Emerson. ‘Like the captain said — helicopters.’

‘You think so?’ Lupin sounded anything but cheerful. He and Scott had switched places in order to avoid the probability of the Frenchie losing his hold and dragging Scott to the bottom of the mountain with him.

‘It’s an easier stretch after this,’ Emerson said. ‘Hurry up.’

The scramble continued for some twenty minutes before the figure of the triumphant but grave captain appeared against the sky and looked down at them.

‘What ho, sef?’ asked Scott, as Holbourn slid down and joined them. It shouldn’t have been that easy. How had he got above them, anyway?

‘Is everyone all right?’ asked Holbourn.

‘Yes,’ said Scott. ‘Though allegedly no mountain climbers, Memory and Loop showed great fortitude in the face of insurmountable odds.’ He looked keenly at the captain. ‘What’s up? Wo jetzt, was jetzt, wie jetzt?’

‘Don’t speak German,’ said Lupin, darkly.

‘You may address me as captain, corporal.’ Scott’s admonition was offhanded.

‘The sef’s trying to talk,’ said Maddux.

The silence which immediately fell gave Holbourn a chance to muse a few moments. ‘Look here, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We’ve over twenty km to go before we reach Campina. From there it’s fifty to Braşov. Going fast, I’d say we could do three or four km an hour — faster if it weren’t so steep. At that rate, it will take us about two days to get to Braşov . That gives Korzha two days to comb these mountains with everything he has.’

‘So?’ asked Emerson.

‘I like your spirit, Mik,’ said Holbourn. ‘I’m in charge of this party, I know, but it’s not fair to ask you to die and not know anything. I want to be fair and tell you everything I can. So you see how the situation is. Until we reach Campina there’s no chance of getting ammunition for the MGs or tents or anything. And we won’t get there before night. And Korzha will have all afternoon to search for us.’

‘I dare him to find us,’ said Emerson, forcefully.

‘He’ll take you up,’ said Holbourn. ‘Let’s not waste any time. Emerson, are you still in the lead?’

Operation White-Water 1

Five Men

The whole thing was insane. It was crazy, it was mad, it was unthinkable, impossible, and somehow, undeniably, absolutely essential.

Captain Francis Holbourn knew that beyond a doubt. This mission was in his hands, and it was up to him to make it succeed.

He clutched the strap of his knapsack, which rested between his knees on the platform of the Bucharest train station. The calm, confident and just slightly moody air which hung about his whole bearing showed no sign of his inner turmoil. He was as cool as steel — as cool as always.

He turned at the voice of his second-in-command; Captain Richard Scott, DSO, that blond, professional, pure Anglo-Saxon with the blue eyes like ice — but that always, somehow, had a bit of soul lingering in the very back of them. He now stood behind Holbourn, knapsack over his shoulder, speaking English as if he were at London Euston and not in the midst of hazardously hostile territory. ‘Couldn’t be simpler, could it, sir?’ he asked. ‘We get a train ride all the way. I tell you, what do we need professionals for in a war like this?’

His ‘sir’ was a mere off-hand address, more an acknowledgement of Holbourn’s official appointment to leadership than anything else.

‘Not on your life,’ said Holbourn, in encouraging German. ‘Don’t expect it to last.’

Scott shrugged and smiled. ‘Lead on,’ he said, in his incorrigable English.

Holbourn paused a moment in the doorway of a nearly empty train-car and ran his cool grey eyes over the platform. They missed no detail, no movement, no face. ‘The others?’ he asked, shifting his gaze momentarily to his subcommander.

‘Saw them get in three cars down.’ Scott never missed anything, either. Holbourn nodded and climbed into the car.

The occupants, as stated, were few. There was an old woman with a brown package under her arm who looked as if she had come a long way and was going a long way more. There were two soldiers near the end of the car. One was smoking, ignoring the clearly legible sign which forbade it, and the other was reading a cheap novel and apparently falling asleep over it.

Holbourn and Scott  sat down on opposite sides of the car. They were both attired in the uniform of the medical corps — a quiet pair of corporals going back to their posts after leave.

Holbourn knit his brows as he leant his arms on his knees and dangled his knapsack between them. The insanity of the situation didn’t disturb him. He almost enjoyed it, in a stoic, masochistic sort of way. Anyway, he had to do it. He couldn’t let this mission fail.

He knew what would be the loss if he failed. It meant more than just the five lives of he, Scott, and the others. Failing this mission meant more lives to be lost--dozens in the immediate future, thousands for as far as anyone could see. There could be years more of war.

What did it matter? There would be anyway. One single action couldn’t stop the steamroller that was crashing across Europe on an unrestrainable course of destruction. Holbourn was insane himself, to think that this could do anything. It was tiny, infinitesimal, compared to the things others were doing that minute and he had done before. But there are times when struggling powers, like struggling men, must use survival tactics.

Besides, this was more than a tactical measure — anyway, it was for Holbourn. It meant more than just the removal an entire army, navy, and air force from the pressure against Russia. It meant freedom for an entire people, and thus, morally as much as strategically, it had to succeed.

He leaned his head back on the seat and let his mind fly back to the night before. Had it only been six hours since the five of them had been sitting around the table, lit by a single lamp, tracing out their journey? It was too insanely easy, as Scott had said. He had declined from commenting the night before because of the presence of the other three men. But what the young captain had stated that morning when he and Holbourn were alone on the platform quite revealed that Scott felt much the same as his leader. Something had to go wrong. Funnily enough, Scott didn’t seem to mind very much.

Holbourn had barely met Richard Scott, but he had known of him for a long time. Scott had a record that stretched across Europe, and couldn’t, incidentally, speak a word of Rumanian. But that wasn’t, Holbourn knew, quite enough of a handicap to exclude him from the party. He already felt like they needed him, and they’d only just set out.

He remembered the four faces illumined in the lamplight of the previous night, looking at him in serious concentration. There was Steven Maddux, the Canadian strategist and assassin with amazing memory, solemn and silent, as always. How you could have so quiet, affable, and human a man as a professional assasin, Holbourn had no idea. But you could, somehow, because Maddux was it.

Next him was South African Michael Emerson, the skier and Rumanian dialectician who knew the map of the Carpathians like the back of his hand. An odd, heroic type, way above the average, but then again, all of them were. Like Rene Lupin, the French underground agent who had been involved in multiple abductions and whose love for explosions and thirst for adventure was only surpassed by his almost old-fashioned chivalry. Of course, there was Scott, the English double agent with a brilliant head for forgery and codes who practically couldn’t be killed, and lastly Francis Holbourn, who knew how to keep his head — and that was about all.

Operation White-Water. It might as well be called Operation Bedlam. Some head at Whitehall or Broadway had come up with it, from Braşov, the city of white water. Even the white about the whole thing reminded Holbourn of lunatics. Braşov, the city of industry; home of oil refineries, German expatriates, textiles, machinery, aircraft factories — and Constantin Albescu.

A government official, Albescu’s permanent residence was on the south side of Braşov. His position in government was not high enough to really make much difference to the Allies, but he had of late become an increasing threat because of one thing he knew about — the King’s plotted coup.

How he had discovered the secret behind that no one quite knew. But it was a substantial fact that he knew about it — about the one thing that would drag Rumania out of the Axis powers.

There was, though, another player in the game — Sorin  Ardelean. He, too, was a government official. He was much higher, much more important than Albescu. And Albescu had him under his thumb. There was nothing Ardelean could do without Albescu’s say, because Albescu knew what Ardelean would die before let Ion Antonescu discover.

Albescu was blackmailing Ardelean; there was something he wanted to get out of him. But when would Albescu give up? When would he hand that information over?

It had been perfectly clear to Holbourn even before his chief at Broadway had finished speaking that Albescu had to be gotten rid of. Abduction wasn’t Holbourn’s strong point — by a technical interpretation, he had done it before, a fellow of his own service and a friend, but it wasn’t something he considered himself good at. Still, he was in charge, and considering what Scott was like — tough, probably, professional, without a doubt, but not exactly cautious — perhaps it was a good thing.

Holbourn looked up casually as the door in the back of the car opened and three men entered. They were talking rapidly in Rumanian and laughing. One sat down, waving his hand to the others, and the last two passed through the car and into the next. Holbourn leant back, and was almost immediately asleep. The last thing he saw was Scott across the aisle, his eyes apparently on the ceiling and his smoke curling up around his head.

The train whistle blew, rousing the sleeping grandma and Holbourn with a jolt. Holbourn raised himself on his elbow and looked out the window.

‘What station?’ he asked. The civilian in front of him turned.

‘Gorgota,’ he said.

‘Mulţumesc,’ replied Holbourn. He picked up his knapsack as the train slowed. A glance at his companion was enough to convey his intentions, and Scott rose and followed him between the seats through the car. They climbed down the steps of the carriage onto the platform.

‘It’s a surprise the car was so empty,’ said Scott, in a deadpan voice, watching the people stream out of the other carriages. The words were clear but scarcely audible. No one passing could have heard unless he was looking straight at him and as close as Holbourn was. He added, a bit more warmly, ‘Did you see what I saw?’

‘What?’

‘That trio that came through half an hour ago.’

Holbourn, with his usual cold efficiency, walked over to a newsstand and bought a paper. ‘SSI?’ he asked, leaning against the wall of the station to read it.

‘Definitely,’ said Scott.

‘What do you think they’d be here for?’ He didn’t need to ask it, and Scott didn’t need to answer. He was looking down the platform, and replied rather abruptly;

‘Just as I thought. No, don’t look.’ He stayed Holbourn’s hand as he made as if to lower his paper.

‘Who was it?’

‘Our civilian carriage friend. Watching us, of course, but pretending not to.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘As taxes.’

‘Well that’s lucky,’ said Holbourn, with as much sarcasm as he ever let leak into his voice. ‘Come on.’

They mounted the steps to their car, but were surprised to find it had filled with more rowdy soldiers and some patriotic schoolboys. The old woman had gone — the civilian was still there, and so were the two original book-reading and cigarette-smoking soldiers. Few of them paid any attention to the two medical corps men.

The journey was fairly quiet for some time, until the schoolboys broke out into a loud and rapid version of a popular song.

‘I’m going to complain to the company,’ said the book-reading soldier, suddenly, when there was a pause in the melody. He didn’t seem to have gotten anywhere in his book, as the well-trained Scott remarked quietly to Holbourn.

‘Such activities shouldn’t be allowed on the train,’ grumbled the smoking soldier. ‘It’s disruptive to the public peace.’

‘Oh, let them alone,’ said the civilian gentleman.

The two soldiers remained cross, but at Holbourn’s invitation, didn’t leave the car. ‘The others are full,’ said one, sharply.

Holbourn gave Scott a significant look. Scott, though, tactfully ignored it.

‘Maddux,’ he said, silently. Holbourn read his lips and looked up without blinking an eyelash as Maddux came down the middle of the car. Whether Holbourn’s bag just happened to be in the aisle or if he imperceptibly slid it there, one cannot know. Maddux, at any rate, tripped over it and sprawled on the floor. Holbourn snatched it up and gave the infantryman a dark glance.

‘Be careful, can’t you!’ he snorted. ‘There are important instruments in there.’

‘Shouldn’t have left it lying there,’ the dark young man returned annoyedly.

‘I suppose I can leave it where I want,’ said Holbourn.

‘Not if it obstructs traffic!’ said Maddux.

‘Well, look where you’re going and step over it next time.’

‘There’d better not be a next time,’ said Maddux, and walked off huffing.

Scott had watched the proceedings indifferently, noticing mostly that neither the civilian nor the book-reader had appeared to look up, but the cigarette-smoker, now on his fourth or fifth, raised his eyes first to Maddux’s retreating back, and then to Holbourn, who was examining the contents of his knapsack and grumbling about blind elephants.

Scott’s hand moved to his breast pocket, and he found that Holbourn had already slipped a small paper into it. It was written in Maddux’s loopy handwriting;

‘Capitan Korzha boarded at Gorgota.’

Scott glanced at Holbourn and Holbourn nodded.

‘Korzha,’ said Scott, silently again.

‘Yes,’ said, or rather, mouthed, Holbourn.

‘But he’s--’

‘One of the biggest brains in the whole blasted bunch.’

‘And he’s on this train?’ Scott was indifferent almost.

‘Yes,’ said Holbourn. ‘And now I’m certain.’

‘They’re on us.’

‘Yes.’

‘Our smoking friend has gone.’

‘Which way?’

‘Back.’

‘Following Maddux.’

‘Indubitably.’ The smoking soldier had barely disappeared through the door than one of the civilian’s friends entered through it and passed along the length of the car. Scott looked up casually, impartially, as the man walked by, and met his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said to Holbourn. ‘They know we’re here.’

Holbourn gritted his teeth. ‘How could they know?’ He would never have said it aloud, not with Scott there, not Scott the agent of Bavaria, Italy, and Austria. But he asked it of himself. ‘How in the name of all that’s impossible could they know?’

All thoughts were interrupted by the whistle of the train.

‘Another station,’ said Scott. ‘Ploiesti, must be.’

It was Ploiesti. Scott stuck his head out of the window and watched as they pulled into the station. He noticed that even before the train had completely stopped a man in a trenchcoat and another in uniform stepped off and disappeared into the crowd.

‘We get off,’ said Holbourn.

‘Yes,’ said Scott. ‘We get off.’ His voice matched Holbourn’s perfectly — mild, indifferent, professional.

The station was crowded, and became more so as the passengers poured out of the cars. The bustle of people pressed around the two men as they stood on the platform.

‘I don’t like it.’ Scott imagined rather than heard the apprehension in the leader’s voice behind him.

‘That man with the conductor? And those two on the corner? Neither do I, cap,’ he said.

‘There’s more of them, too,’ said Holbourn. ‘I don’t claim to be any sort of magician, but I can feel it.’

‘Voice of experience,’ said Scott. ‘The others?’

‘Emerson’s over there, in the station house,’ said Holbourn. ‘Find Maddux and Lupin.’

‘Right,’ said Scott, and disappeared like a ghost into the fluctuating mass of people.

Holbourn pressed his way through the people towards the station house. He paused in the door and scanned the crowd for Michael Emerson.

‘Excuse me,’ said a sudden voice beside him. Holbourn turned slowly to find a young locotenent at his elbow.

‘Yes?’ he asked. ‘Do you want me?’

‘There are special security regulations in place,’ explained the officer. ‘May I see your papers? You’ll forgive me. It’s just my orders. One moment, and then you may go.’

‘Certainly,’ said Holbourn, reaching into his pocket. This was it, then. His mental machinery chattered away rapidly as he thought, calmly, dispassionately. They knew who he was — this was just a guise. His eyes scanned the milling crowd and he knew he saw more than one armed soldier. He did not fail to see the sharp flash in the officer’s eye as he reached into his pocket, either. If anything should come out in his hand besides his papers, he knew that he could count on having a bullet through his middle. The officer took the papers Holbourn handed him and looked them over. His brow furrowed.

‘One moment, Mr. Cornea,’ he said. He beckoned to an armed police officer, who approached. ‘Call the Capitan,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what to do about this, Mr. Cornea,’ he went on. ‘We’ll straighten it out in a minute. If you’ll come with me--’

‘Certainly,’ repeated Holbourn, stepping out of the doorway.

‘They’ve got the captain.’ Emerson snapped it out in the southern dialect, sharp and businesslike, yet even though Scott didn’t understand the words, he heard the something in Emerson’s voice that warned of danger.

‘What is it, Emerson?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened?’

‘They’ve arrested Holbourn,’ said Emerson.

‘Arrested him?’ demanded Rene Lupin.

‘Where?’ asked Scott, the tension in his voice as controlled as his face. ‘Where is he?’ Emerson waved a hand. At the end of the platform, Holbourn was facing off with a dark-haired Rumanian capitan. Scott took one look. Obviously Korzha.

‘Take the other two and hide,’ he said. ‘Wherever, it doesn’t matter, but stay out of their reach.’

‘And you, sir?’ That sir, until then neglected, was more than a convention. Scott was now in charge. He didn’t choose to answer, though.

‘Go,’ he said.

‘Your papers are not right,’ said Capitan Korzha, handing them back to Holbourn. ‘You’ll come with us to the police station, if you please.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Holbourn. ‘My papers certainly are right. I don’t understand why they must be examined here, anyway. It’s certainly very uncommon.’

‘It will be straightened out,’ said the dark capitan.

‘But, capitan--’

Korzha gave his locotenent a glance, and the man pulled out an evil-looking machine pistol.

‘You will come with us, Domnul Cornea,’ said Korzha, with the patience of a cow. ‘Security is being tightened, and your papers are not right.’

‘Very well,’ said Holbourn. His eyes scanned the platform once more, and then came back to meet Korzha’s — dark and unconquerable. Korzha’s own eyes narrowed. He had seen the glance, had read the meaning, and knew that Holbourn was looking for his men.

The other soldiers had begun to unsling their machine guns, ready to shoot should Holbourn try to escape. Korzha turned away and started to speak to another officer. The locotenent remained with his gun pointed at Holbourn’s head.  He was a young fellow, probably just out of school . . . The chatter of the station had not subsided in the least. Holbourn looked coolly over the crowd. To be arrested, just when it was starting, in the middle of a bustling world that knew nothing of him — nagut, he would say in German. Oh, well.

With a sudden, lightning-quick move, Holbourn’s right hand flashed out and struck the locotenent on the side of the head, knocking him over and sending the bullet of his Luger rocketing harmlessly towards the sky. Holbourn did not wait either for the locotenent to fall or for the soldiers to get their fingers on the triggers of their machine guns and shoot him down. In the same movement he made a nosedive around the corner of the building, past a pile of luggage carts and crates.

His chest slammed against the cement of the platform, and he lost his wind as a fountain of bullets shattered the crates behind him and whistled by inches from his head. He rolled over in time to see an armed guard looming over the heap of rubbish which had been Holbourn’s only shelter. The soldier raised his gun, and his finger touched the trigger.

Holbourn’s hand already held his Mauser. He jerked to one side, raised his pistol, and pulled the trigger even as a stream of bullets skittered past his shoulder. The bullets abruptly stopped as the soldier dropped his gun with an oath, fell back against the wall, and clutched his arm.

There was no time either to think or to delay. Holbourn scrambled to his feet and took off like a modern day Achilles. Machine guns rattled and feet clattered behind him, and he expected any moment to see that flash of light, and after that, darkness. He tore down a back alley and stopped as he noticed that running into the next street would put him in plain sight for the police squads Korzha had certainly sent around to apprehend him.

The Scotchman didn’t pause to think through anything. He ran and dodged by instinct, and his instinct was pretty good. He refused to be driven farther from the station by the advancing enemy. He had to get back to Scott and the others, and he knew that his separation from the group was what Korzha most wished.

The streets were quickly filling with soldiers. Holbourn drew back into the shadows of the alley, and noticed that they had grown longer. Time was slipping by. The soldiers were closing in, groups of two or three choosing their alley and heading for it. Holbourn hesitated to fire. Any such action would tell them beyond a doubt where he was. He glanced up at the high, windowless walls around him. He was walled in on two sides and about to be walled in on four. Well, at any rate, when they found him he’d show them he didn’t die until all his bullets were gone. He leaned grimly against the wall, his Mauser aimed at the nearest soldier, ready, at the first sign of discovery, to die with bullets whizzing around him. He had lost his hat — his loose blond hair ruffled in the heavy wind which came sweeping down the alley. He realised that his knapsack was still on his shoulder. He lowered it to the ground and then waited, tensed, silent, teeth gritted.

The soldiers were shouting to each other, running about in the street. Holbourn could hear the thud of their boots and their officers giving orders.  Two minutes passed, but Holbourn felt them only as minutes. He was excited — there was a sense of wildness and adventure in him that all his stoicism could never overcome. He was a Scot — and Scots die hard.

Korzha would be picking up the other lot of them — no, but not if that man Scott had any sense, and Holbourn was pretty sure he did. Korzha mustn’t get them.

He heard a rattle of a machine guns very close by at the end of the alley. Holbourn swung around, expecting at the same time to feel the bullets bite into his chest. But there was no sensation of lead slamming into him. There was a single figure approaching him, visible only partially from the shadows. It was a figure in a medical corps uniform with a knapsack slung on its shoulder.

‘Alive, cap?’ it asked in the voice of the archangel Michael, or perhaps St. George, or at least Sir Launcelot.

‘And kicking,’ said Holbourn, and lowered his pistol.

Scott sped up his pace to an easy, swinging lope and reached Holbourn’s side.

‘Glad I found you,’ he said, patting his shoulder. As if he were picking him up at a train station — that impassive, yet there was something laughing underneath his eyes. He stood, opposite Holbourn, feet apart, machine gun cradled in his arms. His finger massaged the trigger.

‘You’re bleeding,’ said Holbourn, detachedly.

‘Grazed,’ said Scott, tersely. ‘Come on, there’s a way out of here.’

He darted down the alley, his eyes sweeping from left to right, his feet making little noise on the pavement.  

‘Keep a guard at the back door, ‘ he said. As if he were in charge, the blighter! ‘Don’t want any unexpected visitors.’

They went for a few seconds, but Scott flattened against the wall as he heard simultaneously the crack of Holbourn’s Mauser and the clatter of MG machine guns.

‘We’re in for it now,’ he said.

‘I don’t know about you, Scottie,’ said Holbourn, ‘But I’ve been in for it these twenty minutes at least.’

‘I should say. I thought it was over myself for a few minutes, there.’

‘Nothing is over until I say it is.’

‘Then maybe it’s not so serious,’ grinned Scott, firing his own machine gun down the alley. The guns at the other end silenced only a moment, then picked up again.

‘Do we run for it?’ asked Scott, as Holbourn looked at him.

‘Don’t know where we’re running to,’ said Holbourn.

‘At least we’ll know where we’re running from.’

‘Thanks, but I rather like to draw out my life. Make it last as long as possible.’

‘Whatever you say, captain.’

‘We’re safe here, anyway,’ went on Holbourn, ignoring the bullets that passed just a handbreadth from his chest. ‘That is, until they get a grenade. But I don’t much fancy staying here until they do.’

‘Wouldn’t be such a good idea. Stay here.’ Scott threw himself to his stomach for the second time that afternoon and wriggled to the end of the alley.

‘More soldiers making our way,’ he said. ‘On the double.’

‘And?’

‘Korzha is at the end of the road. With three officers and a staff car. Those soldiers are getting close, captain.’

‘And a what?’

‘And a staff car. Listen!’

A train whistle blew not far away, shattering the eardrums of the two in the alley.

‘What about it, Scottie?’ asked Holbourn.

‘Do you hear that?’

‘Train?’

‘No, listen!’

Holbourn listened. In a faraway street he could hear the sound of machine guns. But they were a long way off.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘Maddux and Emerson!’ said Scott.  ‘And Lupin.’

‘But —’ Holbourn squeezed against the wall as bullets whistled again. Scott chose not to return fire.

‘But they think it’s  us, my dear captain,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be Emerson. Good old fellow!’

There was a silence for a while, only broken by the distant gunfire. Scott saw a movement at the far end of the alley, and three soldiers left and dashed around the corner.

‘They’re gone!’ said Scott, calmly. ‘Confused ‘em.’

‘On the subject of staff cars,’ said Holbourn ‘Let’s have a look.’

He did. Korzha was conversing with one of the officers, when a very young soldier ran up, saluted, and blurted something out. Korzha said something more to the officers, and all three of them crossed the street and disappeared beyond the train station.

The street was not quite empty. There were about five soldiers on the other side of the street, their eyes scanning the alleys. The afternoon was growing late — the sun had begun to disappear behind the buildings of the town.

Scott raised himself to his knees and bit his lip. He glanced around, as if forming a plan. ‘Come on, captain,’ he said, standing up. ‘When I signal, run. Run like you had a pack of German Shepherds after you. German Shepherds who haven’t had anything to eat in a week.’ Machine gun resting gently in his hands, he stepped into the open street.

‘Rapide!’ he called to the soldiers, waving an arm and shouting incoherently.

The soldiers could not see his uniform clearly, but they could see it was a uniform and that he carried a machine gun. Obedient to his tone of command, though his words were inaudible, they followed his urgent beckoning and dashed down the alley he indicated. Holbourn, at the signal from Scott, seized both knapsacks and dashed across the street to the staff car.

‘You idiot!’ said Holbourn, kindly, his glance only landing a second on Scott’s bloody hand before he shoved him out of the driver’s seat. His excitement was, for once, plain in the thickness of his Scotch burr. ‘Hoo did ye get awa’ wi’ tha’ one? An’ wi’ only one word o’ Rumanian!’

‘Don’t know what kind of fool I was to think it would work,’ said Scott, with a debonair shrug.

‘Just your golden touch,’ said Holbourn.

‘Luck,’ said Scott. ‘It’ll fail someday, you’ll see.’

‘And what about the others? I left you in charge, and you left them?’

‘They’re all right. Remember, Maddux is a master strategist. Think he’ll let the Rumanians get the better of him? And Lupin’s used to this kind of shoot and dodge work. They’ll be all right.’

‘If they don’t it’ll be my fault.’

‘Must make you feel important.’

‘No, I’m just in charge.’

‘I don’t quite feel safe in this thing,’ said Scott, banging his head against the window as the car turned sharply again.

‘I value my life too,’ assured Holbourn. ‘But I never have been a good driver. If any German SS agent wanted to discover my true identity all he’d have to say is, “Drive me round the corner, bitte,” and he’d know.’

‘But I can’t quite believe he’d be that devoted to his country.’

‘You are the most impertinent fellow.’

‘Right of my rank, captain.’

‘You don’t have to remind me.’