Herries clutched his bare chest with his arms, trying to warm himself against the cold and damp of the room. His words came between intermittent sobs and shivers.
“Colonel, why the hell should I give myself up to you, right out of the blue, when I could have taken off to Turkey, or Switzerland, or any other fucking place you care to think of where there aren’t British, American or Russian troops to hunt me down? I have come to you because I have information which you cannot afford to ignore, but I have put a price on that information. It’s full immunity from prosecution or no deal.”
Jackson, who had listened to Herries whine for the best part of an hour, exploded with rage.
“How dare you talk to me of deals, you damned traitor! If we want any information we can beat it out of you right now.”
Herries stepped forward into the light of the single lamp which hung from the ceiling. He gave Jackson a wry smile.
“Do you really think I would have neatly memorized the plan just so that you could make me cough it up, Colonel? You must be joking. The original documents — giving names of participants, dates, times and so forth — are hidden in a very safe place just outside the town. And you’d never find it in a month of Sundays, Jackson, so you can put that idea right out of your head.”
The Colonel took a step forward to strike Herries across the face. Herries retreated back into the gloom of the corner.
“Colonel, you can’t beat the location of that hiding place out of me either. You see, I’m going to die unless I get medical treatment for this dysentery very soon and any persuasive techniques used by your men are only going get me there a little quicker. I really have nothing to lose by keeping my mouth shut under interrogation.”
Jackson reluctantly lowered his arm. He would have to take guidance from General Styles. He just hoped the general was in the mood to listen. He turned on his heels, but Herries’ cracking voice made him pause by the door.
“Remember, Colonel, I want a signed affidavit of immunity before I tell you anything. But you’d better hurry. I can tell you that time’s running out.”
Jackson slammed the door behind him and called for the sentry.
Herries passed out, unable to fight the fatigue any longer.
For a split second the reality of the door crashing open mingled with Herries’ tortured nightmare. Dietz wasn’t dead; he had finally caught up with him. Lights and noise exploded inside his exhausted mind.
Herries pressed his bare back against the damp wall in a vain effort to get away, but rough hands pulled at his body and dragged him to his feet. He opened his eyes and squinted under the light of the lone lamp to see not Dietz, but Colonel Jackson before him. Two soldiers gripped him tightly by the arms.
Jackson swiped Herries hard across the cheek with the back of his hand.
“You’d better wake up you little bastard, because you and I are going for a ride.”
The slap drove some of the fatigue from his body, the stinging sensation giving way to a dull throb at the point where Jackson’s signet ring had partially torn the soft flesh of his lower lip. But it was not so much the pain as Jackson’s words which jolted Herries out of his exhaustion.
“I told you,” Herries croaked, “no signed affidavit, no deal.”
The soldiers’ grips tightened on his arms. Jackson nodded at a third soldier whose fist crashed into Herries’ stomach, driving upwards into the base of his ribcage.
“I warned you, you traitor. Don’t talk to me about deals.”
As Herries slumped, the soldiers let the body sink onto the floor. Herries looked up at Jackson to see him holding up a piece of paper.
“You deserve more than that,” Jackson sneered, “but General Styles’ signature on this forbids me to treat you too roughly.”
“Give me that.” The pain shot through Herries’ ribs as he grabbed desperately at the sheet of paper. Clenching it with shaking hands, he saw the official stamp and the scrawled hand of General Styles. It was what he needed. It was his passport home.
Jackson waited till he could see Harries tasting immunity. Then he pulled the paper from his grip.
“Oh no,” he said shaking his head at Herries. “We need proof that what you’ve been garbling about for the past few hours is fact. Then you can have your miserable reprieve. Show us your evidence, Herries, if you can.”
Herries, still on his knees, brought the blood up from the back of his throat and spat at Jackson’s feet. “Before I lead you there, we’re going to pass by the nearest Red Cross outpost and drop off that letter. Only that way do I get to trust your promises of freedom.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kruze wanted to reach out to the trousers that were lying tantalizingly close to the bed and pull the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, but he resisted the temptation because he knew that the motion would stir Penny from her sleep.
It was a lovely little room, exactly how he’d always imagined the bedroom of an English country cottage should look. The bunched curtains, with their floral pattern, allowed a thin stream of late afternoon light to play across the bedspread and cast shimmering reflections off the brass bedstead onto the faintly undulating surface of the old ceiling.
He shifted slightly, as if trying to shake himself out of the sudden depression which gripped him.
“What are you thinking?” Her voice wasn’t tinged with sleep and when he looked into her face, close to his, her eyes were bright and alert. He realized that she had been awake all the time.
“I was trying to imagine how it would be to wake up in a place like this every morning.” It was part truth. “I’m not sure I could.”
“I could take that the wrong way.”
“You shouldn’t,” he smiled at her. “It’s nothing to do with you… us. Nor the cottage. It’s a perfect place.”
She rolled onto him and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his eye.
She kissed his forehead lightly. “England isn’t for you, is it? It’s not where the future lies.”
“Isn’t it? You tell me.”
“You already know how I feel.”
“Do I?”
She stretched across him, her breasts brushing across his stomach, and pulled the cigarettes and lighter from his trousers. She produced two cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and one in her own. The glow from the flame bathed her face in soft, orange light. It reminded him of the time he had first been struck by her beauty at the dinner party.
“I see you on a homestead, a farm—”
He rolled her onto her back. “We’re not getting into that again.”
She took a light draw on the end of the cigarette. “I never mentioned Rhodesia, did I? It could be in Australia, or South America, perhaps. Somewhere far from here.”
“Do you figure in that picture?” He put his arms round her and smiled to defuse the gravity of the question.
“Darling, at the moment we’re in the depths of the English countryside, huddled beside each other for warmth.” She laughed. “Those places don’t exist right now. We’ve got to win a war first.”
He laughed with her. “I’ve come too far to get caught out now.”
Her expression changed so suddenly it shocked him.
“Robert said that once,” she whispered. The words hung heavily in the room. It was as if Fleming were there, watching them.
“Do you still love him?” He hadn’t meant to say it, but the vacuum left by her words compelled the question.
She rolled away from him, resting her head on the pillow.