“What sort of country is it?”
Fleming twisted the standard lamp round so it shone full on the map pinned to the blackboard behind him. He pointed to the hundred and twenty mile second leg, tracing its path with a ruler.
“Mostly flat, as you can see, so you’ll stand out like a sore thumb if you’re not careful. But the 234’s fast, it will give you an advantage, despite the concentration of their air defences. About the only piece of intelligence we have for the area is that the Russians have moved some fighters into the old Luftwaffe base at Grafen, here, so keep it tight; you don’t want to stray. It’s a short flight, too, so the element of surprise will be very much on your side. The Soviets won’t be expecting an attack on Branodz. It’s well defended, it’s almost impossible to find amongst those valleys unless you know what you’re looking for, and they know that the Germans are going balls out to stop the Americans in the south. So far, the Russians have had it damned easy in Czechoslovakia.”
“What about the target itself? When am I going to see a model, study photographs.”
“We haven’t got any.”
Kruze shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t go in there with no idea what it is I’m meant to be bombing, for Christ’s sake.”
“And we can’t just send in a Mosquito two hundred miles behind Soviet lines on a photo jaunt. We do have eyewitness reports, though.” He tried to make it sound casual. “Herries, over to you.”
Herries cast his mind back to his fleeting recce of Branodz. He repeated what he had already told his debriefers in London a dozen times.
“The building you’re looking for is a large Alpine villa, chalet style, of all-wooden construction,” the traitor said. “It’s situated on the edge of the town, in a clearing that doubles as a motor-pool. It’s easily the largest building in the village and has flags sticking out of every orifice. Even at the speed you’ll be coming in at, you won’t be able to miss it.”
“Remember,” Fleming added, “we know that Shaposhnikov will be manning the radio between 0630 and 0700.” He paused. “We’ve also heard from Moscow that he’s already at Branodz. If you time your attack for around 0640, you’ll catch him in the operations room, just after his early morning shit. You might even get him while he’s still got his trousers down.”
Kruze laughed, purging the tension that had been building in his muscles and knotting his stomach. At first, Fleming’s expression did not alter, then he allowed himself a smile. “You’ve worked with the Lotfe bombsight at Farnborough. At the height you’ll drop from, you can’t miss; you’ll obliterate the entire area.”
“I hate to break up the party,” Herries said, “but what about our escape routes?”
“Once Kruze is on his way, get out of Oberammergau and lie low, wait for the Americans to advance and surrender yourself to them. We’ll get you out of their custody as soon as we can.” He saw Herries move to protest and then realize that there was nothing he could say in front of Kruze. “You’ll just have to trust us,” Fleming said.
“As for you, Piet, once you’ve dropped your tanks and bombs on Shaposhnikov you’ll be low on fuel, so head west as fast as you can. Make as if you’re going for the German lines, that’s important, but as soon as you’re in the clear, divert to any Allied airfield. We can’t tell anyone to expect you, for obvious reasons, so make sure you land on your first approach. As soon as they see that you’re surrendering an Ar 234 to them, they’ll let you in. Then sit tight and don’t say anything until the EAEU comes to get you.”
Fleming wandered over to the window, pulled the tattered curtain aside and studied the night sky. There was a bright three-quarter moon with intermittent cloud cover, light enough for the Auster pilot to see the landing area, but too dark for them to be picked up by night fighters… hopefully. He looked at his watch and then to Kruze. It was just past eleven.
“The Auster leaves at midnight. Try and snatch some rest. If you have any further questions, I’ll tackle them on the way out to the aircraft.”
As the two of them moved for the door, Fleming caught the traitor’s eye. “Herries, I want to talk to you,” he said.
Fleming waited till they were quite alone.
“It hasn’t escaped our notice that you could quite easily shoot Kruze in the back and blame your German friends. But if you live and he doesn’t, we’re not going to believe you, it’s as simple as that.”
Herries said nothing.
“So, we’ve built in a little safeguard just to make sure you don’t do anything rash,” Fleming continued. “Although Kruze isn’t allowed to know who you are, I’m going to give him a code word. He will pass it on to you when — and only when — you finally part company at Oberammergau. He’ll think it’s to let us know that he got to the aircraft in one piece.”
Fleming looked into Herries’ eyes and allowed himself to smile. “You, on the other hand, can look on it as the only way you’ll dodge the gallows.”
After wrestling with his conscience in the solitude of the briefing room. Fleming sprang to his feet and strode outside, slamming the door behind him.
Kruze, about to risk his life, deserved better. He had resolved to tell the Rhodesian about Herries. The longer he spent with the traitor, the more he realized that Kruze needed to be forewarned, code word or not.
Kruze was too wound up to rest. The room was cold and miserable, with only the muted glow of an old hurricane lamp to see by, and he suddenly ached for Penny.
There was a faint knock at the door. Fleming looked in hesitantly, then entered when he saw Kruze was awake.
“I thought I’d see how you were doing.” He drew a chair up beside Kruze’s bed. “Cigarette?” He offered the pack.
“No thanks,” Kruze said, still staring at the ceiling. He sensed Fleming’s awkwardness in the silence that hung between them.
“How did you feel before you went into Rostock?”
Fleming took a long pull on his cigarette and watched the blue smoke curl in the chill air. “Rostock… seems like a bloody lifetime ago. I remember… it felt like everything was down to me, just me. But it wasn’t Staverton I didn’t want to disappoint, it was myself.”
Kruze nodded. “Staverton wouldn’t have given a shit if you hadn’t come back, as long as he’d got his precious 163C. Don’t think I have any illusions about his intentions towards Rolf Peiper. He’d do anything, bend any rule, to get the job done.”
Fleming tried to explain the other side of Staverton, the man who had helped him on the road to recovery, though all he could think of was the AVM’s refusal to tell the truth about Herries.
“That’s balls, Robert. Stop kidding yourself. Why do you think he sent you into Rostock, for a miracle cure? You’re one hell of a good intelligence officer, but Staverton seems to have owned you, body and soul, since Italy.”
“Christ, you don’t mince words, do you?” Fleming threw the cigarette to the floor and ground in the stub with his boot. “I didn’t know my past was aired so openly around the EAEU.”
Kruze took his eyes off the crumbling, yellowed paint above the bed and looked across at Fleming. There was none of the self-pity in his face that he had expected.
“No one knows who you really are, Robert, so no one talks about you, except for Mulvaney and you know what he’s like; holds you in the highest admiration, old boy, and all that.”
Fleming smiled, shaking his head. “Admiration from a pompous, stuffed shirt like Mulvaney. God, I must have been an even bigger prick than I thought.”