By three o'clock the road was winding through an area of big, irregular mounds covered with snow, out of which stuck jagged bits of brick wall and occasionally a twisted steel girder. The officer who spoke a little English told Gregory that it was the Finnish town of Nykyrka which had been virtually obliterated by the Russian guns before its capture. Soon afterwards the car left the road and going down a side track of sleepers which had been laid across the snow, entered a wood. Among the trees there were many lines of hutments and the car drew up before one of these, from which officers and orderlies were constantly coming and going. Gregory's English speaking companion took him past a sentry and secured him admission to an office where a big, shaven headed man with a fierce moustache was seated behind a table.
Gregory introduced himself and stated his business, upon which the Russian replied in German:
"As you can imagine, the Marshal is extremely busy. If you will give me the letter I will see that it reaches him."
Presenting the letter, Gregory said: "I should be delighted for you to read it, but I would prefer to hand it to the Marshal in person."
The Russian glanced through it and shrugged as lie handed it back. "As you wish, Herr Oberst Baron, but I doubt if the Marshal will be able to see you until next week."
Gregory's throat muscles tightened. He had left Kandalaksha on the morning of Saturday, February the 24th, and it was now Monday afternoon. He had made the journey in just over two days, which was remarkably good considering conditions in Russia in the winter; but he could only count upon his friends remaining out of danger for seven days from the time he had started. After the coming Saturday orders might at any moment reach Kandalaksha for them to be sent under guard to Moscow and the beginning of the following week would be the absolute deadline.
"Surely you can arrange for me to see the Marshal before then?" "he said quickly. "I am anxious about those friends of mine who are mentioned in the letter and it is a matter of great urgency.'
The Russian shrugged again. "At the moment the greatest offensive of the war is just opening; the battle for Viborg. So for some days, at least, the Marshal will be much too occupied to give time to other people's personal affairs. In the meantime you had better be attached to the German Military Mission which we have here. Even if you are in bad odour with some members of your Government your personal introduction from Marshal Goering will be a recommendation to your brother officers. General von Geisenheim is the head of the Mission. I will send an orderly with you to his quarters. Report to him and he will arrange for accommodation to be provided for you."
There was nothing that Gregory could do but thank the officer and accompany the orderly, through the twilight that was now gathering in the woodland camp, to another block of hutments a quarter of a mile distant; where, after waiting for ten minutes in an ante room, he was shown in to the German General.
Knowing that ninety per cent of the German army officers detested Himmler and admired Goering, he had little trepidation about producing his forged letter. Having saluted smartly, he handed it over to the General with the words: "I have been told by the camp commandant to report to you,Herr General, and this letter will explain my presence here."
General von Geisenheim was a tall, thin, blue eyed man with an aristocratic face and greying hair. He read the letter through carefully and replaced it on his desk. Quite casually he picked up his pistol holster from a near by chair, took the weapon out and waggled it at Gregory.
"This letter is all right," he said with a frosty smile. "I know Marshal Goering's signature well. But I should be interested to hear where you stole it, because you, my friend, are not Colonel Baron von Lutz."
Chapter XXIX
The Battle For Viborg
THE German Army can muster, with its reserves, some 5,000,000 men. Its officers, therefore including both the active and retired lists with staffs and specialists must number at least a quarter of a million, so it seemed incredibly bad luck to Gregory that out of 250,000 men he should have run into one of the' few hundred at most whom the late Colonel Baron should have known even as a passing acquaintance.
He had realized that he had to take that risk, as it was certain that a number of German officers would be attached to Voroshilov's headquarters, but he had not thought it sufficient for serious concern and he had taken up the imposture of the Colonel Baron again simply because he had no choice in the matter. It was essential that he should be able to prove his identity to the Russians, if asked, by some other means than the letter and, while he had a perfectly valid passport issued by the German Foreign Office in the name of the Colonel Baron, it was quite impossible for him to fake another.
"Come along! " snapped the General. "Who are you? And what game has led you to attempt this imposture?"
Gregory sighed: "It's a long story, Herr General, and of course you're quite right I'm not von Lutz; although he was a friend of mine. I'm sorry to say that he died on the night of November the 26th, shot by the Gestapo on his estate in Brandenburg."
"I'm sorry to hear that, as he was also a friend of mine." Von Geisenheim frowned. "But if he died on November the 26th he couldn't possibly have passed this letter on to you himself, since it is dated November the 27th."
"That's right," Gregory said. "It was on that night I had the honour of dining with Field Marshal Goering."
"How nice for you," the General smiled cynically. "Have you any other tall stories?"
"Plenty," said Gregory, "if you have time to listen to them."
"Unfortunately I have not. Quite obviously you are a spy, so you can tell them to the Gestapo. We have several Gestapo men with us here; they like us so much that they can't bear us to travel without them."
Gregory's brain was working like a dynamo. If von Geisenheim once handed him over to the Gestapo his number was up. But as he studied the lean features before him things were beginning to come back to him and he felt almost certain that he had seen the General's face before. Anyhow, he must chance it.
"There's one story that I could tell the Gestapo, Herr General," he said slowly, "but as one gentleman to another I think it would be only fair to let you hear it first. It starts at the Pleisen Palace out at Potsdam on the night of November the 8th."
"Eh, what's that?" The General sat forward suddenly.
"I was present at a great gathering of high German officers there and they were preparing to attend a little party that was to be held at the Hotel Adlon later in the evening. The entertainment was to consist of arresting the three hundred odd members of a dining club called the `Sons of Siegfried', who were actually the Inner Gestapo, while Herr Hitler and his principal supporters were blown to pieces by a bomb in Munich. Are you too busy to hear any more?"
"That's quite enough! " said the General. "If you were at the Pleisen Palace I suppose you saw me there, or afterwards at the Adlon?"
The long shot had come off and at that moment there flashed into Gregory's mind the actual circumstances in which he had seen the General, so he replied: "I saw you shoot the very tall man, near the service entrance to the banqueting room, in the terrific gun fight that followed von Pleisen's assassination. It would interest me a lot, though, to know how you managed to escape arrest afterwards?"