19
Sig stared at the waxen corpse in the coffin. He felt the blood drain from his own face. He turned to the girl.
“Is that — Otto Storp?” He blurted out the question.
The girl spun toward him. She glared at him — sudden, cold suspicion hardening her pretty face.
“You said you were my brother's friends!” she exclaimed. Her voice was coldly accusing.
“We are, Fräulein Storp,” Dirk broke in quickly. “We are. But in a special way. We never met him.”
“Who are you?” the girl demanded “What do you want here?”
Dirk thought quickly. This was no time for sparring.
“Gemini,” he said quietly.
The girl drew in her breath sharply. Her eyes were wide and dark. But she said not a word.
Suddenly a deep voice broke the silence. “Hang the wreath on the door, Gisela. Lock it. We will have no more visitors tonight.”
Dirk and Sig whirled on the voice before the first word was out. In the doorway stood a huge man At least six feet two. He appeared to be in his early forties, but his rugged face made it difficult to tell with certainty. His ham-sized fist held a Luger pointed steadily at the two men before him.
“Do not move,” he said calmly. “I will not hesitate to kill you both.”
Dirk's mind raced. He realized they could do nothing. There were a thousand possible reasons for the predicament in which they found themselves — but only one possible reaction to it. He did not move a muscle.
“Put your hands on top of your head,” the man ordered. “Lace your fingers. Tightly. I want to see white flesh.”
Dirk obeyed. He glanced at Sig — relieved to see that he, too, was carrying out the command. He clasped his hands together till they hurt.
“Now,” the man said unhurriedly. “What do you want here?” He studied them. “Who are you?”
“My papers are in my pocket,” Dirk said.
The man shook his head. “Papers mean nothing,” he stated flatly.
The girl was watching the two strangers, her face strained and bleak. Suddenly she spoke.
“Turn them in, Onkel Oskar,” she pleaded, her voice hoarsely urgent. “Please! Do not get involved!”
The big man nodded slowly. “Gisela may be right,” he said thoughtfully. “Can you give me one reason why I should not hand you over to the police?”
Sig had been following the exchange with rising, bitter anger. All their careful plans, all their damned trials and tribulations, the lives lost — all down the drain because of the one goddamned development no one could possibly have foreseen… The death of Otto Storp.
He glared at the girl, at the big man. Dammit, what the hell did they know? Or care? The frustration of the situation overwhelmed him.
The big man slowly looked from one to the other. “I have little choice, have I not?” he said. “Perhaps I—”
Sig could contain himself no longer.
“Save it!” he spat. “I know too damn well what you're going to say! You will have to turn us in. As good, patriotic Germans, you will have to hand us over. Whoever we are! If we are enemies, you will have to. Of course. If we are Gestapo trying to infiltrate your crummy organization, you will have to, to prove yourselves!” He glared resentfully at the girl. “You knew what Otto was,” he growled. “You recognized the password.” He snapped his head back to look at the big man. “You know who we are. Why we are here. Well, dammit, make up your minds. Turn us in, and save your own lousy skins — or give us a chance to talk!”
He stopped. He was literally out of breath. His hands, still clasped achingly on top of his head, trembled. For a moment there was silence. All eyes were on Sig. Then the big man turned to Dirk.
“Your friend is very hot under his collar,” he said calmly. He grinned. “But — we must make sure.” He gestured with his gun. “Show me your arm,” he ordered. “The left one.”
Dirk slowly took his hands from his head. He rolled up his sleeve and held his bare arm out for inspection. The long, deep scar seemed angrily inflamed.
The big man nodded.
“Prussian Blue,” he said. “I am Oskar Weber.” He put the gun in his belt. He turned to Sig. He grinned. “Welcome to Hechingen,” he said.
Sig took his hands down. He scowled at the man. “Why the hell didn't you give us the password in the first place?” he growled.
Weber shrugged. “And if you had been Gestapo informers who somehow had learned of the arrival of two enemy agents and the passwords, where would we be now?”
The girl walked over to her uncle. She placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Onkel Oskar,” she begged, “tell them to go. To leave us alone. Please! Do not get involved!”
The big man gently placed one of his huge hands over the girl's. “Gisela, my child,” he said with surprising softness, “is that what Otto would have done, do you think? Is that what he would have wanted us to do now?”
Two tears gleamed in the girl's dark eyes. They caught the flickering light from the candle flames. She turned away. “I will make hot coffee,” she said, her voice low. Quickly she left the room. The three men looked after her.
“Gisela can be trusted,” Weber said, answering the unspoken question in the air. “When you know more about her, you will understand. Her parents — her mother was my sister — they were killed. Only a year ago. In Stuttgart. It was an air raid.” He sighed. “It is difficult for her.” He looked toward the open coffin.
“Last night,” he said heavily. “Only last night the accident happened. It was at the railroad yards. We both work there—” He suddenly stopped. “I—work there,” he continued. “Otto slipped and fell between two cars being coupled.” He turned away. “Together, Otto and I — we did what little we could down there to stop the war machine that is destroying our Fatherland.” He looked earnestly at Dirk. “But only when we were a hundred and ten percent certain that we would not be caught. You understand, my friend, we must be more careful than anyone else….”
Dirk nodded. “We understand,” he said. “You are part of Storp's cell?”
“Cell?” Weber asked in surprise. “What cell? There were the two of us. And Gisela…”
Dirk and Sig glanced at one another. They had the same bleak thought. The forces they could count on in carrying out their mission consisted of one man, one reluctant girl — and one corpse….
Dirk looked speculatively at Weber. “How much do you know?” he asked.
For a moment the big man fixed his pale blue eyes on Dirk, then he shrugged. “Only what Otto told me,” he said. “What he thought I should know…. We were expecting you. Otto knows — Otto knew a man in Stuttgart. He operates a Schwarzsender—an illegal radio. We have no radio here. The man in Stuttgart told Otto about you.”
“This man,” Dirk asked, “who is he?”
Weber shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I do not know how to find him. Otto thought it best.”
Dirk nodded. He dismissed it. It was not of paramount importance. “Go on,” he said.
“I know that you are here to learn about the scientific project at Haigerloch. The one Otto said is atomic research.”
“Is it?”
Weber shrugged. “Otto said yes. To make a terrible bomb. He knew a man who works there.”
“Himmelmann?” Sig asked.
“Yes. Gustav Himmelmann.”
“Who is he?”
“A scientist. From Austria. Otto said he is a very good scientist. But he has become disillusioned. With the Nazis. He cannot bear to see his work in science being used for destruction. So — he will do what he can to help stop this bomb project. Once such a bomb is made — he knows how it will be used.” The big man looked solemnly at the two Americans. “Understand,” he said in a low voice, “we are none of us traitors to our Fatherland. We love our country. We are not your allies to help destroy her — but to help her survive. Adolf Hitler and his gang have laid waste our Germany. They have pushed her to the brink of total ruin. We would try to save her. Stop this final cataclysm — if we can.” He was silent for a moment. “We will help you, Gisela and I. But at all times our Fatherland and our people come first. You understand this?”