The vital question was: Could the crucial test ordered by Berlin still be carried out on schedule?
Harbicht was all too vividly aware of the importance of the question. The dire ramifications of it — should the answer be no! If the test had to be called off because of his failure to provide security. Impatiently he pushed it from his mind, refusing to dwell on it.
The laboratory was totally destroyed. Reichardt had declared it to be of little consequence at this stage of developments. Anything that needed to be done could be carried out in alternate facilities.
The vital reactor cave and control center were virtually undamaged. That was the essential fact. Harbicht experienced a touch of gratification. Obviously the enemy saboteurs had not known about the massive steel hatch that sealed off the heart of the installation. It gave him a sort of perverse pleasure to contemplate the dismay and frustration they must have felt when they discovered the locked door! The blast they had set off had sprung it, but it had been impossible to open it. His own men had been forced to use torches to cut the remaining hinges so as to gain entrance to the caves beyond.
The cave that held the heavy-water storage tank, apart from being shaken up, had sustained no damage. It was far enough removed from the source of the explosion. But technicians were nevertheless checking everything, every gauge, every valve for signs of cracks or warps, any sign that tightening and adjusting were necessary.
Some minor damage had occurred both in the reactor cave and in the control center From the very force of the explosion. The key word was minor. Reichardt had assured him the necessary repairs and clean-up could be accomplished in two or three hours. The critical test would go on as scheduled — with only an hour's delay.
Harbicht was aware of a vague uneasiness in the back of his mind. Something he had overlooked? He had carefully examined everything. Gone over every possibility. Was there some point he did not see? He did not try to force it. He knew from experience that if something was worrying at him, it would surface faster if left alone.
He had briefly questioned a few individuals who had been in contact with the saboteurs. Two SS guards, a young Wehrmachthelferin and a man who had been too groggy to be coherent. And he had painstakingly pieced together the ploy the saboteurs had used in order to gain access to the caves. He felt a grudging respect for their ingenuity and audacity.
He also felt a stinging anger at the realization that he himself had passed within arm's length of the saboteurs as he arrived at the Haigerloch Sperrzone. They had escaped cleanly. All but one….
A German… A traitor! He had been right. The enemy agents had indeed been helped by a local Widerstandsgruppe. He felt the rage rise in him. The man was being held at the local security office at the Swan Inn.
It was time to have a little talk with him….
Harbicht openly studied the man standing before him, his arms held firmly by two SS guards.
A large man. Well built. Strong. Obviously a man used to working with his hands. Not the brain behind the operation. He had a bruise over one eye and his clothing was torn.
The man met his gaze steadily. He looked determined. Stoic. Harbicht sighed inwardly. So many of these unimaginative clods were that way. He would not be easy to break. Certainly not in a hurry. And time was the only commodity he, Harbicht, did not have. The man simply had to talk. Now.
He turned to Rauner.
“Who is this man?” he asked.
Rauner stepped in front of Oskar.
“Name?” he barked.
Oskar did not answer.
Rauner got a dangerous look on his face. His eyes narrowed. “I asked you your name,” he said.
Oskar remained silent. He thought back to what the Ami agent had said. When they had been talking about — interrogation Keep your mouth shut, he had said. Do not even give them the time of day, he had said. Say nothing. As soon as you open your mouth, it is damned difficult to close it again! He said nothing.
Rauner eyed him maliciously. He'd be damned if that peasant would make him look incompetent in front of Harbicht. With measured steps, he walked behind Oskar. Suddenly he grabbed one of his arms and twisted it to his back.
“One last time,” he snarled “What is your name?”
Oskar did not answer.
All at once Rauner pulled his twisted arm upward with as much force as he could muster. There was an audible snap as Oskar's shoulder left its socket.
Harbicht was watching him intently. A low, hoarse groan escaped the man's throat, but it was quickly cut off. Pain flooded his eyes and the muscles in his strong jaws knotted. He did not turn. He stared straight ahead, eyes hooded. Interesting. Not bad for a curtain-raiser…
Rauner let go of the arm. It fell, hanging useless at Oskar's side.
“Now, now, Obersturmführer,” Harbicht said, his voice mildly reproachful. “The man is quite right. We do not have to ask him his name. We have his papers, do we not?” He turned to the desk behind him. “Ah. Yes. Here they are.” He studied them briefly. “Weber,” he said “Oskar Weber. Foreman at the railroad yard at Hechingen.” He looked at Rauner. “You see, Obersturmführer, we already have that information.” He turned back to Oskar. “You must forgive the Obersturmführer, Herr Weber. He is impetuous.” He shook his head regretfully. “I am afraid you have been hurt needlessly. This time.” He looked at Rauner. “Have this man taken to the infirmary,” he instructed him. “Have them take care of that arm of his I will talk to him there.”
The infirmary was antiseptically white and clean. There was the usual pungent odor of disinfectants. Glass cases with glass shelves and glass doors held trays of gleaming instruments and rows of bottles and jars. Two stony-faced female attendants in white smocks were on duty. A variety of medical equipment and machinery stood neatly against one wall. The only thing out of place was a massive wooden chair with a high back and long, broad arm-rests standing in the middle of the room.
Oskar stood, stripped to the waist, held by the SS guards as Harbicht entered.
“Ah!” he said “They are taking care of you. Good. That shoulder of yours must be set”. He nodded quickly to the attendants. The two women walked over to Oskar. They looked at him dispassionately. One of them took hold of his shoulders, the other grabbed his limply dangling arm. With a quick, powerful pull, she jerked the arm forward and upward.
Oskar winced. For a second he screwed his eyes tightly shut. Then he looked at Harbicht.
Harbicht nodded. “You stand pain well, Herr Weber,” he observed quietly. There was a trace of admiration — and regret — in his voice. “Perhaps we should find out just how well….
Again he nodded, his head moving with a quick, jerky motion. “Strip him!” he said
The attendants at once obeyed.
Harbicht was watching closely. It was always a moment of humiliation. He did not want to miss it. He was interested in seeing how this man Weber would handle it. He could make use of that knowledge.
Oskar stood stock still. Like a mannequin. Letting the attendants manhandle him. Interesting. The man had enough sense to know when resistance was useless — and enough obstinacy not to cooperate.
They pulled off his shoes. On one foot the man was wearing a black sock. On the other — nothing….
Harbicht started. The man wore only one sock. Why?
A fleeting thought invaded his mind. There was another annoying puzzle still unsolved. A pair of abandoned boots. The boots left behind by the missing Decker. It still gnawed at him. And now this. A missing sock. Why? With the unerring instinct of a good investigator, he knew that the two ridiculous incidents were nevertheless significant. It greatly irritated him to know also that he had little chance of ever learning why. He resented being defeated by a pair of boots and a sock….