The Eagle Has Flown Read online

  'Exactly,' Schellenberg said.

  This house, Shaw Place

  . It would mean a night landing. Even with a moon I'd need some sort of guidance.' He nodded, thinking about it. 'When I was a kid in California my flying instructor was a guy who had flown with the Lafayette Escadrille in France. I remember him telling me how in those days, things being more primitive, they often used a few cycle lamps arranged in an inverted L-shape with the crossbar at the upwind end.'

  'Simple enough,' Devlin said.

  'And the plane. It would have to be small. Something like a Fieseler Stork.'

  'Yes well, I'm hoping that's taken care of,' Schellenberg said. 'I've spoken to the officer in command of the Enemy Aircraft Flight. They are at Hildorf. It's a couple of hours' drive from Berlin, and they're expecting us in the morning. He thinks he's found us a suitable plane.'

  'Guess that's it.' Asa got up. 'What happens now?'

  'We eat, son,' Devlin told him. 'The best the black market can offer. Then you come back to Frau Huber's apartment with me where we'll share the spare room. Don't worry, it's got twin beds.'

  The chapel at St Mary's Priory of the Little Sisters of Pity was cold and damp and smelled of candlegrease and incense. In the confession box, Father Frank Martin waited until the sister whose confession he had heard was gone. He switched off the lights and went out.

  He was priest in charge at St Patrick's two streets away and with St Patrick's came the job of father confessor to the Priory. He was seventy-six, a small, frail man with very white hair. If it hadn't been for the war, they'd have retired him, but it was like everything else these days, all hands to the pumps.

  He went into the sacristy, removed his alb and carefully folded his violet stole. He reached for his raincoat, debating the virtues of an early night, but compassion and Christian charity won the day as usual. Eighteen patients at the moment, seven of them terminal. A last round of the rooms wouldn't come amiss. He hadn't visited since early afternoon and that wasn't good enough.

  He went out of the chapel and saw the Mother Superior, Sister Maria Palmer, mopping the floor, a menial task designed to remind herself of what she saw as her greatest weakness: the sin of pride.

  Father Martin paused and shook his head. 'You are too hard on yourself.'

  'Not hard enough,' she said. 'I'm glad to see you. There's been a development since you were here earlier. They've given us a German prisoner of war again.'

  'Really?' They walked out of the chapel into the entrance hall.

  'Yes, a Luftwaffe officer, recently wounded, but well on the way to recovery. A Colonel Kurt Steiner. They've put him on the top floor like the other ones we've had.'

  'What about guards?'

  'Half a dozen military police. There's a young second lieutenant called Benson in charge.'

  At that moment Jack Carter and Dougal Munro came down the main staircase. Sister Maria Palmer said, 'Is everything satisfactory, Brigadier?'

  'Perfectly,' Munro said. 'We'll try to inconvenience you as little as possible.'

  'There is no inconvenience,' she said. 'This, by the way, is Father Martin, our priest.'

  'Father,' he said and turned to Carter. 'I'll be off now, Jack. Don't forget to get a doctor in to check him over.'

  Sister Maria Palmer said, 'Perhaps it was not made clear to you that I am a doctor, Brigadier. Whatever Colonel Steiner's requirements are I'm sure we can take care of them. In fact now that you're finished, I'll visit him to make sure he's settled in properly.'

  Jack Carter said, 'Well actually, Sister, I'm not too sure about that.'

  'Captain Carter, let me remind you that this Priory, of which I am in charge, is not only a house of God, it is a place where we attend to the sick and the dying. I have seen Colonel Steiner's medical record and note that it's only been a matter of weeks since he was gravely wounded. He will need my attention and as I note from his record that he is also a Roman Catholic by religion, he may also need the ministrations of Father Martin here.'

  'Quite right, Sister,' Munro said. 'See to it, Jack, will you?'

  He went out and Carter turned and led the way up the stairs. There was a door at the top, heavily studded and banded with steel. An MP sat at a small table beside it.

  'Open up,' Carter told him. The MP knocked on the door which was opened after a moment by another MP. They passed inside. Carter said, 'We're using the other rooms as billets for the men.'

  'So I see,' Sister Maria Palmer said.

  The door to the first room stood open. There was a small desk beside a narrow bed and the young lieutenant, Benson, sat at it. He jumped to his feet. 'What can I do for you, sir?'

  'Sister and Father Martin have access whenever they require it. Brigadier Munro's orders. We'll talk to the prisoner now.'

  There was another MP sitting on a chair outside the room at the far end where the passage ran into a blank wall.

  'God help us, you're guarding this man well enough,' Father Martin said.

  Benson unlocked the door and Steiner, standing by the window, turned to greet them, an impressive figure in the blue-grey Luftwaffe uniform, the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves at his throat, his other medals making a brave show.

  Carter said, 'This is the Mother Superior, Sister Maria Palmer. You didn't get a chance to speak earlier. And Father Martin.'

  Sister Maria Palmer said, 'Tomorrow, I'll have you down to the dispensary for a thorough check, Colonel.'

  'Is that all right, sir?' Benson asked.

  'For goodness' sake, bring him down yourself, Lieutenant, surround him with all your men, but if he's not in the dispensary at ten, we'll have words,' she told him.

  'No problem,' Carter said. 'See to it, Benson. Anything else, Sister?'

  'No, that will do for tonight.'

  Father Martin said, 'I'd like a word with the Colonel in private, if you wouldn't mind.'

  Carter nodded and turned to Steiner. 'I'll check on you from time to time.'

  'I'm sure you will.'

  They all went out except for Father Martin who closed the door and sat on the bed. 'My son, you've had a bad time, I can see it in your face. When were you last at Mass?'

  'So long ago I can't remember. The war, Father, tends to get in the way.'

  'No confession either? A long time since you were able to ease the burden of your sins.'

  'I'm afraid so.' Steiner smiled, warming to the man. 'I know you mean well, Father.'

  'Good heavens, man, I'm not concerned with you and me. I'm interested only in you and God.' Father Martin got up. 'I'll pray for you, my son, and I'll visit every day. The moment you feel the need for confession and the Mass, tell me and I'll arrange for you to join us in the chapel.'

  'I'm afraid Lieutenant Benson would insist on coming too,' Steiner said.

  'Now wouldn't that do his immortal soul some good too?' The old priest chuckled and went out.

  Asa Vaughan sat at the dining table in the living room at Use Huber's apartment, Devlin opposite him.

  'You really think this thing can work?' the American asked.

  'Anything will as long as the engine keeps ticking over, isn't that a fact?'

  Asa got up and paced restlessly across the room. 'What in the hell am I doing here? Can you understand? Everything kind of overtook me. It just happened. I don't seem to have had a choice. Don't now, when it comes right down to it.'

  'Of course you do,' Devlin said. 'You go through with it, fly the plane to England, land and give yourself up.'

  'And what good would that do? They'd never believe me, Devlin.' There was a kind of horror on his face when he added, 'Come to think of it, they never will.'

  'Then you'd better hope Adolf wins the war,' Devlin said.

  But the following morning, at the air base at Hildorf, the American seemed in much better spirits as Major Koenig, the officer commanding the Enemy Aircraft Flight, showed them round. He seemed to have examples of most Allied planes. There was a 617, a Lancaster bomber, a Hurricane, a Musta
ng, all bearing Luftwaffe insignia.

  'Now this is what I thought might suit your purposes,' he said. 'Here in the end hangar.'

  The plane standing there was a high wing-braced monoplane with a single engine and a wingspan of more than fifty feet.

  'Very nice,' Asa said. 'What is it?'

  'A Westland Lysander. Has a maximum speed of two hundred and thirty at ten thousand feet. Short landing and take-off. Only needs two hundred and forty yards fully loaded.'

  'That means you could make the flight in under an hour,' Schellenberg said to Asa.

  Asa ignored him. 'Passengers?'

  'How many are you thinking of?' Koenig asked.

  Two.'

  'Perfect comfort. Can manage three. Even four at a pinch.' He turned to Schellenberg. 'I thought of it at once when you made your enquiries. We picked this up in France last month. It was RAF. The pilot caught a bullet in the chest when attacked by a JU night-fighter. Managed to land and collapsed before he could destroy it. These planes are used by British Intelligence for covert operations. They operate with the French Resistance movement, ferrying agents across from England, taking others out. This is the perfect plane for such work.'

  'Good - then it's mine,' Schellenberg said.

  'But General -' Koenig began.

  Schellenberg took the Führer Directive from his pocket. 'Read that.'

  Koenig did and returned it, positively clicking his heels. 'At your orders, General.'

  Schellenberg turned to Asa. 'So, what are your requirements?'

  'Well, obviously I'll want to try her out. Get used to the thing, though I don't think that should be a problem.'

  'Anything else?'

  'Yes, I'll want the RAF roundels back in place for the flight into England. But I'd like that to be temporary. Some sort of canvas covers that can be stripped so that I'm Luftwaffe again for the trip back.'

  'Easily taken care of,' Koenig said.

  'Excellent,' Schellenberg told him. 'Hauptsturmführer Vaughan will remain and test-fly the plane now and as much as he wants for the rest of the day.

  After that you will do whatever work is needed and have the aircraft delivered at the weekend, to the destination in France that my secretary will notify you of.'

  'Certainly, General,' Koenig said.

  Schellenberg turned to Asa. 'Enjoy yourself while you can. I've arranged to borrow a Fieseler Stork from the Luftwaffe. We'll fly down to Chernay and inspect the airstrip tomorrow. I'd also like to have a look at this Chateau de Belle Ile while we're there.'

  'And you want me to do the flying?' Asa said.

  'Don't worry, son, we have every confidence in you,' Devlin told him as he and Schellenberg went out.

  In London, Dougal Munro was working at his desk when Jack Carter came in.

  'What is it, Jack?'

  'I've had a medical report from Sister Maria Palmer, sir, on Steiner.'

  'What's her opinion?'

  'He's still not a hundred per cent. Some residual infection. She asked me to help her get hold of some of this new wonder drug, penicillin. Apparently it cures just about everything, but it's in short supply.'

  'Then get it for her, Jack, get it.'

  'Very well, sir. I'm sure I can.'

  He hesitated at the door and Munro said impatiently, 'For God's sake, what is it, Jack? I'm up to my ears in work here, not least amongst my worries being a meeting at three of Headquarters staff at SHAEF presided over by General Eisenhower himself.'

  'Well, it's the Steiner thing, sir. I mean, here he is, installed at the Priory. What happens now?'

  'Liam Devlin, if it is Devlin they choose, is hardly going to parachute into the courtyard at St Mary's Priory tomorrow night, Jack, and if he did, so what? The only way we could guard Steiner any closer is by having an MP share his bed and that would never do.'

  'So we just wait, sir?'

  'Of course we do. If they intend to have a go, it'll take weeks to organize, but that doesn't matter. After all, we have Vargas in our pocket. Anything happens and we'll be the first to know.'

  'Very well, sir.'

  As Carter opened the door Munro added, 'We've got all the time in the world, Jack. So has Steiner.'

  When Steiner went into the chapel that evening he was escorted by Lieutenant Benson and a police corporal. The chapel was cold and damp, slightly eerie with the candles down at the altar and the ruby light of the sanctuary lamp. Instinctively he dipped his fingers in the holy water, a kind of regression to childhood, and went and sat on the end of a bench beside two nuns and waited his turn. The Mother Superior emerged from the confessional box, smiled at him and passed on. One of the nuns went in. After a while she came out and was replaced by the other.

  When it came to Steiner's turn, he went in and sat down, finding the darkness surprisingly comforting. He hesitated and then that ghost from childhood rose again and he said, almost automatically, 'Bless me, Father.'

  Father Martin knew it was him of course, had to. He said, 'May the Lord Jesus bless you and help you tell your sins.'

  'Dammit, Father,' Steiner exploded, 'I don't even know why I'm here. Maybe I just wanted to get out of that room.'

  'Oh, I'm sure God will forgive you that, my son.' Steiner had an insane desire to laugh. The old man said, 'Is there anything you want to say to me? Anything?'

  And suddenly Steiner found himself saying, 'My father. They butchered my father. Hung him up on a hook like a piece of meat.'

  'Who did this thing, my son?'

  'The Gestapo - the bloody Gestapo.' Steiner could hardly breathe, his throat dry, eyes hot. 'Hate, that's all I feel, and revenge. I want revenge. Now what good is that to a man like you, Father? Am I not guilty of a very great sin?'

  Father Martin said quietly, 'May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you, and I, by his authority, absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit.'

  'But Father, you don't understand,' Kurt Steiner said. 'I can't pray any more.'

  'That's all right, my son,' Father Martin told him. 'I'll pray for you.'

  Chapter Seven

  THE FLIGHT FROM Berlin to Cap de la Hague took just over three hours, Asa charting a course that took them over parts of occupied Holland, Belgium and then France. They came in to Chernay from the sea. It was a desolate-looking little place. Not even a control tower, just a grass runway, with a wind-sock at one end, three old pre-war hangars and several huts that looked like a Luftwaffe addition. There was also a fuel dump.

  Asa raised them on the radio. 'Stork as expected from Gatow.'

  A voice said, 'Chernay control. Permission to land granted. Wind south-east strength three-to-four and freshening.'

  'Takes himself seriously,' Asa said over his shoulder. 'Here we go.'

  He made a perfect landing and taxied towards the hangars where half a dozen men waited in Luftwaffe overalls. As Schellenberg and Devlin got out, a sergeant emerged from the hut with the radio mast, and hurried towards them.

  He took in Schellenberg's uniform and got his heels together. 'General.'

  'And your name is?'

  'Leber, General. Flight Sergeant.'

  'And you are in charge here?'

  'Yes, General.'

  'Read this.' Schellenberg handed him the Führer Directive. 'You and your men are now under my command. A matter of the utmost importance to the Reich.'

  Leber got his heels together again, handed the letter back. 'At your orders, General.'

  'Hauptsturmführer Vaughan will be making a hazardous and highly secret flight across the English Channel. The aircraft he will use is an unusual one. You'll see that for yourself when it's delivered.'

  'And our duties, General?'

  'I'll inform you later. Is your radio receiving equipment up to scratch?'

  'Oh, yes, General, the best the Luftwaffe can offer. Sometimes aircraft returning across the Channel are in a bad way. We have to be able to talk them in when necessary.'

  'Good.' Schellenberg nodd
ed. 'Do you happen to know a place called Chateau de Belle Ile? According to the map it's about thirty miles from here in the general direction of Carentan.'

  'I'm afraid not, General.'

  'Never mind. We'll manage. Now find us a Kubelwagen.'

  'Certainly, General. May I ask if you'll be spending the night?'

  Schellenberg glanced around at the desolate landscape. 'Well I'd prefer not to, Sergeant, but one never knows. Have the Stork refuelled and made ready for the return trip.'

  'Jesus,' Devlin said, as Leber led them towards a field car parked outside the radio hut. 'Would you look at this place? What a lousy posting. I wonder they can put up with it.'

  'Better than Russia,' Asa Vaughan said.

  Asa drove, Devlin beside him, Schellenberg in the rear, a map spread across his knee. 'Here it is. The road south from Cherbourg goes to Carentan. It's off there somewhere on the coast.'

  'Wouldn't it make more sense to land at the Luftwaffe base at Cherbourg?' Asa asked.

  'As the Führer will when he comes?' Schellenberg shook his head. 'I prefer to keep our heads down for the moment. We don't need to go through Cherbourg at all. There's a network of country roads south that cut across to the coast. Thirty miles, thirty-five at the most.'

  'What's the purpose of this little trip anyway?' Devlin asked him.

  'This Belle Ile place intrigues me. I'd like to see what we've got there as long as we're in the neighbourhood.' He shrugged.

  Devlin said, 'I was wondering — does the Reichsführer know we're here?'

  'He knows about our flight to Chernay or he will soon. He likes a regular report.'

  'Ah, yes, General, that's one thing, but this Belle Ile place would be another.'

  'You could say that, Mr Devlin, you could.'

  'Sweet Mother of God, what a fox you are,' Devlin said. 'I pity the huntsman when you're around.'

  Many of the country lanes were so narrow that it would not have been possible for two vehicles to pass each other, but after half an hour, they cut into the main road that ran south from Cherbourg to Carentan. It was here that Schellenberg had trouble with his map and then they had a stroke of luck, a sign at the side of the road outside the village of St Aubin that said 12th Parachute Detachment. There was a spread of farm buildings visible beyond the trees.