The Haigerloch Project

Hours of questioning, threatening, investigating had produced not a single lead. And Reichardt had not the slightest idea of why the reactor had failed! There was obviously something radically wrong with either the geometry of the pile — or the theory itself.

Harbicht clenched his teeth.

The saboteurs had vanished. And the ambulance. Had they had time to lay a false trail? If they had, he was totally unaware of it. He had no trail to follow. False or otherwise. Frustration was bitter in his throat.

He paced his office. He was not satisfied with the evaluation of the reactor failure made by Reichardt and his staff. Not at all. The nagging suspicion that there was an aspect of the case totally unperceived refused to leave him. Capturing the enemy saboteurs was imperative. When he did, he would find the answers. He was convinced of it. But he would have to wait until he had something concrete before he went to Reichardt — or over his head, preferably. Had the saboteurs had inside help? Inside information? If so, from whom? That might be another source of information to shed light on what really had happened. As it was, he was left with a single lead.

A dead man.

There was a knock on the door and Obersturmführer Rauner hurriedly entered. He had a notebook in his hand. Harbicht turned to him.

“What did you find?” he asked at once.

“We searched the house of the man Weber,” Rauner said soberly. “Very thoroughly He lived there with his niece. A girl named Gisela Storp. She cannot be found. She—”

“The girl with the saboteurs,” Harbicht interrupted impatiently. “Go on!”

“Yes. Undoubtedly. There was evidence of other people having lived in the house.” He paused. He frowned. “But — we found no positive leads.”

“What else?” Harbicht snapped.

Rauner consulted his notebook. “Weber's supervisor at the railroad yard, a Yardmaster Schindler, gives the man the highest recommendations—”

“Fool!” Harbicht spat.

“He was known to frequent a Bierstube called Zum Güterzug. He was seen there in the company of others.”

“Who?”

“We had an informer checking the place,” Rauner said. Again he referred to his notebook. “Weber was seen there with his nephew, one Otto Storp, a railroad worker who died in a recent yard accident. With two men unknown to our informer, and also at the same table—” He looked up at Harbicht. “—although it is uncertain if they were together or merely sharing the table as is the custom of the place — with a professor—”

“Name?”

“Himmelmann. Professor Gustav Himmelmann. Apparently the professor stopped in occasionally.”

Himmelmann! Harbicht remembered the man. From his briefing by that Berlin general at Haigerloch. He felt the familiar jolt of excitement which discovery always brought. With the certainty of the experienced investigator, he knew he had run across a vital piece of information. Himmelmann. The inside link? He looked piercingly at his subordinate.

“I want a full report,” he ordered. “Weber's friends. Family. Co-workers. And Himmelmann. Everything. Understood?”

“Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer!”

“And I want it now!”

Rauner tapped his notebook. “I have it all here, Herr Standartenführer. I shall write it up at once.” He clicked his heels.

He turned to leave.

The shrill ring of the telephone stopped him. He put the notebook on the desk. He picked up the receiver.

“Gestapo!” he said crisply.

He listened. His eyes stretched wide. He turned to Harbicht. “Herr Standartenführer!” he said excitedly. “The ambulance! It has been spotted!”

“Where?”

“On the road to Rottenburg — and Tübingen!”

Harbicht was already half out the door.

Rauner dropped the receiver. He started for the door. He stopped Quickly he turned, scooped up his notebook and put it in his tunic pocket.

He ran after Harbicht.

* * *

Rottenburg had been left behind. They were entering Tübingen.

Dirk pushed the button activating the Klaxon horn. It was a risk. But if the alarm was out in Tübingen, they would be stopped whether their damned horn was going or not. This way they'd get through town faster….

It was getting dark. Dirk turned the hooded headlights on.

He sped through the streets toward the Stadtmitte, the center of town. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles showed white. His arm hurt.

Traffic was a little heavier — but it obediently gave way. He was nearing an intersection. A policeman was directing traffic. He cleared the way for them — and they raced through.

A few moments later they were on the open road speeding toward Stuttgart.

Thirty kilometers to go….

Harbicht sat next to the driver, rigid with impatience. In back were Rauner and two SS men. All were armed. Tübingen was ahead. They had taken the direct route. There was a chance — a slim chance — they could cut off the ambulance before it reached town from the Rottenburg road. He urged the white- faced driver to greater speed.