The Haigerloch Project

For a long while he sat studying the outline, analyzing each meager bit of information he possessed. He could not shake the feeling that the two cases were related. In fact, his conviction grew stronger. The pieces all belonged to one giant jigsaw puzzle. He could not fit some of them into it at all — such as the boots — but he knew with the certainty born of experience coupled with imagination that when he ultimately did find a way to fit them in, it would be well worth his while…. Some pieces were obviously unimportant — others, such as the Electrola ad, seemingly dead ends. But a strong, definitive picture did emerge. Enough to alert his sense of danger.

There were four possible explanations for Decker's disappearance, stated in broad terms: He could have had an accident. He could have elected to go underground for his own personal reasons. He could have defected voluntarily. Or he could have been kidnapped.

The first was unlikely. There would have been reports. The second presented no real problem: the man would ultimately be ferreted out. It was the last two possibilities that interested him. They were identical in their implications of danger; there was only one difference. Decker would talk quickly and freely if he had gone voluntarily. Slower and reluctantly if he had been taken by force. But talk he would. Eventually. Harbicht smiled a thin smile. They all did….

The probability that Decker was in enemy hands was strong. Two strangers had been looking for him in Mayen on the eve of his scheduled departure for Haigerloch. He must have left his mother's flat in a hurry; his luggage had been left behind. All of it. And his uniform boots. Damn those boots! They were beginning to get on his nerves. He could see absolutely no reason for leaving them behind….

What important information could Decker have given the enemy? His own involvement in uranium research, of course, and whatever he knew of the nature of the Haigerloch Project. Did he have enough information to be dangerous? Harbicht decided that he did….

The assumption then had to be that the enemy had obtained enough information from Decker about the Project to be forced to acquire more. An espionage mission? Possibly. There would have been ample time to mount a mission between the Decker disappearance and the appearance of the two men at the Lahr checkpoint….

Ah! The same two men who had been observed in Mayen? Perhaps. Possible. But not important. Important was the place and time of appearance. Two strangers showing up close to the restricted zone immediately following a combat-patrol assault which could have been the cover for a penetration. Two men, headed for Hechingen — first observed in the village of Langenwinkel.

He flipped the button on his intercom. Rauner's sleepy voice answered, “Jawohl, Herr Standartenführer!”

“Find out the name of the Ortsbauernführer in Langenwinkel,” Harbicht ordered. “I want him here tomorrow!”

He flipped the button off without waiting for confirmation. It did not occur to him that his order would not be carried out.

He reviewed the facts again. He was convinced. Somewhere in the Hechingen/Haigerloch area were two men. Two enemy agents — on a mission to discover the secrets of the Haigerloch Project. No other logical conclusion could be reached.

He took a deep breath. He felt vibrantly alive. It was a challenge he would meet — and overcome.

Swollen as it was with the influx of workers and technicians involved in the Project or working in the expanded railroad facilities, the area held only fifteen, perhaps twenty thousand people. Even with his sketchy information about the two intruders, he could narrow the number of suspects down considerably. He would find them. It was only a matter of time.

The only question was — had he time enough?

20

The Bierstube Zum Güterzug—“At the Freight Train”—was jammed into the lower floor of an old building on a narrow side street near the railroad yards. Its patrons were almost exclusively railroad workers and train personnel. A pall of coal soot covered it inside and out, coating everything with a grimy film — including the dull, dirty-blond hair of the harassed waitress juggling her way through the crowd with four steins of beer in each hand and spilling not a drop.