The Haigerloch Project

Halfway. He looked down. The sweat was dripping from his forehead into his eyes. His hands were getting slippery. His foot ached.

Two more rungs.

Hurry.

Suddenly — in his haste — his foot slipped. He tried to hold himself upright with his sweaty hands, but he could not get a firm grip. His leg slid in between two rungs of the iron ladder. He felt himself falling backward. The leg bone — the tibia— snapped with an audible crack — and he fell heavily to the ground at the foot of the ladder.

He blacked out.

* * *

Harbicht was cold with fury. He'd had his prey within his grasp — and the man had slipped through his fingers. He found it difficult to excuse himself. In his mind he cast about for reasons. Why? Where had he made the mistake that cost him his quarry? Deliberately he suppressed those thoughts. For now.

He fingered the crushed and shattered pieces that once had been a sophisticated radio transmitter. American make. It was now utterly useless for anything except corroboration that the man in the railroad yard had indeed been an enemy saboteur. Undoubtedly one of the two agents who, he was now certain, had infiltrated near Langenwinkel. His men had found a yardman, a switching operator, lying unconscious at the bottom of a ladder to a tower station, his one leg broken.

This man had given them a description of the fugitive that tallied with the one given by the farmer Eichler, the goddamned fool…. The yardman had also told them how the saboteur had left the area, and had steered them to the spot where the radio had been dropped.

Darkly he contemplated a bit of twisted and flattened metal from the Schwarzsender—the illegal radio. It was so completely smashed there was no way even to guess what it had once looked like.

He had a sudden twinge of uneasiness. He did not like the feeling at all. It was totally unfamiliar. The two enemy agents should not have been able to get this far. Certainly they should have been apprehended by now. Had he — underestimated them? It could not be allowed. Were they — his betters? It was unthinkable….

Nonetheless, he would double his efforts to catch them.

* * *

Dirk watched the Storp house from the little park across the street. He was deeply shaken. His arm hurt. As soon as he had cleared the railroad switching-yard area, he had dropped off the train and made his way back to town.

There had been no activity at all at the house. No light showed through the blackout curtains. There was no way of telling if everything was okay — or if the place was crawling with Gestapo men….

What had gone wrong?

They had come for him. Obviously. They had known where he was. What he was doing.

How?

The enormity of the whole thing struck him.

A couple of hours before, he had been supremely confident that their presence in the town was known to absolutely no one except Oskar and Gisela — and Himmelmann.

Now

Was it Himmelmann?

Had they been betrayed?

He closed his eyes. Tightly. He had agonized over the same bleak puzzle again and again. There was no ready answer.

The answer lay waiting in the little one-story house across the street.

He would have to seek it there.

23

Dirk reached for the ornate brass handle on the door.

He hesitated.

If his friends were there, the door would be unlocked. It always was.

He pressed down the handle. The door opened.

The hallway beyond was pitch dark. For a moment he listened. He could hear nothing.

He stepped into the hall.

Suddenly two strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his side, making him gasp. He heard the door slam shut behind him.

Instantly, as he had been taught, he bent his knees and threw himself forward in an attempt to dislodge his assailant and send him flying over his head. But the man behind him crouched down with him, giving him no leverage The iron bear-hug held.

Suddenly the light in the hallway blazed on — and Dirk found himself staring into the black-holed muzzle of a gun.

Almost at once the crushing grip around his chest relaxed. In a glance Dirk took in the scene.

Before him stood Sig, Oskar's Luger trained at his gut. At the light switch stood Gisela, eyes wide with alarm. Behind him stood Oskar, astonishment on his face. For a moment there was stunned silence. Then Dirk said dryly:

“Some welcome!” He looked at Sig. “You can put the gun away, Siggy baby. We're on the same side.”

Sig lowered the gun. He stared at Dirk.

“Jesus Christ,” he said fervently, “am I glad to see you! We — we thought—” He looked at Oskar. “We were told they killed a man at the railroad yard. We thought—”

“Eichler,” Dirk said, his face grim. “The poor bastard got himself shot.”

“Holy Jesus,” Sig whispered.

Dirk took a deep breath. It felt good. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders and legs begin to tremble as the tension that had gripped them ebbed. He walked to a settee and sank down on it.