There was a single shot. He spun around, took a couple of steps back toward the Junkers, then sank on his knees and rolled over.
Harry ran forward, waving his arms. “No more, you fools!” he shouted. “It’s me, Martineau.”
He was aware of the advancing line slowing and Squadron Leader Barnes was there, telling them to stay back. Martineau dropped to his knees. Baum reached up with his left hand and grabbed him by the front of the uniform.
“You were right, Harry,” he said hoarsely. “No sense, no reason to anything.”
“Quiet, Heini. Don’t talk. We’ll get a doctor.”
Sarah was crouched beside him and Baum’s grip lightened. “Last act, Harry. Say kaddish for me. Promise.”
“I promise,” Martineau said.
Baum choked, there was blood on his mouth. His body seemed to shake and then the hand lost its grip on Marti-neau’s tunic and he lay still. Martineau got up slowly and saw Oougal Munro and Jack Carter standing in front of the line of RAF men beside Barnes.
“An accident, Harry,” Munro said. “One of the lads panicked.”
“An accident?” Martineau said. “Is that what you call it? Sometimes I really wonder who the enemy is. If you’re still interested, by the way, you’ll find your American colonel in the plane.”
He went past them and through the line of airmen, walking aimlessly toward the old aero club buildings. Strange, but he had that pain in the chest again, and it hadn’t bothered him once in Jersey. He sat down on the steps of the old clubhouse and lit a cigarette, suddenly cold. After a while, he became aware of Sarah sitting a few feet away.
“What did he mean, say kaddish for him?”
“It’s a sort of mourning prayer. A Jewish thing. Usually relatives take care of it, but he didn’t have any. All gone to the bloody ovens.” He took the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and passed it to her. “Anyway, now you know. Now your education’s complete. No honor, no glory, only Heini Baum out there, lying on his back.”
He got to his feet and she stood up also. Someone had brought a stretcher and they were carrying Baum away, and Kelso was crossing the runway on his crutches, Munro and Carter on either side of him.
“Did I remember to tell you how well you did?” he asked.
“No.”
“You were good. So good that Dougal will probably try to use you again. Don’t let him. Go back to that hospital of yours.”
“I don’t think one should ever go back to anything.” They started to walk toward the waiting cars. “And you?” she asked. “What’s going to happen to you?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
She took his arm and held on tight and as the runway lights were switched off, they moved on through the darkness together.
I t was very quiet there in the library, Sarah Drayton standing at the window peering out. “Dark soon. Sometimes I wonder whether the rain will ever stop. A bad winter this year.”
The door opened and the manservant, Vito, came in with a tray which he placed on a low table by the fire. “Coffee, Contessa.”
“Thank you, Vito, I’ll see to it.”
He went out and she sat down and reached for the coffeepot. “And afterward?” I asked her.
“You mean what happened to everybody? Well, Konrad Hofer flew out in the Storch the following morning, got to Rommel and filled him in on what had happened.”
“And how did Rommel cover himself?”
“Very much as Harry had suggested. He flew to Rasten-burg.”
“The Wolf’s Lair?”
“That’s right. He saw Hitler personally. Told him Intelligence sources had warned him of the possibility of plots against his life, which was why he’d used Berger to impersonate him. He stayed pretty much with the facts. If he’d gone to Jersey himself, Harry would have assassinated him. Berger was dismissed as a rat who’d deserted the sinking ship.”
“I’m sure he didn’t put it to the Fuhrer in quite those terms,” I said.
“Probably not. There was an official investigation. I read the Gestapo file on the case a few months after the war ended. They didn’t come up with anything very much. They knew nothing about Hugh Kelso, remember, and what made the story so believable from Rommel’s point of view was Harry himself.”