“Not bad, Heini. Not bad. I wonder what the great man would say if he knew he was being taken off by a Jew boy?”
He started to unbutton his tunic and Martineau, who had been standing on the other side of the curtain screwing the Carswell silencer on the barrel of the Walther, stepped inside. Baum saw him instantly in the mirror, and old soldier that he was, reached at once for the Mauser pistol in its holster on his belt which lay on the dressing table.
“I wouldn’t,” Martineau told him. “TheyVe really done wonders with this new model silencer. If I fired it behind your back you wouldn’t even know about it. Now, hands on head and sit on the stool.”
“Is this some plot of the SS to get rid of me?” Baum asked, playing his role to the hilt. “I’m aware that Reichs-fuhrer Himmler never liked me, but I didn’t realize how much.”
Martineau sat on the edge of the bed, took out a packet of Gitanes one-handed and shook one up. As he lit it he said, “I heard you and Hofer talking on the terrace. He called you Berger.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“And I was outside a couple of minutes ago when you were talking to yourself, so let’s get down to facts. Number one, you aren’t Rommel.”
“If you say so.”
“All right,” Martineau said, “let’s try again. If I am part of an SS plot to kill you on Himmler’s orders, there wouldn’t be much point if you aren’t really Rommel. Of course, if you are…”
He raised the PPK and Baum took a deep breath. “Very clever.”
“So you aren’t Rommel?”
“I should have thought that was sufficiently obvious by now.”
“What are you, an actor?”
“Turned soldier, turned actor again.”
“Marvelous,” Martineau said. “I saw him in Paris last year and you fooled me. Does he know you’re Jewish?”
“No.” Baum frowned. “Listen, what kind of an 88 man are you anyway?”
“I’m not,” Martineau laid the PPK down on the bed beside him. “I’m a colonel in the British Army.”
“I don’t believe you,” Baum said in astonishment.
“A pity you don’t speak English and I could prove it,” Martineau said.
“But I do.” Baum broke into very good English indeed. “I played the Moss Empire circuit in London, Leeds and Manchester in nineteen thirty-five and six.”
“And you went back to Germany?” Martineau said. “You must have been crazy.”
“My parents.” Baum shrugged. “Like most of the old folk, they didn’t believe it would happen. I hid in the army using the identity of a man killed in an air raid in Kiel. My real name is Heini Baum. To Rommel, I’m Corporal Erich Berger, 21st Parachute Regiment.”
“Harry Martineau.”
Baum hesitated then shook hands. “Your German is excellent.”
“My mother was German,” Martineau explained. ‘Tell me, where is Rommel?”
“In Normandy.”
“And what’s the purpose of the masquerade or don’t you know?”
“I’m not supposed to, but I can listen at doors as well as anybody.” Baum took a cigarette from the field marshal’s silver case, fitted it into the ivory holder Rommel had given him and lit it. “He’s having a quiet get-together with Generals von Stulpnagel and Falkenhausen. A highly illegal business as far as I can make out. Apparently they and a number of other generals, realizing theyVe lost the war, want to get rid of Hitler and salvage something from the mess while there’s still a chance.”
“Possible,” Martineau said. “There have been attempts on Hitler’s life before.”
“Fools, all of them,” Baum told him.
“You don’t approve? That surprises me.”
“They’ve lost the war anyway. It’s only a question of time so there’s no point in their scheming. By the time that mad bastard Himmler’s finished with them, they’ll be hanging on hooks, not that it would worry me. Most of them helped Hitler to power in the first place.”
“That’s true.”
“On the other hand, I’m a German as well as a Jew. IVe got to know Rommel pretty well in the past few days. He’s a good man. He’s on the wrong side, that’s all. Now you know all about me. What about you? What are you doing here?”