‘No problem,’ Carter said. ‘See to it, Benson. Anything else, Sister?’
‘No, that will do for tonight.’
Father Martin said, ‘I’d like a word with the Colonel in private, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Carter nodded and turned to Steiner. Til check on you from time to time.’
Tm sure you will.’
They all went out except for Father Martin who closed the door and sat on the bed. ‘My son, you’ve had a bad time, I can see it in your face. When were you last at Mass?’
‘So long ago I can’t remember. The war, Father, tends to get in the way.’
‘No confession either? A long time since you were able to ease the burden of your sins.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Steiner smiled, warming to the man. ‘I know you mean well, Father.’
‘Good heavens, man, I’m not concerned with you and me. I’m interested only in you and God.’ Father Martin got up. Til pray for you, my son, and I’ll visit every day. The moment you feel the need for confession and the Mass, tell me and I’ll arrange for you to join us in the chapel.’
‘I’m afraid Lieutenant Benson would insist on coming too,’ Steiner said.
‘Now wouldn’t that do his immortal soul some good too?’ The old priest chuckled and went out.
Asa Vaughan sat at the dining table in the living room at Use Huber’s apartment, Devlin opposite him.
‘You really think this thing can work?’ the American asked.
‘Anything will as long as the engine keeps ticking over, isn’t that a fact?’
Asa got up and paced restlessly across the room. ‘What in the hell am I doing here? Can you understand? Everything kind of overtook me. It just happened. I don’t seem to have had a choice. Don’t now, when it comes right down to it.’
‘Of course you do,’ Devlin said. ‘You go through with it, fly the plane to England, land and give yourself up.’
‘And what good would that do? They’d never believe me, Devlin.’ There was a kind of horror on his face when he added, ‘Come to think of it, they never will.’
‘Then you’d better hope Adolf wins the war,’ Devlin said.
But the following morning, at the air base at Hildorf, the American seemed in much better spirits as Major Koenig, the officer commanding the Enemy Aircraft Flight, showed them round. He seemed to have examples of most Allied planes. There was a 617, a Lancaster bomber, a Hurricane, a Mustang, all bearing Luftwaffe insignia.
‘Now this is what I thought might suit your purposes,’ he said. ‘Here in the end hangar.’
The plane standing there was a high wing-braced monoplane with a single engine and a wingspan of more than fifty feet.
‘Very nice,’ Asa said. ‘What is it?’
‘A Westland Lysander. Has a maximum speed of two hundred and thirty at ten thousand feet. Short landing and take-off. Only needs two hundred and forty yards fully loaded.’
‘That means you could make the flight in under an hour,’ Schellenberg said to Asa.
Asa ignored him. ‘Passengers?’
‘How many are you thinking of?’ Koenig asked.
Two.’
‘Perfect comfort. Can manage three. Even four at a pinch.’ He turned to Schellenberg. ‘I thought of it at once when you made your enquiries. We picked this up in France last month. It was RAF. The pilot caught a bullet in the chest when attacked by a JU night-fighter. Managed to land and collapsed before he could destroy it. These planes are used by British Intelligence for covert operations. They operate with the French Resistance movement, ferrying agents across from England, taking others out. This is the perfect plane for such work.’
‘Good – then it’s mine,’ Schellenberg said.
‘But General – ‘ Koenig began.
Schellenberg took the Fuhrer Directive from his pocket. ‘Read that.’
Koenig did and returned it, positively clicking his heels. ‘At your orders, General.’
Schellenberg turned to Asa. ‘So, what are your requirements?’
‘Well, obviously I’ll want to try her out. Get used to the thing, though I don’t think that should be a problem.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, I’ll want the RAF roundels back in place for the flight into England. But I’d like that to be temporary. Some sort of canvas covers that can be stripped so that I’m Luftwaffe again for the trip back.’