Schellenberg nodded. ‘Just say good luck.’
He went to the door, opened it and went out. The fog rolled in from the sea remorselessly and he turned up the collar of his greatcoat and started to walk aimlessly along the side of the airstrip.
At roughly the same time, Horst Berger was sitting by the window in the room they had allocated to him at Belle Ile. He had found himself incapable of sleep, the prospect of the morning was too momentous, so he sat there in the darkness, the window open, listening to the rain falling through the fog. There was a knock at the door, it opened, light falling into the room. One of the SS duty sentries stood there.
‘SturmbannFuhrer?’ he called softly.
‘I’m here. What is it?’
‘The ReichsFuhrer wants you. He’s waiting now at his apartment.’
‘Five minutes,’ Berger told him and the man went out.
In the sitting room of his apartment, Himmler was standing by the fire in full uniform when Berger knocked and entered. The Reichsfuhrer turned. ‘Ah, there you are.’
‘Reichsfuhrer?’
‘The Fuhrer obviously can’t sleep. He’s sent for me. Asked particularly that I bring you.’
‘Does the Reichsfuhrer think this is of any significance?’
‘Not at all,’ Himmler said. ‘The Fuhrer’s health has been something of a problem for quite some time. His inability to sleep is only one of many symptoms. He has come to rely on the ministrations of his personal physician, Professor Morell, to an inordinate degree. Unfortunately from the Fuhrer’s point of view at the moment, Morell is in Berlin and the Fuhrer is here.’
‘Morell is of such vital importance then?’ Berger asked.
‘There are those who would consider him a quack,’ Himmler said. ‘On the other hand, the Fuhrer can’t be considered an easy patient.’
‘I see, Reichsfuhrer. But why am I commanded?’
‘Who knows? Some whim or other.’ Himmler consulted his watch. ‘We are due at his suite in fifteen minutes. With the Fuhrer, Berger, time is everything. Not one minute more, not one minute less. There’s fresh coffee on the table there. Time for you to have a cup before we go.’
In the barn at Shaw Place, everyone waited while Devlin tapped out his message on the radio. He put down the headphones, switched off and turned to Steiner and Asa who stood there, Dougal Munro, his hands still bound, between them.
That’s it,’ Devlin said. ‘I’ve told Schellenberg we’re leaving.’
‘Then let’s get the plane out,’ Asa said.
Munro stood against the wall while the three of them manhandled the Lysander out into the fog. They rolled it some distance away from the barn. Asa got the cupola up and reached for his helmet.
‘What about our friend in the barn?’ Steiner asked.
‘He stays,’ Devlin said.
Steiner turned to him. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Colonel,’ Devlin said, ‘you’re a nice man and due to the vagaries of war, I happen to be on your side at the moment, but this is a personal thing. I haven’t the slightest intention of handing over the head of Section D at SOE to German Intelligence. Now you two get in and start up. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
When he went into the barn, Munro was half-sitting on the table by the radio, struggling with the twine around his wrists. He paused as Devlin entered. The Irishman took a small pocket-knife from his pocket and opened the blade.
‘Here, let me, Brigadier.’
He sliced through the twine, freeing him and Munro rubbed at his wrists. ‘What’s this?’
‘Sure and you didn’t really think I was going to hand you over to those Nazi bastards, now did you? There was a small problem for a while, Shaw exposing you to things as it were, but there’s no one left. My good friend Michael Ryan and Mary, his niece, at Cable Wharf, the Shaws here. All gone. No one you could hurt.’
‘God help me, Devlin, I’ll never understand you.’
‘And why should you, Brigadier, when I don’t understand myself most of the time?’ The engine of the Lysander started up and Devlin stuck a cigarette in his mouth. ‘We’ll be going now. You could alert the RAF, but they’d need the luck of the Devil to find us in this fog.’