‘Gentlemen,’ Hitler said.
The three officers jumped to attention and Devlin, sitting on the windowseat, got up awkwardly. Hitler nodded to Himmler who opened the case which was full of decorations.
To you, General Schellenberg, the German Cross in Gold and also to you, HauptsturmFuhrer Vaughan.’ He pinned on the decorations then turned to Steiner. ‘You, Colonel Steiner, already have the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves. I now award you the Swords.’
‘Thank you, my Fuhrer,’ Kurt Steiner replied with considerable irony.
‘And to you, Mr Devlin,’ the Fuhrer said, turning to the Irishman. ‘The Iron Cross First Class.’
Devlin couldn’t think of a thing to say, stifled an insane desire to laugh as the cross was pinned to his jacket.
‘You have my gratitude, gentlemen, and the gratitude of all the German people,’ Hitler told them, turned and went out, Himmler trailing behind.
Canaris lingered for a moment at the door. ‘A most instructive morning, but I’d take care if I were you from now on, Walter.’
The door closed. Devlin said, ‘What happens now?’
‘The Fuhrer returns to Berlin at once,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Canaris and Himmler go with him.’
‘What about us?’ Asa Vaughan said.
‘There’s a slight problem there. The ReichsFuhrer has made it plain he doesn’t want you three back in Berlin. In fact, he doesn’t want you around at all.’
‘I see,’ Steiner said. ‘And you’re supposed to take care of us?’
‘Something like that.’
‘The old sod,’ Devlin said.
‘Of course there is the Lysander waiting on the beach at Chernay,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Leber will have had it checked out by now and refuelled.’
‘But where in the hell do we go?’ Asa Vaughan demanded. ‘We’ve just got out of England by the skin of our teeth and Germany’s certainly too hot for us.’ Schellenberg glanced enquiringly at Devlin and the Irishman started to laugh. ‘Have you ever been to Ireland?’ he asked Vaughan.
It was cold on the beach, the tide much higher than it had been that morning, but there was still ample space to take off.
‘I’ve checked everything,’ Flight Sergeant Leber said to Asa. ‘You shouldn’t have any problems, HauptsturmFuhrer.’
Schellenberg said, ‘You go back to the airfield now, Flight Sergeant, I’ll join you later.’
Leber saluted and walked away. Schellenberg shook hands with Steiner and Asa. ‘Gentlemen, good luck.’ They got into the Lysander and he turned to Devlin. ‘You are a truly remarkable man.’
Devlin said, ‘Come with us, Walter, nothing for you back there.’
‘Too late, my friend. As I’ve said before, far too late to get off the merry-go-round now.’
‘And what will Himmler say when he hears that you let us go?’
‘Oh, I’ve thought of that. An excellent marksman like you should have no difficulty in shooting me in the shoulder. Let’s make it the left one. A flesh wound, naturally.’
‘Jesus, it’s the cunning old fox you are.’
Schellenberg walked away, then turned. Devlin’s hand came out of his pocket holding the Walther. It coughed once and Schellenberg staggered, clutching at his shoulder. There was blood between his fingers and he smiled.
‘Goodbye, Mr Devlin.’
The Irishman scrambled in and pulled down the cupola. Asa turned into the wind, the Lysander roared along the beach and lifted off. Schellenberg watched as it sped out to sea. After a while he turned and, still clutching his shoulder, walked back towards the slipway.
Lough Conn, in the county of Mayo and not too far from Killala Bay on the west coast of Ireland, is better than ten miles long. On that evening in the failing light as darkness swept down from the mountains, its surface was like black glass.
Michael Murphy farmed close to the southern end of the lough, but that day had been fishing and drinking poteen until, in the words of his old grannie, he didn’t know whether he was here or there. It started to rain with a sudden rush and he reached for his oars, singing softly to himself.
There was a roaring in his ears, a rush of air and what he could only describe afterwards as a great black bird passed over his head and vanished into the shadows at the other end of the lough.