No Dawn for Men (24 page)

“Nothing,” said Korumak, who had made a small pitch torch—from what materials Tolkien did not know—which he now raised nearer to the boulder and then above it and down both sides.

“Not a crack,” he said. “Not a breath of air.”

“Do you know of any other caves or tunnels that would get us out?” Tolkien asked. “You’ve been in this part of the world before, that much is obvious.”

“There were many caves and tunnels in this forest when I first explored it,” the dwarf said. “But that was long ago, and I remember nothing but this one that leads in and out of the Devil’s Canyon.”

“How long ago was that?” Tolkien asked.

“Before you were born, Professor.”

“How long before?”

“If we ever meet again,” Korumak said, “I will tell you my age, but not now, not tonight. The mountain gods would not approve.”

“The mountain gods. I see.”

“You don’t of course.”

“I don’t.”

“You are writing a book, Professor, are you not?” Korumak asked. “A trilogy.”

“A trilogy?” Tolkien answered. “No such thing. A novel.”

“There is magic in threes,” Korumak said, his eyes twinkling. “Like the three dwarfs who helped defeat Lucifer tonight in his own backyard. Perhaps I am three hundred years old . . .”

“Hush!” said Dagna. “I
do
hear something.”

55.

The Bavarian Forest

October 9, 1938, 2:30 a.m.

“I think it moved,” said Dowling.

“It did,” said Billie.

Three of them—Dowling, Fleming, and Billie—were standing on the ledge on alternate sides along the length of the tree, which was wedged at its broken end under the boulder. Vaclav, who seemed inexhaustible to the others, was standing at the far end holding the muddy stump on his shoulder. They had first used rocks and branches to scrape away a great deal of muddy earth from beneath one end of the large rock and then the other. At the second dig, they stuck the tree end in and began to push and lever, push and lever, slipping often in the mud at their feet. All of the force they applied was human, coming from the muscles of their arms and chests. All were bruised and bloody from their frantic scraping at the ground and from using their arms to scrape away rubble. All were covered with mud.

They stopped now to breathe and to take in what Billie and Dowling had just said. Could it be?

“One more heave,” said Vaclav.

They obeyed and gasped when the boulder inched forward.

“One more!” said Vaclav.

This time the boulder, which they had estimated weighed a thousand pounds, inched again, paused for a long second, and then rolled, very slowly at first, but eventually with great speed, down the hillside where it came to an unclimactic stop among the boulders and rubble where the wall had been.

Watching the boulder, they had all forgotten to look inside the tunnel, but there was no need. Out stepped Tolkien and the three dwarfs. All were smiling, happy to be saved, until they saw Billie’s face.

“He had to die, Miss Lillian,” said Korumak. “There was no other way.”

56.

Metten Abbey

October 9, 1938, 3:00 a.m.

The gates of Metten Abbey were wide open. In the courtyard a hulking Daimler sedan sat like a prehistoric creature under the portico that protected the front door from the elements. It had stopped raining, but a German soldier in a poncho was standing under this cover, leaning against the car, smoking. His back was to them.

“That’s a staff car,” said Fleming.

“It’s Kurt Bauer’s,” said Billie. “I recognize it.”

“What’s a lieutenant doing with a staff car?” said Dowling. “Or a
staff
, for that matter.”

They were crouched behind the abbey wall at the gate. The courtyard remained strewn with rubble, wet now and muddy from all the rain, but the bodies—Father Wilfrid, the German gunner, the German sergeant—were all gone. The wind had died to nothing. Moonlight shone through clouds that were rapidly breaking up overhead.

“Someone sent him on a wild goose chase, and now he’s back,” said Fleming. “His troops can’t be far behind.”

“No time to waste,” said Dowling.

“I agree,” said Fleming. “Vaclav, is there a road near the landing field?”

“Yes, east-west. The pilot used it as a landmark.”

“How far?”

“A half-kilometer.”

“How long will he wait?”

“Say 5:00 a.m. He needs to fly back in the dark.”

“Trygg, can you help us one last time?”

“Of course.”

“Go around to the left. Make some noise. Draw the guard to you. Vaclav, you and I will get into that stand of trees there. We kill the guard when he gets near. No guns, no noise.”

A few moments later, the sound of stones hitting the left side of the abbey could be distinctly heard. The German soldier looked that way and was about to take a drag from his cigarette when the sound came again. This time he flipped the cigarette away, shouldered his rifle, and headed over to take a look. He stopped at the corner of the abbey and unslung his weapon. Now more stones came flying right at him and he flattened against the building’s massive stone wall. He was edging back to the portico when the handle of an ax suddenly appeared in his chest. He slumped where he was.

At the front door a German officer appeared.

“Kurt,” said Billie, who was crouching at the gate with Dowling. They watched as Bauer looked left and right, then peered into the car. He stepped back and walked slowly around the car. When he made his full circuit, he started walking slowly to the left. Fleming, Dagna, Trygg and Gylfi were now approaching the gate at a crawl, hugging the wall.

“They didn’t see Bauer,” Dowling said.

Before Billie could answer, the American stood and began running straight at the German lieutenant. Hearing the sound of this running, Bauer turned and, seeing Dowling racing toward him, tried to get his pistol out of its leather holder. Before he could unsnap the ebony clasp that held it closed, Dowling leaped on him and they tumbled to the ground amidst the rubble. They got to their feet and again the German went for his gun, this time getting it out. Dowling ducked and lunged at him and they both hit the turret wall. Bauer’s gun went clattering onto the cobblestones.

At the gate, Fleming unslung his machine gun, but could not take a chance on hitting Dowling. All three dwarfs had their hands on their axes, but were likewise stymied. They watched as Dowling took a blow from Bauer’s fist and staggered back, hitting the ground hard and rolling onto his stomach. As Dowling got to his knees the German lowered his head and rushed him. As the blow struck, Dowling grabbed Bauer’s head and wrenched it violently to the left. Bauer landed on top of the American, but the fight was out of him. Dowling shoved him off, got to his knees and looked down at the German whose head was sideways, his neck obviously broken. He was still breathing.

Fleming and Vaclav now appeared at Dowling’s side. They could hear Bauer’s ragged breathing. “Finish him,” said Fleming, but Vaclav was ahead of him. He had already drawn his knife. “Gladly,” he said, as he bent and slit Kurt Bauer’s throat with one silky stroke.

“Gentleman!”

They turned toward the front door, toward the sound of this voice, where they saw a monk walking toward them.

“Are there other German soldiers in the abbey?” Fleming asked when the monk, a short, stout man in his forties, reached them.

“No,” the monk replied, “but they are on their way. The whole battalion will be here any moment. The lieutenant came ahead to prepare.”

“What did you do with all the bodies?”

“We dragged them into the woods. Father Wilfrid we buried.”

“Do you know this area, Father?” Fleming asked.

“Yes,” the priest replied. “I was born and raised in Deggendorf.”

“There is a farm about four kilometers east. Do you know it? How do we get there? What road?”

“Yes, the Kruger farm. It’s the same road you came in on,” the monk answered. “Go east—left—when you exit the abbey. It goes directly to Czechoslovakia.”

“How will we know the farm?”

“The farm is deserted. No lights. But you will see a silo—a round barn—in the distance on your right. They grew wheat there once. Excuse me now,” the monk said, kneeling over Bauer. “I must pray for this man’s soul.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Fleming said, “he doesn’t have one.”

Then, turning to Dowling, he said, “it would be nice if the keys were in the car.”

57.

The Kruger Farm, Outside Deggendorf

October 9, 1938, 3:30 a.m.

“That’s a roadblock up ahead,” said Vaclav.

“And there’s the silo,” said Billie.

Fleming slowed to a stop. “Have they spotted us?” he said.

“Maybe not,” said Dowling. “Without headlights.”

They had slowly made their way in the dark to what they guessed would be the vicinity of the farm, the thick forest on either side of the road having given way to open fields. The half moon that had been dodging storms and storm clouds all night now shone brightly through a clear, still night.

“I’ll look,” said Fleming.

The others, Vaclav in the front, Billie, Dowling, and Tolkien in the back, and the dwarfs in the third row of seats, facing the rear, watched as Fleming got out his blacklight glasses, exited the car, and climbed onto its roof. He was back in under a minute.

“Well,” said Vaclav.

“I think they spotted us. They’re scurrying around.”

“Where did you get those glasses?” Vaclav asked. “Marvelous.”

“A friend at MI-6. He’s inventing things all the time.”

“They’re marvelous,” said Dowling, “but what do we
do
?”

“Let us off here,” said Korumak.

“Let you off?” said Fleming.

“Yes. And turn your headlights on.”

“I assume you’ll be leaving us,” said Professor Tolkien.

“Yes, we will be,” Korumak replied. “But we will do you one last turn.”

“Which would be?” said Fleming.

“The Germans will see you stopped with your lights on,” the dwarf replied. “They will approach. When they get close, head quickly across this field into the farm. We will delay the Germans.”

“And then be on your way?” Dowling said.

“One ride in a plane is enough for one lifetime I assume,” said Tolkien. “However long that lifetime may be.”

“Correct, Professor,” said Korumak. “We flew once to help Professor Shroeder, but now he is dead and our mission is done. No more flying for dwarfs.”

“Thank you,” said Fleming. “Farewell.”

“I’ve given Professor Tolkien a farewell gift,” said Korumak. “It may come in handy.”

“How will you get away?” Billie asked.

“Easily,” Korumak replied. “No man alive can track us.”

“Goodbye then,” said Korumak. He had been standing, facing the front. Now Gylfi and Dagna stood as well. All three were holding small axes—their backpacks were full of them—in each hand. Dagna and Gylfi nodded goodbye as well, and the dwarfs leaped from the car and dove quickly into the high brush that had run alongside the road for miles.

Fleming turned the Daimler’s headlamps on and put his night vision glasses to his eyes. “They’re coming,” he said, a moment later.

“
What’s
coming?” Vaclav asked.

“An open troop carrier.”

“What do they hold?”

“How many, you mean?”

“Yes, how many troops?”

“Twenty probably.”

When the troop truck was about fifty feet away, it stopped and ten or twelve soldiers jumped out of the back and fanned out on either side, their machine guns aimed at the Daimler. When they started to approach, the Englishman hit the accelerator hard and turned to the right. The Germans immediately began firing, but, looking in his rearview mirror, Fleming saw that six of them were felled with axes in the blink of an eye, and that the truck, when it tried to turn to give chase, could not move.
Axes to the tires
, Fleming thought, grinning. Then he hit the accelerator even harder.

Within seconds they were flying past the abandoned farmhouse and silo, heading toward a thick line of trees, on the other side of which Fleming hoped was the landing field and the plane to extract them.

“Can we drive through those trees?” Vaclav asked.

“No, too thick,” Fleming answered.

In another moment they were stopped and leaping out of the car. In another they were at the edge of the landing field, which was bathed in silvery moonlight, but which did not contain an airplane.

“No plane,” said Dowling.

“What’s that, there on the right, under the trees?” said Vaclav. “Is that it?”