Sleeper Agent (24 page)

He was looking at Stiergasse 791. He was keenly disappointed. His only two leads had led him nowhere. He sat down on the curb across the street from the demolished house to take stock.

Rosenfeld had come up with nothing but a fat zero from the CIC. He’d sent him on to the Corps OB team, to see if there was anything in the latest Order of Battle book.

Tom himself had hunted up a set of civilian clothes with the help of the Regensburg CIC team. He’d wanted to be able to observe the house on Stiergasse as unobtrusively as possible. The jacket was too big for him, the pants too tight in the crotch. He could have saved himself the trouble, he thought bitterly. And the damned discomfort.

He gazed dispiritedly at the ruins across the street. The long late-afternoon shadows reaching down the street all seemed to point to the rubble heap as if to mock him in his defeat. For a time he sat staring at the debris. But no ideas would come to him. He was stopped. Stopped cold.

“
Feuer, bitte?
” The voice came from behind him. “Have a light?”

He whirled around. In the shadows of the doorway to the house in back of him stood a man. Tom had no idea where he’d sprung from. Inside? He felt in his pockets. “Yes. Here.”

In the flare of the match he took a quick look at the stranger. The man was about forty. His hair was close-cropped, shaved high above the ears. He wore steel-rimmed glasses, and his small eyes behind them glinted with a curiously intent wariness as he watched. Tom light his dirty gutter butt for him.

“Thanks.” He puffed on his butt, holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger. He stole a glance at Tom. “I have been watching you,” he said. “You are looking for something?”

Tom felt the stimulation of rising excitement course through him. His thoughts raced. He had a feeling that the encounter was not accidental.

But who was the man? What was he? He’d have to be careful. He looked at the stranger with obvious suspicion. “Why?” he demanded. “Why do you want to know?”

The stranger returned his gaze. He sized him up. “I know this place.” He shrugged. “Maybe I could help you find what you are looking for.”

“I have found what I was looking for,” Tom said curtly.

The man grinned. It was an unnerving performance. Only his lips drew back to expose bad teeth. His eyes behind the cold steel-rimmed glasses remained icy and wary. “But not the way you had hoped to find it, I wager,” he said smugly. He was watching. Tom closely. “What was the number you wanted?” he asked.

Tom looked at him quickly. He hesitated just the right number of seconds. “Number 791,” he said.

The man nodded. “You had business there?” he asked. “Friends?”

Tom looked at him. This sparring with words is getting me nowhere, he thought swiftly. I’ll have to shit or get off the pot. “I come from Schloss Ehrenstein,” he said quietly.

The stranger’s eyes brightened for a brief moment behind their steel cages. Then he carefully snipped the fire off his diminishing butt with his fingernail. He looked cautiously up and down the street. “Come with me,” he ordered.

Tom followed him into the gloomy hallway of the house. A narrow corridor led to the rear of the building. For a while they walked in silence, before Tom asked, “Where are we going?”

“You will see,” the stranger snapped shortly. His manner had changed markedly. His posture had become decidedly military. They walked in silence for a few seconds more.

“Tell me,” Tom asked. “Were you . . . expecting me?”

The man gave him a quick look. Then he coughed a mirthless laugh. “Not exactly,” he said. “But ever since Number 791 was destroyed we have had someone from the cadre watch the ruins. Just in case some of you boys should show up and need a hand.”

“I see,” said Tom. He had a hell of a time suppressing his excitement. He knew he dared not be too curious. He was stepping along a tightrope—in GI boots! But he was getting somewhere. At last.

“Did many of us make it?” he asked casually.

The stranger gave him a quick glance. He scowled. He did not answer. Tom resolved to be more careful.

The two men left the house and began to cross the rubble-strewn back yard toward a door in a fence on the far side.

Tom tried to appear as unconcerned and incurious as possible. It was not easy. He could feel his heart pound heavily and noisily in his throat. It seemed impossible that the man walking at his side did not hear it. With growing excitement he realized that he had made contact with someone involved in the Sleeper Agent operation at Schloss Ehrenstein. He realized that he himself had been accepted as part of that operation. At least for the moment. It was a moment of utmost importance. He could not afford to lose it. And he knew he had only himself and his own powers to rely upon.

The man glanced at him. “What held
you
up?” he asked.

Tom shrugged. “I was caught in an
Ami
sweep,” he said. “The damned Coca-Cola drinkers kept me in a PW camp. I only just got away.”

His companion nodded. “Yes. That happened to a couple of others.” There was no suspicion in his voice.

They went through the door in the backyard fence and began to cross another rubbish-strewn yard, headed for a building on the other side.

“Where are we going?” Tom asked again.

“To see Lorenz,” the man snapped. He sounded impatient.

Tom thought quickly. If Lorenz—whoever he might be—was holed up in the building they were headed for, he’d have to work fast. The man with him seemed to have accepted him. Lorenz undoubtedly would be more cautious. More inquisitive. He’d have to get as much information from his close-cropped four-eyed friend as possible.

“
Hör mal,
” he said confidentially. “Listen, I wonder if you could tell me something?” His voice was congenial with camaraderie. “I had a good friend at Schloss Ehrenstein. I wonder if he made it? Rudi was his name?”

The man stopped short. He glared at Tom, suspicion smoldering in his flinty eyes. “You ought to know better than to ask a question like that,” he snapped.

Tom threw up his hands. “Hey! No offense!” he said. He felt himself go cold. Dammit, he might have fucked up the whole deal. The man was definitely mistrustful now. He’d lost him. Unless . . .

The stranger was watching him, narrow-eyed. “When did you leave Schloss Ehrenstein?” he asked slowly. “I do not seem to remember you.”

“It’s been several months,” Tom said airily. “Things got screwed up when I got on the outside. . . .” He shrugged a gesture of frustration. “I should have known, I guess. Frau Peukert used to say that things were in a mess out there.”

The man watched him speculatively, “
Ja,
” he said reflectively. “The widow Peukert.”

Tom grinned disarmingly. “I guess that’s why she persuaded the commandant to stash some of her loot in his safe!”

The man looked up sharply. “How did you know that?” he snapped. “About the commandant’s safe?”

Tom grinned broadly. “Look, friend,” he said, “what the hell were you training us for at Schloss Ehrenstein?”

The man’s eyes opened wide. He barked another of his dry laughs. “
Ja!
” he said. “That is good! Very good!” He laughed again. He started toward the house.

The yard was filled with junk hauled out from the damaged buildings surrounding it, and the two men carefully picked their way through broken furniture, scorched lumber and piles of shattered objects of all kinds.

Tom tripped and almost fell on top of a splintered long-case clock, smashed beyond salvage. “You know,” he commented, “I haven’t seen a clock that badly smashed up since the one in our basement shooting gallery!”

His companion’s face lit up. “
Ja.
The clock!” He chuckled with evident pleasure. “The damned clock . . .” He looked sideways at Tom. “Your friend did that.”

Tom stopped short. “Rudi?” he exclaimed.

The man nodded. “I was there. I was one of the interrogators. At his readiness test. That’s when he did it!” He shook his head in remembered marvel. “Rudi A-27.
Das war ein Kerl!
—That was a tough one!” he said with evident respect.

Tom agreed enthusiastically as they continued toward the house. “Rudi was going to America,” he said. “I hope he makes it.”

“He will,” the other asserted, all suspicion gone from his voice. “You can be certain of it.” He nodded his head sagely. “He will,” he repeated. “He was scheduled to exfiltrate by the northern route. Less crowded. Less risk. Not anything like the southern routes.”

“Good. Then he is on his way.”

“It is to be expected,” the man agreed. “He was ordered to Berlin just before we closed down the project.”

They came to the back door of the house. “Wait here,” the man ordered. “I will see if Lorenz can see you.” He ducked into the dark building and disappeared in the shadows.

It was his chance.

Already he had wangled important information out of the Schloss Ehrenstein cadre watchdog. He realized he’d been able to con the man only because of the limited time they’d spend together. It would be different with Lorenz. He knew he could not survive a thorough questioning.

He was alone. He could take off. Now. And be safe. But, if he did, he’d alert them and the whole damned Sleeper Agent organization to the fact that he was on their tail. They undoubtedly had alternate plans for all their missions. They would activate them. And all his work would go down the drain.

However, if he did stay, he might be able to learn even more from Lorenz, who was quite obviously on a higher rung of the Schloss Ehrenstein ladder than four-eyes. Could he get away with it?

Not bloody likely! The prudent thing to do was to scram. Right now.

He stayed.

“Lorenz is not here,” the man said when he returned for Tom. “We will wait for him.” He led Tom down some stairs to a large basement room. A kerosene lamp glowed faintly. He turned it up.

Tom looked around. The place appeared to be lived in. It had been provided with furniture obviously gathered from many sources, battered but sturdy. Several roiled-up canvas cots were stacked haphazardly in a corner, and a large carved wooden bed with a colorful quilted spread stood to one side. Several doors, all of them closed, led to other areas. Or did they serve as escape hatches?

The man took out his cigarette butt and relighted it. With his own matches, Tom observed wryly. “He will be here shortly,” the man said. “It is almost curfew time.” He peered with regret at his cigarette butt. It was getting too small to hold. Carefully he snuffed it out. He fished a small metal box from his pocket, tore the paper from the butt and spilled the rest of the loose tobacco into his box. He sighed. “Schloss Ehrenstein was never like this, was it?” he said plaintively. He snapped the box shut and put it away.

“You think
he
is from Schloss Ehrenstein, do you, Scharf?” The icy voice came from the stairs leading down into the basement.

Tom spun around. He took one look and he knew he didn’t have a chance. The cards had been stacked against him all the time.

The man who stood near the bottom of the stairs was middle-aged with short gray bristly hair. It was the hostile shopkeeper of Wenderstrasse 86 who had let him go through his place to see Gerti Grunert!

In his hand he held a small black pistol. It was pointed steadily and directly at Tom’s gut.

Irrelevantly he noticed that the gun was an
Ehrenwaffe
—an honor weapon. That intricately carved Walther 7.65 given by Adolf Hitler personally to the highest ranking Nazis only. Lorenz obviously was a formidable opponent.

The man called Scharf looked startled. “He is, Lorenz, he is!” he protested quickly. “He knows all about the place. He knows—”

“You are a damned fool!” Lorenz interrupted sharply. “How much have you told him?”

“Nothing! I—”

“Never mind. It is of no consequence.” He gave the man a withering look. Then he turned his eyes on Tom. “We meet again!” he said sardonically.

He turned
to
Scharf. “I saw this man. Today. He came to question that little whore Gerti. Only then he wore an
American uniform!
With only US officer emblems on his collar. You know what that means, Scharf, do you not?”

Scharf looked stricken. He edged away from Tom.

Lorenz looked at the CIC agent with contemptuous disdain. “Did you think we would not be warned after you so clumsily tried to dig up our records?” he asked, his voice brittle with sarcasm. “You give us little credit.”

“Frau Peukert,” Tom conceded.

“She is a loyal German.” Lorenz allowed himself a thin, malicious smile. “You have been stupid. Very stupid. Since the time we were warned, we have, of course, had everyone who could possibly be linked to our operation under constant surveillance by our cadre personnel. Including that brainless little slut you visited.”

He smiled again. A chilling grimace. “You should not have tangled with
us,
American,” he said derisively. “You are out of your league.” He paused portentously. “Fortunately, you will not live to regret it!”

Tom’s thoughts were spinning in his head. Lorenz was obviously in love with the sound of his own voice. That fact might save his life. But he would have to act before it would be too late for any action at all.

Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of the heavy wooden bed to his right.

Exploding into sudden motion, he flung himself for the cover. Even as he was hurtling through the air, his hand groped for and found the gun in his shoulder holster beneath the ample jacket.

He sensed rather than saw Scharf draw his gun, and as he crashed to the floor behind the bed he sent two rounds slamming into the chest of the German.

He dropped.

In the same instant he heard the sharp report from Lorenz’s gun, and the split-second whine as the slug shot over his head to bury itself in the wall behind him.

He pressed himself down behind the shelter of the bed. In front of him, in the middle of the room, he could see the body of Scharf sprawled on the floor. Lorenz, at the bottom of the stairs, was hidden from view.