Winter's Bullet (11 page)

CHAPTER 14

T
ygo, his arm freshly dressed and his stomach full of hot porridge, made it back to his father's shop by ten o'clock. For a change the sun was actually shining and the skies were a tepid January blue. He entered through the back door.

‘Ursula, it's me, Tygo,' he called out softly.

But there was only silence.

Tygo hurried upstairs and searched the bedrooms, but there was no sign of her. He came back down and walked across to the hearth. Someone had lit a small fire in the grate in front of the shop's counter, the ash still warm. He stood back up and looked about.

Then he saw it on the counter: a piece of folded paper
with a blank key resting on top of it, keeping it secure. He unfolded it and read the short message.

‘Ursula.' Tygo spat the name out. Of course it was she, together with those boys, who had taken Willa. They must have still been watching the shop after all, just in case he ever returned. Well, Tygo thought, they wouldn't win. He'd get her back. But first he had one task to complete.

He retrieved the clay from his pocket and hurried into the rear workshop at the back of the shop. It was very small, and the workbench was still covered with all the different paraphernalia needed for locksmithing. Tygo selected a small crucible and placed a small quantity of Wood's metal into it. There was no gas for the Bunsen burner, but this particular alloy – a mixture of bismuth, lead, tin and cadmium – melted at seventy degrees Celsius, so the little paraffin stove would do the job.

Tygo got it going and watched as the alloy slowly dissolved into a small pool of quivering silver, then he picked it up with some tongs and, very slowly and carefully, poured it into the impression he had made in the clay. Wood's metal was also very quick to cool, and after a few minutes Tygo was able to cut through the lump of clay and split it into two. There, inside one half, was a perfect metal copy of Krüger's safe key. Tygo stashed it safely in his trouser pocket. He could feel it, still warm, against his leg.

Now all he needed was to find Willa. And the diamond. Ideally in that order.

He left the shop through the front door, leaving it unlocked. There was no point in trying to stay hidden,
after all; the sooner Ursula showed her face the better. He cut across to Damrak and walked away from the station until he reached Dam Square and the Royal Palace. He decided to hang around there for a little while. Before the war the square had been filled with people every day, enjoying the myriad cafes and restaurants, feeding the pigeons. Now it was almost deserted, and certainly the pigeons were not taking any chances: they would make a delicious meal.

After about ten minutes, he noticed a group of three young boys staring at him. They were dressed in filthy cast-offs, and two of them had makeshift drums hanging from their necks, made from empty biscuit tins with holes punched in the sides for the twine used as a strap. Instead of drumsticks they had pieces of kindling. The lead boy had a tin whistle. Whenever Tygo looked at them, they glanced away or pretended to gaze into the empty shop windows. Typical lookouts, he thought – the drums and whistle were to signal danger.

He strode across to them. ‘You boys!' he barked, in his best imitation of Krüger. He reached into his pocket and took out the Gestapo warrant disc. ‘I want to speak to you.'

The boys turned and fled.

‘If she wants me, I'm here!' Tygo yelled after them. He turned and went to stand out of the wind by the Gothic New Church. The bell tolled eleven. Time was ticking.

He didn't have to wait long. Presently Ursula cycled into the square and made a couple of circuits, looking for Tygo. After her second pass he stepped out and made
himself visible to her. A queue for the soup kitchen was beginning to form on the other side of the church.

Ursula dismounted as she got closer and walked the last few metres to Tygo. She had the most self-satisfied smile on her face, and Tygo felt a terrible red mist descending. He took a couple of steps towards her.

‘You lay a finger on me, I swear you'll never see that girl again,' she said.

Tygo stopped and took a deep breath. The bandage over Ursula's nose looked fresh. Where would she get such a thing in this city, Tygo suddenly wondered?

‘You've handed her to the Resistance, haven't you?'

‘Who's a clever boy, then?'

Tygo stared at Ursula. He felt so angry but at the same time he understood what she had done. Perhaps if circumstances were different he would have acted the same.

‘And when you go to get her, I'll get my money.' She laughed unpleasantly.

Tygo fought to keep his anger under control. ‘You know where she is?'

The girl nodded.

‘Take me there.'

Ursula frowned at Tygo for a long moment. ‘You want to tell me what's so special about your girlfriend that you'd risk your life for her?'

‘No,' said Tygo. ‘And she's not my girlfriend.'

It took a while before they reached their destination. Ursula was taking no chances, and doubled back on their
route a couple of times. Eventually Tygo found himself in the old Jewish quarter of the town, now largely deserted and abandoned. A few solitary figures shuffled along the pavements, pushing the little wooden foraging carts. The two of them had made the entire journey in silence, and that suited Tygo fine.

Tygo spotted the same three boys from Dam Square, and when they suddenly started to play their instruments he knew they must be close to where Willa was being held.

It turned out that the Resistance safe house was in fact an old factory building with heavy industrial sliding doors to the front. Cut into one of them was a small door with a black grille and inspection hatch.

Ursula knocked three times on the door and waited. After a moment the hatch slid back and a face appeared.

‘Bob,' said the man.

‘Hope,' said Ursula.

The bolts were drawn back and the door opened. Tygo and Ursula lifted their bikes through. A young man with a straggly beard was standing just inside, a British Sten gun slung over one shoulder and a bandolier of grenades over the other one. He looked at Tygo like he wanted to punch him.

‘Scum,' he hissed. Tygo felt his cheeks colour. ‘Follow me.'

It was dark inside the building, but Tygo could make out an abandoned workshop beyond, and rows of what looked printing presses. No paper, no work. The young man shoved him in the ribs with the muzzle of the Sten,
and Tygo kept walking, Ursula bringing up the rear.

‘You wait here!' the guard said to Ursula.

‘What about my money?' she said.

‘I don't know anything about that,' the guard replied. He indicated for Tygo to climb the steel staircase to the landing above the printing presses where the offices were. They stopped outside one of the offices. The words ‘Accounts Dept' were painted on the door.

‘Inside.'

Tygo stepped in, the door slamming behind him. Willa looked up from the cot bed she had been lying on, and sprang to her feet.

‘Tygo!' she exclaimed. ‘You're alive.'

‘Alive and kicking,' Tygo said. She was pleased to see him, it seemed, and he realized he was pleased to see her again too. ‘Are you all right?'

‘I'm fine, they've treated me well – food, drink – I just don't understand what's going on. Where have you been all this time?'

Tygo realized it had been nearly a whole day since they had seen each other.

‘Barcelona. I've been to Barcelona.'

‘What?' Willa stared at him, unbelieving. ‘You mean in Spain?'

‘I know it's incredible, but I promise you it's really true. There's something really big and secret going on at the moment. We went in this special plane to a hotel in Barcelona, where Krüger gave some sort of . . . money, I think it was, to a woman, a very important woman called Eva Duarte. She must have been from Argentina – I heard
her say Buenos Aires.'

‘I've heard of her.' Willa was frowning.

‘On the way back we got attacked and I shot down a plane.'

‘I don't believe
that
.' Willa punched him playfully on the arm.

‘Ow!' Tygo yelped. ‘See? I even got shot!' He slipped off his coat and showed Willa his bandaged arm.

‘Really? Does it hurt?'

‘Yes, it does.'

Willa looked at him. ‘What's happening, Tygo?'

Tygo sat down on the bed. What
was
happening? He tried to make sense of everything.

‘It's complicated, Willa,' he said at last, ‘but I'm pretty sure there's some big plan happening with Krüger, something to do with . . .' he lowered his voice, ‘Adolf Hitler and a general called Müller. He's head of the Gestapo. I heard him say the words “Operation Black Sun” and tomorrow's date. Krüger needs to find the Red Queen by then, or he's in big trouble. He's sent me to find you – he's convinced you know where it might be.'

Willa shook her head. ‘For the last time, I don't know.'

‘Are you sure? Anything . . . some little thing your mother may have mentioned, a place she used to go? If I can get him the stone I know he will set me free, and we can get away from the city together; we'll find a way and two's better than one. Do you trust me?'

But before she could answer, the door swung open and a heavily built man in his twenties with a scruffy beard marched in. He was smoking the stub of a thick cigar and
had a Colt .45 tucked in his belt. He was wearing a red velvet shirt with a white silk scarf tied around his neck. Tygo thought he looked like the Laughing Cavalier from the famous portrait by Frans Hals.

‘Ah, how touching – the Nazi ferret comes to save his girlfriend.'

Tygo got up. ‘For the last time, she's not my girlfriend!'

The man drove his fist into Tygo's stomach, and he pitched backwards. ‘That's enough from a stinking stooge. I do the talking here.'

Tygo tottered to his feet, winded. ‘Who are you?' he said, rubbing his stomach.

‘Who am
I
?' boomed the man. ‘Who are
you
?'

‘You know who I am.'

‘Do I? Are you some Nazi-loving collaborator who seeks to save his own skin by helping the Gestapo rob and plunder? Is that who you are?'

‘You know I have no choice! It's that or get shot!'

‘We all have a choice, Tygo Winter.'

‘Let us go,' said Tygo.

‘Let you go?' laughed the man. ‘Why on earth should I do that? And don't worry, I wouldn't waste a bullet on you, either. Come with me, both of you.'

There was no choice. No time to wonder what was happening. Numbly, Tygo and Willa followed the man out of the room and along the metal walkway to the office at the end. This one was marked ‘Sales'. The man stopped outside the door.

‘But first,' he said, ‘there's someone who wants to see you, someone who made the
right
choice, Tygo.'

Tygo tried to imagine who on earth that might be. The man pushed open the door and shoved Tygo into the room.

Sitting behind a desk was a young woman. Her hair was cut very short like a boy's, and there was a livid red scar on one side of her face. But there was no doubting who it was.

It was Alisa, Tygo's sister.

CHAPTER 15

T
he small electric train rattled along its narrow-gauge lines, taking its precious cargo from deep beneath the Austrian town of Sankt Georgen back up to the surface.

General Müller was sitting in the first open-topped wagon, his face pouring with sweat. The heat deep in these caverns was terrific, but he had insisted on seeing the incredible workshops and laboratories that slave labour from the nearby Mauthausen concentration camps had built deep underground.

Entire factories were operating here; the new jet planes were built in special galleries. But most vital was the small, top-secret facility that had created the bomb now
strapped to one of the wagons behind Müller. This bomb was just the first wonder weapon, the head scientist had assured him. They would produce many more. It seemed fitting to Müller that such a hellish thing had been made deep underground.

Ahead the tunnel was widening out into a large gallery, which linked up to other tunnels all with their own narrow-gauge railways. Thousands of prisoners were being marched in and out through the entrance, their shifts beginning or ending. They were dressed in ragged striped pyjamas and their faces were skull-like, nothing more than skin and bone. The facilities operated twenty-four hours a day.

So this was the policy of ‘
Vernichtung durch Arbeit'
in action.

Müller caught the acrid smell of the men as the train went past them and for a moment a wave of nausea seized him. He fought it back and only allowed himself to breathe freely once they were outside.

An army lorry was waiting with escort jeeps and Müller watched as the wooden crate containing the bomb was carefully loaded on to the back of it. There was the usual paperwork to be signed in triplicate and then Müller saluted the head scientist and climbed aboard the lorry.